by Anne Stuart
He'd never felt possessive in his entire life. He'd never felt helpless.
It was a small noise, and to a man less observant it might have sounded like a woodland creature, a squirrel or rabbit scuttling through the fallen leaves. But Simon seldom made mistakes.
He'd already drawn his knife when the creature hurtled itself at him, a bundle of rags and hair and fury, but at the last instant he dropped the blade, catching the enraged creature with both hands.
She made a choking sound of great pain, collapsing at his feet, and a moment later Thomas du Rhaymer hove into view, panting slightly.
"You need to keep better watch on your lady," Simon observed in a quiet voice, hauling Lady Claire to her feet and still keeping her hands imprisoned in his. He could see no weapon, but Lady Claire was a formidable young woman, and he had no desire to end up a real castrati.
"Bastard," she spat at him, struggling. "Murderer!" She gasped again, and he realized that one of her wrists was tightly bandaged, and that he was hurting her quite badly.
He shoved her toward her champion with a sound of disgust. "Keep hold of her, du Rhaymer. I have no particular desire to inflict injury on my wife's sister, but I'm not in the best of moods either."
Thomas caught her, holding her easily against him despite her struggles. "Are you going to call the guards?" he asked in a low voice.
"You don't really think I would, do you?" he replied.
Claire stopped struggling, though her face was still mutinous. "Calm down, my lady," Thomas said to her, and astonishingly enough, she did. The wonders of love, Simon thought bitterly. "His lordship is going to help us."
"Help us get killed," she shot back, but her voice was quieter now. "He hasn't made any attempt to rescue her yet. What makes you think he even cares?"
"I've thought of one plan," Simon said in a mild tone of voice. "You could take her place."
Claire opened her mouth to insult him again but her stalwart knight simply clamped a hand across her face, silencing her. "How heavily is she guarded?"
"Four men at all times, and no one in the camp is likely to help. Between the two of us we might be able to manage, but why did you bring that tiresome creature along?" he demanded, looking askance at Claire. "No, don't tell me. I imagine you didn't have much say in the matter."
She knocked Thomas's restraining hand away. "I love my sister!" she said furiously.
His response was immediate but unspoken. He just looked at her coolly, and finally Thomas spoke.
"There's nothing wrong with your right hand," he observed.
Simon flexed it, leaning down to pick up the knife he'd dropped rather than skewer his sister-in-law. "No," he said.
"I imagine there's nothing wrong with any other part of you, either."
Simon smiled faintly. "I can't imagine that's any concern of yours."
"We like large families. Children and nieces and nephews," Thomas said.
"Let's see if we survive the next few days," Simon replied. "Then we can worry about procreation."
"I'm still a maid," Claire announced in a pugnacious tone of voice.
"My condolences," Simon murmured. "I'm certain Thomas will take care of that problem when he has the time. At the moment I think your sister's safety is of greater concern."
"There wasn't time for Brother Jerome to marry us," Thomas said. "We can wait until Lady Alys is safely bestowed."
"Bestowed where? In her husband's care? I doubt she'll welcome that," Simon said coolly. "You could see her safely back to that convent she came from. I imagine that's as welcome a place as any. Or she can make her home with you if she so chooses."
"I can protect them from Lord Richard, if that is a concern of yours."
Simon smiled. "I don't anticipate that that will be a problem," he said gently.
Thomas nodded, understanding immediately. "I'll take her wherever she wishes to go."
Lady Claire had obviously had enough of being ignored. "What are we going to do?" she demanded. "I don't want her to spend another night in that horrible cage."
"The night is half over. If you can manage some patience we can free her tomorrow, during the fair. In the confusion you should be able to escape."
"You have a plan?" Thomas demanded eagerly.
"An idea," Simon replied. "It requires careful preparation and accurate timing. Richard doesn't know her spoiled little ladyship has taken off, or that you went after her. If he spies you tomorrow, he'll simply assume that Lady Claire is still locked in her solar and you've come to offer your help."
"Do you think he'll believe it?" Thomas said doubtfully.
"Richard has a great deal on his mind. He won't be wasting his suspicions on one of his loyal knights. In the meantime, keep that impatient creature quiet, would you? Take her somewhere and tup her while I work on it."
"We're not married, my lord."
Simon muttered a curse in Arabic. "Then bind and gag her and dump her in a ditch and we'll fetch her later."
Thomas turned. "She's not here," he said in an ominous voice.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean she's gone," Thomas said in a desperate voice. "And if I know my lady, she's gone after her sister."
"Hell and damnation," Simon muttered. And he started for the clearing.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was a fortunate thing that Thomas du Rhaymer caught up with Lady Claire before Simon did. He tackled her before she reached the edge of the clearing, landing on top of her with a muffled "ooof." If Simon had been the one to catch her he might have delivered the sound thrashing she so richly deserved.
He kept walking through the forest, stepping over the entwined, bickering couple. She was blistering him in a shrill voice, Thomas was holding her still, and Simon moved on, shaking his head in wonder. How two sisters could be so dissimilar was a question not soon to be answered. Lady Claire was a rare handful, but Sir Thomas was more than up to the task of taming her. They'd deal a lot better with each other once they managed to get into bed.
And in truth, in certain ways Alys was more like her rebellious half-sister than one might first think. Her beauty was more subtle but undeniably luminous, her bravery quieter but surely as fierce. And he had little doubt her rage could equal Lady Claire's monumental proportions.
Lady Claire was silent now, and he could hear the faint, soothing murmur of Thomas's voice, the soft rustle of clothing as he left them behind, and he wondered vaguely which would prove stronger, Thomas's moral resolve or Claire's determination. Either way, the battle would keep them busy for the next few hours.
He paused at the edge of the forest, watching the encampment with wary eyes. The four guards usually stationed at each corner of Alys's makeshift prison had abandoned their posts and moved closer to the fire. They were passing a wine skin around, one had an arm slung around the serving woman's plump figure, and Alys had been forgotten.
He could go up to the back of the carriage and part the curtains. He had no idea whether there was lock on that side as well, or whether he'd be able to open it without a key. Circumventing locks was one of his many talents, but the stakes had never been so high.
What would she do if she woke up and saw him? Scream in denunciation? Cry out in fury? Either would get them both killed, but she had no reason to trust him, every reason to despise him. If he had any sense he would leave her alone in her cage, go back to the tent he shared with Richard, and see if he could complete a workable plan for tomorrow, now that he knew he had an ally.
He paused outside the wagon, hidden in the shadows and the looming forest. No one could see him; no one could hear him. He moved closer, hoping for a sound from beyond the thick curtains, but his wife slept. Hating him.
Alys lay huddled beneath the covers, desperate for warmth. Her head was cold, her nose was cold, but she couldn't bury her face in the animal throws without suffocating, and she had no desire to speed that particular fate.
She could hear the guards
laughing. She wondered if Simon were laughing as well.
She could almost feel him watching her. His still, golden eyes moving slowly over her face, his hands reaching for her. The sensation became overwhelming, and she pushed the covers back, rose to her knees, and spread the heavy curtains that shielded the back of her carriage.
He stood there, as she knew he would. She opened her mouth to speak, but he moved quickly, putting his hands through the bars and covering her mouth as he shook his head for silence.
She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of his skin, absorbing the warmth of his touch. She had gone most of her life without a man's touch—how had it suddenly come to mean so much? And not any man's. This man's hands, scarred and lying.
She turned her face and pressed her mouth against the scarred palm. He moved closer, up against the iron bars, and slid his fingers through her hair, caressing her. The bars were icy cold against her face, his hands were cold as well, and she could see her breath in the shadowy moonlight.
This was one time when she couldn't count on her knowledge, her wisdom, her years of study. She could only look into her heart. She plastered her body against the iron bars and reached for him.
The feel of his body against hers was heaven. He kissed her, but the bars kept him from deepening the kiss, and she shivered in frustration. It was a silent dance of longing and despair, mute reassurance that she could only take on trust, and he'd given her no reason to trust him.
It didn't matter. When he drew away he touched her with his elegant, loving hands, and she believed in him. She lay down on the pallet, and he drew the covers tight around her. And then he knelt in the cold, his arms through the bars, and held her, until she slept.
When she awoke the next morning she wondered if she'd dreamed it all. If she'd conjured Simon of Navarre out of thin air in her longing for him. There was no sign he'd been there. The frozen ground behind the wagon left no trace of footprint.
She must have dreamed it.
The guards released her for her morning ablutions, and she stumbled into the woods with Madlen close at her heels to relieve herself. The forest was still and silent, no bird calls sounding in the frosty morning, and even Madlen was grimmer than usual as she led her prisoner to a swift flowing stream.
Alys knelt down and dipped her hands in the icy water, splashing it over her face. She could only hope that, as it washed away the sleep, it would also wash away the treacherous fantasy of the night before. If she was to escape from this current disaster with her life intact she would need all her wits about her, and no sentimental weaknesses to betray her.
She dipped her hands again. Madlen was looking toward the camp, a disgruntled expression on her face, and she'd wandered a few steps away from her captive, obviously believing Alys was too cowed to attempt an escape.
Escape was the foremost thing on Alys's mind. She looked up, across the narrow stream, trying to judge how fast she could move, whether she had any chance of getting away from her brother and hiding in the forest It was unlikely, but it was the only chance she might have, and she tightened her muscles, getting ready to spring forward across the stream, when she saw a sight that shocked her.
It was a face in the undergrowth. A face she knew and loved. For a moment she thought she was dreaming again, that her hopeless wishes had conjured up the beautiful face of her sister.
Alys cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, but Madlen had wandered farther still, out of earshot but not out of sight, and Alys had no doubt she would move fast enough if her charge ecided to make a run for it. She wasn't a heartless woman, but she had her own well-being to consider, and her loyalty to her mistress had been easily abandoned. Alys turned back, wondering if Claire's face would have disappeared once more, but she was still there.
"We're going to rescue you," she whispered, the sound barely traveling across the burbling stream.
"We?"
"Thomas is here as well."
"Run away," Alys said desperately. "Don't risk your own safety. I'll be fine—Richard wouldn't really hurt me."
"He'll kill you," Claire said flatly. "And we both know it. They have some grand plan to release you but they're not telling me." She sounded aggrieved. "Just be ready to flee as soon as you're given a sign."
"Who… ?"
But Claire had already faded into the woods, and Madlen stood over Alys, looking stern.
"Who were you talking to, my lady?" she demanded, peering past her into the seemingly uninhabited woods.
"My reflection."
Madlen's response was a grim snort. "That's about the only help you're going to get," she said. "Come along, my lady. We've a long day ahead of us, and I'm hoping to enjoy myself."
"Enjoy yourself?"
"There's a market fair in the next town. Gervaise says we're to travel right through it on our way to Middleham. It's been a long time since I've been to a market fair."
"Won't it be difficult to carry my cage through the town?" Alys suggested in a purely practical voice. "What if I screamed for help?"
"No one would listen," Madlen said flatly, and Alys knew that was the truth of it. "I imagine the monster has some sort of plan for you. Maybe he'll cast a spell over you to keep you silent."
He could do that, Alys thought. He could make her do anything he wanted her to.
"I'll behave myself."
"I would expect you'd be wise enough to do so, my lady," Madlen said, leading the way back to the clearing, back to her cage.
It was only as she settled once more against the fur coverlets that she remembered Claire's disgruntled words. "They have a plan and they're not telling me," she said. Who could "they" be?
Sir Thomas, of course. And she knew without question who else would be working toward her rescue. The bleak, unloving creature who was her husband.
"What do you have to smile at, my lady?" Madlen asked curiously as she locked the bars with a heavy chain.
"It's a beautiful day," Alys said, "and we're going to a fair."
Madlen threw a doubtful look at the overcast sky. "You won't be enjoying the fair, Lady Alys," she said.
"Oh, even in my cage I'm planning to enjoy it tremendously," she said sweetly.
And Madlen waddled off, shaking her head at her mistress's lack of wits.
It required perfect timing. It required a far greater element of luck than Simon of Navarre preferred to count on. It required Richard the Fair to play his part, true to his nature, and it required Alys's trust, her selfish sister's willingness to follow orders, and God's will.
In all, there were just too many unlikely variables to depend on any chance of success.
But there was no alternative. By tomorrow they would reach Middleham Castle, and the path from then on was set. The child would die, most likely followed by Alys and Simon. He expected it would take Richard less than a year to get himself named king—the others who stood closer to the throne were as easily disposed of as a twelve-year-old monarch.
He could count on Claire's love for her sister. He could count on bravery from Sir Thomas du Rhaymer and Alys. He could even count on Richard's vanity to put the plan into motion.
But what he couldn't depend on was God's mercy.
He was more than willing to make a bargain with God. His quiet little wife was entranced by him, he knew that without smugness. But she would be much better off with some pious and stalwart knight. If he could manage to free her, and dispense with the evil incarnate that was her half brother, then he would willingly barter his own life. After all, he'd seen and experienced more in his thirty-four years than most men did in twice that time. If he had to die, he was willing that it be so. As long as Alys lived.
Richard rode up beside him, all boisterous good will. "Shall we pass through the fair, or stop to enjoy ourselves, Grendel?" he demanded.
He'd already made up his mind, of course, and his question was merely a taunt. But Simon had spent the last three years manipulating him, and he wasn't about to stop when the s
takes were so high.
"I suggest we skirt the village," he said.
"I confess, that had been my original thought," Richard observed. "Too much distraction for the guards, and we wouldn't want Lady Alys to make a scene."
"Indeed. Though she could, of course, be silenced. And I doubt any of your men at arms would dare allow themselves to be lax in their duties."
"True enough. Then why don't you think we should stop at the fair?"
"The town of Watlington is known throughout the north of England as the birthplace of Thador the Magician."
"Thador? Never heard of him."
Since Simon had just created him that seemed logical. "He was the greatest wizard who ever lived, more miraculous than Merlin himself. Ballads are still sung of the wondrous things he did, and wizards and sorcerers from all over the world come to Watlington in hopes of impressing the people with their craft. Since the people are quite used to magic it requires a superior wizard indeed."
"Have you ever been here?" Richard eyed him curiously.
"No, my lord. I have never felt the need to prove myself to a bunch of peasants."
"Of course not," Richard agreed. "Nevertheless…"
"Sire?"
"You say this town is well-known throughout England as the home of wizardry?"
"Throughout the Christian world, my lord."
"Then it would reflect very well on me if my personal wizard was proven to be a master at his craft."
He'd fallen for it, like a hungry carp for a fat worm. "My lord, I won't stand in the town square and conduct a magic show to astonish and amaze the people of Watlington."
"You will, Grendel. If you value Lady Alys's well-being."
"I have told you, my lord, I have no interest in what you do with Lady Alys, beyond a mild hope that she not suffer unduly," he said in a bored voice. "And if you really intend me to do this, I suggest you ensure that she doesn't escape while the villagers are distracted."
"Very wise, Grendel." He glanced toward an ill-dressed servant who was hovering nearby. "You there. See that Lady Alys is bound and gagged for our trip through the market town. And make certain the cage is securely locked."
