by Speer, Flora
“Wrap them with what?” Desmond asked.
“Magnus has a clean linen undershirt in his saddlebag,” she said, pulling forth the garment. “I'm sure he won't mind if I use it for a bandage.”
“He will mind,” Desmond said. A moment later he said, “Go ahead, then. With a bandage to support my chest, I'll have both hands free, in case we have to fight.”
Lilianne made short work of Magnus's shirt, tearing it into wide strips and winding the linen around Desmond's chest. She tried not to notice how sorely he needed a bath, nor to see the lice in his hair and beard. But she did remark on the way he winced when he held his tattered shirt out of her way.
“That's why you don't want to take off your shirt,” she said. “It hurts to lift your arms, doesn't it?”
“Don't tell William,” he ordered.
“I won't,” she promised, knotting the end of the bandage securely.
“I'm hungry,” Gilbert said. “I haven't eaten since yesterday.”
“We have bread and cheese,” Lilianne told him, drawing their store of food from the saddlebags, “and here is Braedon's cup. We can use it to dip water from the stream.”
Lilianne ate less than her share, so Gilbert could have more bread. He washed it down with several cups of water. No sooner was he finished with his meal than he curled up in William's cloak and fell asleep.
“It's what he needs most,” Desmond said. “To eat and sleep in freedom, knowing his sister is close by and his friends will protect him from recapture.”
He was sitting with his back against a tree, chewing the last of his bread. Lilianne looked at him, surprised by his sensitivity to Gilbert's needs.
“But then,” she said softly, “you were aware of Gilbert’s needs even before you met him in person. I noticed the scratches on your wrist and fingers from forcing your hand through the window slit to tie food to Gilbert's rope. Thank you again for what you did for my brother. I will never forget it.”
“Hark,” William said suddenly, his voice low and urgent.
Lilianne went perfectly still, listening. She heard dogs barking in the distance.
“Magnus,” she whispered. “Braedon.”
“They'll be all right,” William said. “They'll take to the water and stay there until Norbard calls off his hounds. The dogs aren't coming upstream; they're moving away, toward the sea. Magnus's ruse has worked.”
“Clever Magnus,” Desmond muttered.
“Why do you dislike your brother so?” Lilianne cried.
“How can I help but dislike him?” came Desmond's sardonic response from the leafy shadows. “Magnus always does what's right and honest. I, on the other hand, am completely unscrupulous, and have been since birth. Which explains why I am so valuable as a spy.”
“You aren't so good a spy that you can't be caught,” William reminded him.
“I was betrayed for money,” Desmond said. “It wasn't my fault.”
“I know Magnus was recruited to find you,” Lilianne said when Desmond lapsed into silence. “He has told me several times that this will be his one and only spying mission, that he has no desire to continue this kind of work. But what of you, Desmond? How did you become a spy? And what keeps you spying, rather than doing something else?”
“I do it for the excitement,” Desmond said, his cynical laugh reaching her out of the dimness, “for the fun of being dishonest, for the excuse of lying in a good cause, when lying is what I do best. For the challenge of matching my wits against those of another spy.”
“I haven't noticed anything particularly enjoyable about the business of spying,” William said. “I’ve undertaken a few missions at Royce's behest, because I am his sworn man, but I find no pleasure in what I have to do.”
“Obviously, you aren't as immoral as I am,” Desmond remarked lightly.
Lilianne said nothing more, not wanting to admit that she understood what Desmond was saying. She, too, had experienced the excitement of the work, though only for a few moments while facing down Norbard. She suspected it was possible to crave more and more of the excitement and the danger, to perform outrageous feats of bravery in order to attain that excitement, risking one’s own life and the lives of others to satisfy the craving. She found the idea deeply disturbing.
“I need more water,” Desmond said. Taking the only cup, he headed for the stream.
“He's not particularly grateful at being rescued, is he?” William muttered.
“Perhaps he can't talk about his deepest feelings,” Lilianne suggested.
“The man is an unrepentant scoundrel,” William informed her. “Still, according to Royce, Desmond’s kind, a man with no conscience at all, makes the very best spy.”
“Why would a man without a conscience bestir himself to share his scanty supply of food with an unknown fellow prisoner?” Lilianne asked. “Magnus and Desmond don't look much alike, but surely twins cannot be far apart in the way they view their fellow men.”
“Don't mention your assumption to Magnus,” William advised. “He doesn't think Desmond is worth much.”
Lilianne didn't believe that. Whatever differences had set the brothers at odds and driven Desmond from Ashendown needed to be resolved. Loving her own brother as she did, she couldn't bear the thought of twins who professed to dislike each other, and she wished she could find a way to convince them to admit to the affection that must still lie in each man's heart.
* * * * *
Magnus and Braedon returned toward morning, when William was still standing watch while the others slept. Lilianne was so attuned to Magnus's presence that she wakened the moment he stepped onto the island.
“What happened?” she whispered softly, not wanting to disturb Desmond, who would surely begin again to criticize his brother, thus making matters even worse between them.
“We walked all the way to the beach,” Magnus said, “and went several feet into the surf, to make certain Norbard's hounds would follow the scent to the water's edge.”
“Let’s hope Norbard assumes we were picked up by a boat,” Braedon added. “We came to the island by walking in the stream all the way. With any luck, Norbard has given up the search.”
“You must be hungry,” Lilianne said.
“And wet,” Magnus noted, pulling his tunic over his head. “I have a dry shirt in my saddlebag.”
“I'm sorry,” Lilianne told him. “I used it to bandage Desmond's ribs.”
“Lovely.” Magnus expelled a long breath.
“Don't grudge it to him,” she said. “The guards beat him. He was in sore need of help.”
“I know.”
“The air is warm. Your tunic will dry soon if you spread it on a bush.”
“Is there any food left? Or did Desmond eat it all?”
“We have plenty of bread, and we saved some cheese for you.” Lilianne reached for Braedon's saddlebag, but Braedon was there before her, pulling out the remains of the loaf originally meant for Desmond's meal in his cell. Braedon tore off a chunk of bread and handed the rest to Magnus, then went to sit with William.
“I do wish you and your brother wouldn't quarrel all the time,” Lilianne said.
“Tell Desmond that.” Magnus pulled off his share of the bread and tucked the last piece back in the saddlebag. When he folded his long legs and sat, Lilianne joined him.
“Why do you disagree?” she asked.
“Desmond is the most thoughtless, feckless person I've ever known,” Magnus said. “He spent his childhood taking foolish risks and constantly getting into trouble, as if such false bravery could win our father's love. But our father never loved anyone, least of all his sons.”
“Desmond isn't all bad. He denied himself food for Gilbert's sake.” She didn’t mention that she had caught a glimpse of the risk-taking excitement-seeker beneath Desmond’s cool surface, or that she had recognized something similar in herself.
Magnus finished chewing his bread and put his arm around her shoulders.
“Si
nce I have neither a clean shirt nor a blanket to warm me,” he whispered, “I'll keep you near for warmth.”
“Yes, please.” She snuggled closer. Magnus's lips were on her forehead, and then her cheek. She turned her head to meet his lips with her own. His kiss generated enough heat to warm her for the rest of the night. She fell asleep with her head on his shoulder.
Chapter 17
“Don't imagine that Norbard will stop hunting for us,” Desmond said. “He knows what Erland will do to him if he lets either Gilbert or me escape.”
A short distance away William lay sleeping after his long night of standing watch. The others were gathered together to eat a morning meal of stale bread and stream water. To Lilianne's delight, Gilbert had awakened in cheerful spirits. He appeared to be fully recovered from his ordeal in the tower room and from the rigors of the previous day. His only complaint was that he longed for a few slices of cold roast beef.
Lilianne wasn't so confident of Desmond's good health. Unlike Gilbert, he lacked the resilience of youth. After months without a decent meal, Magnus's brother was frighteningly thin, his eyes were sunken and shadowed, and save for his bruises and a feverish spot of red on each cheek, his face was devoid of color. Several times since waking Desmond had walked the short distance to the stream to scoop water into both hands to drink, or to splash on his face.
“Erland cannot do anything to Norbard,” Magnus said in response to Desmond's remarks. “He’s imprisoned in England.”
“Does Norbard know?” Desmond asked.
“Probably not, unless he has some secret source of information,” Magnus admitted. Dismissing the question of how much Norbard knew, he began to speak of what he planned for that day. “We must leave here shortly after noontime in order to reach our rendezvous with Captain Piers. Norbard may decide to track us with dogs again, so we'll walk part of the way in the stream, before we take to dry land and make a run for it.” He rose from the base of the tree where he had been sitting and looked downstream as if judging how good their chances were.
“You’re a fool if you think Norbard won't have men posted on both sides of the stream,” Desmond said. “Furthermore, he’ll be able to see the Daisy from some distance away, and he'll quickly guess why she is lying off-shore. Do you intend for all of us to swim to the ship, or are we to wait on the beach for a rowboat, while Norbard's men-at-arms hack us to pieces? And who's to say that Captain Piers will arrive where he's supposed to be, at the appointed time?”
“I don't see that we have many choices,” Magnus said.
“No, you wouldn't,” Desmond responded in a scathing tone. “There are always better choices than the ones you make.”
A tense moment passed before Magnus said, “In that case, tell us what you think we ought to do.”
“We could steal some horses and ride for Normandy,” Desmond said. “We'd be safe enough there, where King Henry rules, and we wouldn't have to wait for a cursed, undependable ship to appear.” He got to his feet to pace to the edge of the island and back again, his restlessness giving Lilianne the impression that he was eager to be on his way.
“Your idea does seem a bit precipitous,” Braedon said, “especially when we consider how reliable Captain Piers has always been. Personally, I prefer to wait for the Daisy.”
“I will not sit idly by while Norbard closes in on us,” Desmond exclaimed. “Nor will I return to that filthy cell, to survive on stale bread and sour cider until I'm executed. I am leaving.”
“No,” Magnus said. “You are not.”
“Ah, but I am,” Desmond told him and took a single, purposeful step toward the stream.
Magnus was much larger than his brother and more heavily built, but he could move as quickly as a pouncing lion. Before anyone in their little group had time to draw another breath or make a move to stop him, Magnus punched Desmond hard on the jaw, knocking him flat on his back.
“What are you doing?” Gilbert cried. Leaping to his feet, he placed himself between the brothers. “Desmond has suffered enough. And, while he was suffering, he tried his best to help me. I won't allow you to abuse him.”
“Trust me, Gilbert; Desmond hasn't begun to suffer,” Magnus said. Rubbing his knuckles, he stepped around Gilbert, to loom over the felled man. “You may not leave us, and you will follow my orders until we reach England. If you want to complain about me to Royce, or to King Henry, feel free to do so then. We haven't come this far, or risked all of our lives, to have you ruin our mission with your heedless, irresponsible antics. Do you understand me?”
Desmond got to his feet slowly, one hand rubbing his jaw. Planting his fists at his waist he faced Magnus, standing so close that they were nose to nose, with barely an inch separating them.
“If you ever lay a hand on me again,” Desmond said, “I will kill you. Do you understand me?”
“Desmond, really, you are the most provoking man!” Lilianne exclaimed. “Almost every thought that Magnus has is devoted to returning you safely to England. The least you could do is thank him for releasing you from captivity, but I haven't heard a single word of gratitude. Instead, you try your hardest to arouse his temper. I insist you begin to behave like a grown man, instead of acting like a naughty boy.”
For a moment Desmond looked very much like the naughty boy she had called him, a boy caught out in deliberate mischief. Lilianne saw his surprise that any woman would dare to speak to him in such a manner, and she thought she detected a flash of shame in his gaze. The emotion was gone in an instant and Desmond swung back to face his brother. His next words reminded Lilianne of a child who had been reprimanded and who knew he was in the wrong, for he changed to a completely different subject.
“After the adventures of yesterday my feet are sore,” Desmond declared. “The guards at the manor stole my boots. I lay claim to the boots of the first man we kill.”
“Done,” Magnus said, as if they had just struck a bargain.
“If there's to be fighting against Norbard,” Gilbert cried, “I’ll need a knife or a sword.”
“We’ll try to avoid a battle,” Magnus said, still glowering at Desmond.
Lilianne was afraid Desmond would utter some new inflammatory remark in an attempt to goad Magnus into further violence. She was grateful when he shot a glance in her direction, then shrugged and walked away. She saw how closely Magnus watched him, but Desmond made no attempt to set off on his own. Gradually, the anger between them seemed to subside.
As the sun reached its zenith they ate the last of their food. Then, on Magnus's order they departed from their island shelter and began to wade downstream. No one spoke. They were all listening for the barking of dogs or the sound of men-at-arms tramping through the underbrush. So far as they could tell, Norbard did not have men watching for them along the stream.
When they finally took to the land again they moved cautiously through the forest until they were close to the isolated spot where Captain Piers was to send a rowboat to meet them.
“I don't see the Daisy,” Desmond said, peering toward the sea.
“We’re early,” Magnus told him. “We will wait.”
Desmond swore under his breath and added a complaint about his aching feet. Despite her continuing irritation with him, Lilianne could sympathize, for Desmond's badly torn hose were no protection from stones or broken branches that lay on the forest floor, and he had stubbed his toes several times.
For the next hour or two they remained in the shelter of the trees, seldom speaking, and Lilianne could see in their faces that the men were growing more worried. No travelers passed along the dirt road toward either Calais or Boulogne, and the beach lay completely deserted. More importantly, not a single ship appeared.
Gilbert napped and woke, and slept again. Desmond paced with restless energy, occasionally swearing about his sore feet. Magnus stared out to sea, where mist obscured the horizon, while William and Braedon stood guard in case Norbard should find them and attack.
Just when Liliann
e thought she could bear no more waiting, Magnus stirred and pointed to a shape emerging from the mist.
“There she is,” he said quietly.
“You can't be sure it's the Daisy,” Desmond objected.
“It is,” Braedon said, squinting toward the oncoming ship. “I recognize the sail.”
“Do we have to signal to Captain Piers?” Lilianne asked.
“No.” Magnus's arm came around her shoulders. “By the arrangements I made with him, as soon as the ship is close enough to shore, he’ll order a rowboat let down. The rowers are to wait just beyond the surf until we show ourselves. When we see the rowboat, we’ll run across the beach to the water's edge to meet it. Until then, we stay hidden where we are.”
The Daisy drew steadily nearer, and Lilianne's heart began to beat faster. She prayed that Norbard would not find them. Just a little longer, she told herself, and if fortune favored them, they would all be out of danger. Gilbert would be safe. Desmond would be rescued. Magnus's mission would be successfully completed. She couldn’t think beyond that.
“Gilbert,” she murmured, gently shaking the dozing boy, “wake up. It's almost time for us to leave.”
“Here comes the rowboat,” Braedon said.
“Let's go,” Magnus ordered.
His hand on Lilianne's back urged her forward. With Gilbert at her side she raced out of the trees, across the muddy road, through a section of bushes and rough grasses, and onto the sloping, sandy beach. Braedon and William were in the lead and the rowers must have seen them, for Lilianne noticed how the men strained to pull the boat through the surf. Gilbert gave an excited laugh and ran faster, outdistancing Lilianne.
Behind her, Desmond began to cough. Lilianne glanced around to see him doubled over, gasping for breath, with one arm clutching his injured ribs. Magnus slowed, waiting for his brother. When Desmond continued to cough, Magnus backtracked to catch him around the waist and support him.
From the direction of the road came the sound of hooves and loud voices, as Norbard and half a dozen men-at-arms appeared. A shout of triumph rang across the beach, telling Lilianne that she and her companions had been recognized. With Norbard yelling for haste, lest their quarry slip away, the horsemen rode right through the bushes and well onto the sand before dismounting.
