by Jenny Jacobs
Her heart thundered. Confused and disoriented, she tried to make sense of what had happened. Had slavers captured her? Inside Lord Robert’s keep?
No. Thiefmen had — Osbrycht.
Why? Fear crawled along her skin. The fabric they had covered her with slipped aside as she moved. She cracked open an eyelid. The enclosed cart resembled the one that had carried Helen and her through the forest but the seats had been pulled out of this cart to make room for the weaving supplies. She made out bolts of fabric and bags of wool — and a tall, thickset man she had never seen before. When he saw her look at him, he gave her a repellent leer. She squeezed her eyes closed. She tested her bonds, then realized in their hurry to take her they had overlooked the dagger in her sleeve. That was promising. It suggested a plan. If only she could think what —
She had instinctively distrusted Osbrycht’s charm and his too-ready smile. But he had gone to a great deal of trouble to kidnap her if he only wanted to kill her. It made no sense.
“What does Osbrycht plan for me?” she demanded, warily watching her captor.
Her question stopped him, and he ran his hand over his face, giving her a sly smile. She knew the disgust showed on her face by the way he laughed. “Why does Osbrycht want to hurt me?” she demanded.
“Osbrycht is upset with you, my lady.”
“Why?”
“Why? If not for you, Lord Robert would be dead in the forest. And all the thiefmen would not have been murdered. There are only the four of us left.”
“If Osbrycht had been cleverer, I would never have gone after Robert,” Imma said. It had been Osbrycht’s uncharacteristic failure to do his duty that had spurred Imma to find Robert herself.
“Osbrycht is wroth,” the man said, ignoring her insult of his master’s intelligence. “He plans to rule these lands after Robert is gone.” He said it matter-of-factly, as if killing Robert was merely a small task to be accomplished. “He is Lord Robert’s second, as far as Lord John knows, and he will hold these lands for Lord John. And we can do as we please.” Again the repellent smile. “Osbrycht says Lord Robert will come away from the keep for you. And he will not wait to summon all of his retainers, but will ride with only a few of his men. And they will die.” He shifted so he was crouching closer to her, his warm, stinking breath on her face.
Imma forced down the cry of fear that wanted to tear from her throat. Frantically, she pulled her hands against the bonds that held her. She must not let this happen. She had seen what they had done to Helen. The fear made her stomach clench and she thought she might vomit.
The big man loomed over her. The bile rose in her throat and she turned her head away from his stench. He laughed and settled on his haunches to watch her.
She clutched her trembling arms around her, rocking herself to soothe her outraged, frightened senses. When the cart stopped, she had to get free and run. She had a dagger, and what was left of her nerve, and sheer, cold terror.
It did not seem like enough.
Chapter Sixteen
“My lord Robert!” Tilly shouted, throwing open the door to Robert’s library.
Robert frowned at the interruption. He’d been discussing the horse thievery with his horse-thane , and he was surprised Tilly would bother him like this.
“Imma is gone!”
“What?” he demanded, rising to his feet.
He could see Tilly visibly control her agitation. “Imma said she would meet me in the workshop, but she’s gone.”
He expelled a pent-up breath. Good God, to get so worked up over a trifle, a small matter such as Imma’s delay. “Ask Elizabeth — ”
Tilly turned and beckoned toward the doorway. “This is Hunydd, the healer,” she said as the other woman came into the room.
“I know who she is,” Robert said. The healer lived in the loft above the weaving workshop. He had taken her in some summers ago when the man who had stolen her from Wales died.
The woman came forward, inclining her head to Robert. He knew that was the nearest to the courtesy due his station that he was likely to get from her.
“I was in the loft, sleeping,” Hunydd began, gesturing with her hands. “I was up late tending to a soldier hurt in training.” Robert had a physician for that, but he held his tongue. Some men preferred the ministrations of a wise woman. “And I heard Imma come in. Of course, I was not sure it was her at first, until she cried out. They hit her, you see.”
“Who hit her?” Robert demanded, a fist crushing the air from his lungs. “What are you talking about?”
“The men, Osbrycht’s men,” Hunydd said, and Robert’s stomach churned. “I scrambled to the stairs to have a look, and I saw the men tying her up and carrying her out the door. I think I heard a cart take her away. I did not dare follow until I was sure they were gone. It’s as easy to take two women as one if your heart is set on evil. When it was quiet again, I went downstairs and came over to find Tilly.”
“How long ago?” Robert demanded.
“Perhaps an hour.”
“An hour!”
“I was out looking for Imma,” Tilly explained. “Hunydd did not know where to find me.”
“Why waste time looking for Tilly?” Robert demanded, speaking to Hunydd. “You should have come to me immediately.”
“My lord.” Hunydd spread her hands. “I knew Tilly would believe me and act. Lady Elizabeth despises the Welsh, so she would not listen to me, but she would listen to Tilly, and she would make you send out riders if you were disinclined.”
Robert felt sick to his stomach. He turned to Kenneth. “Summon my reeve.” Then he looked at Hunydd. “Why Osbrycht? Did you hear the men speak?”
Hunydd shook her head. “They said not a word, not that I could hear. But it was Osbrycht. I smelled him.”
“What?”
“When he is excited, he smells sharply of sweat.”
Robert had never particularly noticed this. He gave Tilly another look. “You are his betrothed. You believe he could do a thing like this?” He considered Osbrycht’s failures as a thane. They didn’t necessarily mean he was capable of a thing like this.
Tilly hesitated. “I don’t like to think it. But Hunydd would not say something if she didn’t believe it was true.”
Kenneth came in with Robert’s sword and his riding boots. “The reeve promises to meet you at the stable,” he said.
“Call whatever thanes are ready to ride,” Robert told his bailiff, who was still seated at the desk. The ball of fear in his stomach had grown bigger. “The gift,” he said.
“My lord?” Tilly asked.
“Did Osbrycht give you a gift?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A trinket. A small cloisonné box.”
Robert was not stupid, even if he sometimes acted like it. Imma must have recognized the box. That was what she meant to tell him earlier. Osbrycht had stolen the box from Imma’s party, perhaps from Imma herself. And she had given some sign of recognition. Which meant Osbrycht was one of the thiefmen.
“If Osbrycht has taken Imma, then he means to hurt you,” Tilly said. “He took her so that you must follow. He will bring her to the place where the thiefmen killed her company.”
“How do you know?” Robert snapped. “We can’t make a mistake.”
“Where else would he take her? It’s the logical place for him to confront you.”
“I will kill him,” Robert said.
“I should hope so,” Tilly said crisply, and left him to his preparations.
Chapter Seventeen
The cart trundled to a stop. Imma tensed, then shifted to a crouch, testing her limbs to make sure every muscle was in working order, that nothing had gone numb from the long ride. The door swung open and Imma blinked in the sunlight, surprised it was still daytime. Then a shadow loomed across the opening.
She threw herself forward, out of the cart. A hand closed around her arm but she had the dagger out and she used it, tearing herself away from
her assailant. He fall back with a cry and she ran.
Osbrycht gave a startled shout. A blow sent her flying off-balance but she scrambled across the road and into the trees, crashing through the underbrush, hearing the boots of the men against the ground as they dashed after her.
A thorn drove into her bare foot and she fell to her knees. She pulled the thorn out but the injury had effectively halted her unthinking, headlong flight. She sprang to her feet, trying to catch her breath. She had no shoes. Her slippers had been lost during the struggle at the workshop. But she was going to die of Osbrycht’s plan long before she would die of exposure to the cold.
She stepped more carefully on the forest floor, trying not to leave obvious tracks. Patches of snow and ice dotted the ground. By staying close to the underbrush and trees, she could avoid leaving telltale signs of her passage. She knew the men were right behind her. Osbrycht was a good hunter and could track her easily. There were at least two other men, possibly three, who were after her.
Taking a deep breath, she focused on her surroundings. Osbrycht had stopped the cart in the place where the thiefmen had murdered Helen and her company. Imma would never forget that bend in the road, and what had waited just beyond. On that day, she had come this way through the trees to hunt the crane. She thrust the thought and the memories aside.
The men were eerily silent.
They were hunting her.
The fear shot through her and she nearly sank to the forest floor. She had to force herself not to curl up in a ball and let them find her.
Hunting.
She had dropped her bow here that day. She paused, crouching, as she tried to remember where she had stood. She crept forward. Here — no, here. She brushed her hands along the ground until her fingers encountered the bow she had dropped that day. There. Brushing dry leaves aside, she picked up the bow, tested the string. It held, apparently unrotted, perhaps because the bow had fallen on stony ground.
She had carried an arrow that day. Just one, that she’d never used. She scrabbled around the ground with her hands. She had dropped the arrow at the same time she had dropped the bow. The bow was useless without the arrow. No, she couldn’t dwell on that. She had to find the arrow. Her fingers closed over it.
The underbrush where she had hidden last time. She tucked herself beneath the branches of the bush and slowed her breathing, tried to calm her racing heart so she could hear something beyond her own pounding heart. She waited as immeasurable minutes slipped by. Had they lost her? Would they abandon their plan and their search? No. So much hinged on their hurting her, killing her, to bait Robert and draw him out of the keep.
Osbrycht stepped into view. He had his sword out, and he stepped slowly and carefully, swiveling his head this way and that. Imma crouched, notching the arrow. Quietly, carefully, without making a sound, she lifted the bow and sighted along the arrow. Gradually she pulled the string back, slowly but surely, and then — the string broke with a sharp twang and the arrow fell harmlessly to the ground.
Alerted, Osbrycht looked directly at her. She turned to run but he was on her too quickly. He seized her, wrapping an arm around her throat, holding his sword at the ready as she struggled to free herself from his grip. She had lost the dagger in her headlong flight from the men. If only she had not —
“Unhand her!” Robert shouted. He sat astride his charger, on the rise just above, his spear in his hand, and his voice sounded like thunder. Her knees gave way and then Osbrycht fell without a sound. Then Robert was beside her, wrapping his cloak around her and carrying her to his horse, and back to Athelney.
Chapter Eighteen
Imma had the cat in her lap. She was sitting up in her bed in Tilly’s bedchamber, and Elizabeth had only allowed him in after he’d promised to say nothing upsetting to her.
Imma smiled at him and his heart tumbled in his chest. He wanted to gather her in his arms and kiss her and hold her until he could blot out her memory of the other men who had frightened her. He swore to himself he would be gentle, exquisitely gentle, and then everything would be all right.
But Elizabeth had told him she would run him through with his own sword if he tried to touch Imma, so he kept his hands to himself.
“You are well today?” he asked, standing some feet away. She had allowed Hunydd to examine her, and Hunydd had pronounced her sound. He had promised to have his own physician attend her, he had promised to send for the king’s own physician but Elizabeth had told him not to be ridiculous.
“I’m fine.”
He blamed himself. If only he would have stopped and listened. Would he have believed what she said?
“Is there — were you badly hurt, my lady?” He had already made the thiefmen pay the price for their trespasses. But that, Elizabeth had warned him, was nothing Imma would want to hear.
“No,” she said and closed her eyes.
“My lady!” he exclaimed. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t ask you to think on it.”
“I was so scared,” she said.
He nodded and clenched his hands into fists as she spoke. The anger and the sorrow rose in his heart and yet there was nothing he could do, he could not stop the hurt, or punish the transgressors further, he could not restore Imma to her usual bold, unshaken self. If only he had listened —
“Oh, my lady,” he whispered. “I wish I had known Osbrycht was capable of this. I would have prevented it.”
He remembered how she had tried to tell him her suspicions, and he had not bothered to listen to her. It was his fault this had happened, but she did not reproach him for it. He hung his head and fell silent. He wished he could tell her what was in his heart. How sorry he was, how brave she had been, how afraid he had felt. But he could not say any of it.
“Elizabeth says I cannot touch you until you tell me I may,” he said. “But I would very much like to hold you in my arms, Imma.”
“I would like that too, Robert.”
And so he extended his hand, and brought her to her feet, and folded her against his chest.
• • •
His arms were strong and sure but gentle as he gathered her against him, an unexpected sign of his affection for her. He might have done what he had done for any woman in his household, but this was different; this was for Imma, because he wished to hold Imma in his arms.
He was calm and still, simply holding her in an embrace that made no demands but gave warmth and tenderness and solace.
She lay her head against his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. A comfort, a connection. He pressed his cheek against the top of his head, and she felt a sigh tremble through him, as of a tension released, and she put her arms around him, returning his embrace. He was rough and burly and it felt wonderful to be in his arms, to hold him in her own.
“Imma,” he said, and she heard everything he could not say. And in that moment she knew they two were in accord. Her hands went to her neck, and she unfastened the crystal. Without thinking too hard about what she was doing, she placed it around his neck, never saying the words, wondering if he would remember what her uncle had told her: to give the necklace to the one she loved.
She could never say that, and perhaps he would not even know what it meant. Perhaps he would think its meaning was wear it and be hopeful and wise. And if that was what he wanted it to mean, then she supposed she would be content with that. But she should like him to think of her some time from now, years even, and remember their winter promise.
Tilly came in then, and Imma turned away to find the cat and Robert left the room.
• • •
“My lord.”
Robert paused in the hallway outside Imma’s bedchamber. The captain of his guard strode toward him.
“The Welshmen have gone.”
“What?”
“The war captives — they are gone.”
Robert stared at his captain. “You’re certain?”
The captain nodded. Robert narrowed his eyes. Why had the men escape
d without waiting to be ransomed? It was an unworthy — and this time of year, dangerous — thing to do.
“How did it happen?”
The captain tightened his lips. “Unfortunately, there was a great deal of confusion when you must rescue your lady.”
Robert did not like the start of pleasure he felt on hearing his captain call Imma his lady. She was not his lady. She never would be. And thinking about her distracted him entirely, when he should be focused on what his captain was telling him.
“Shall I send men after them?”
“No,” Robert said. He would not compound Osbrycht’s error. If the Welsh could get back to their homeland unscathed, then let them. But he did not understand why they had done it now. It made no sense. Except if the Welsh intended to attack, and attack soon.
He realized his captain still stood waiting for his command.
“Summon my estate steward and my military council,” Robert said. They had not even begun the spring planting yet, and already they must think of death.
Chapter Nineteen
The household steward darted into the lesser hall, where Robert was poring over his account-books, crying out, “The Welsh have attacked Wethmore.”
Robert jumped to his feet. “Wethmore?” They had intended to improve defenses there but it was much earlier in the year than the Welsh had ever struck before. Robert and his men had not had time. There was never enough time.
The shire-reeve shouldered his way into the room. “I have also heard some villages along the coast have been sacked and burned.” In their meetings, Graeme had named the most vulnerable places where they must shore up defenses but had not yet done so. How had the Welsh known exactly where to attack?
