“We believe she is alive, my lord,” his friend reported, breathing heavily as if he had run at full speed from the stables.
“Where is she?”
Albert’s face fell somewhat. “We...we do not know exactly as of yet, my lord. The trail was difficult to follow because of the rain and—”
“Then how do you know she is alive?”
“We found evidence that someone spent the night in an old byre not far from where we fought the outlaws.”
“Someone? Is she alone?”
Albert cleared his throat. “No, my lord. Bredon believes she is not alone.”
Roger didn’t doubt his huntsman. If Bredon believed more than one person had been in the byre, more than one person had been in the byre. “How many are with her?”
“He thinks two people spent the night there, my lord, and one horse. He...he found no sign of blood, so we trust neither one was injured. We also have reason to believe one of the people was Lady Madeline, because Bredon found some very long, dark hairs in a pile of straw.”
Roger felt some measure of hope, but there were many Welshwomen with long, dark hair. It could be that the hair belonged to a complete stranger. “The two were gone when you found the byre?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Roger stared at the bedclothes. If she was alive, she was hopefully well, but not alone. It might mean that the outlaws had taken her for ransom, or simply their pleasure? He forced his mind away from the last possibility to focus on the hunt, and that is what it would be. He would find Madeline and the men who had kidnapped her, and if any harm had come to her, those men would regret that they had ever left their mother’s womb.
“Where is Bredon?”
“Tracking the horse, and the one who appears to be on foot. The horse seems to have a most peculiar gait. I returned to tell you of the news.”
“My lord?” Father Gabriel interrupted quietly.
“What?”
“The horse we are missing...it has a most peculiar gait, from an injury.”
“Are you suggesting my sister is in the hands of your thief?” Roger demanded.
“We do not know for certain he is a thief, my lord.”
Father Jerrald snorted derisively, albeit quietly. Roger turned his glare onto the man, who stared at the floor.
“Albert, which way are they going?”
“Bredon thinks, my lord, that they took a road leading west, through the forest.”
Father Gabriel’s sudden audible gasp drew both men’s attention.
“What do you know?” Roger asked sternly.
Father Gabriel’s face was filled with sorrow and sympathy. “First, my lord,” he said, “I will say that if your sister has met with our lately departed guest, I think you have little to fear.”
“This fellow who may be a thief?”
“Well, be that as it may, my lord, I...um, I think she would be safer with him than many others.”
“Explain yourself, Father!”
“The man—the man who stayed here for quite a long time recovering—he is at heart an honorable fellow.” Father Jerrald moved, and this time it was Father Gabriel who turned to glare at him. “I believe myself to be a better judge of character than you, Jerrald. I have had more experience.” He turned back to Roger. “And I do not think he would harm your sister.”
Father Jerrald looked about to speak, until Roger held up his hand impatiently. “Go on, Father.”
“And I am also fairly certain he has some knowledge of fighting, to judge from his wounds.”
Roger’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I take it you think he will need this knowledge, if he is going to the west through the woods? Wales lies to the west, Father.”
“And so does the manor of Sir Guy de Robespierre.”
“Sweet savior!” Roger gasped. He had never met Sir Guy, for the man and his pack of followers rarely ventured far from his remote manor. Nevertheless, Roger—and most of the nobility except perhaps a young woman raised in a secluded convent—had heard of the man’s disgusting and base behavior with women. And with men.
“The man might have thought to simply take her to the nearest manor.”
Roger started to rise.
“Sir Roger, please! I fear you will make yourself ill!” Father Gabriel protested.
Roger shook off the priest’s detaining hand. “Albert, fetch my clothes. And my sword. Get my horse saddled. We will leave at once.” Albert hurried from the room. Roger looked at Father Gabriel. “You will come, too, Father, to identify this thief.”
“But my duties here—”
“I did not ask about your duties here. Father Jerrald will oversee the monastery in your absence, won’t you?”
The man’s eager response, and apparent disregard for what was happening beyond his own sudden elevation, was pathetic.
“How far is it to the manor?” Roger asked.
“It is quite a distance along that road. I understand Sir Guy likes his, um, privacy. It will take some time, my lord, and the day is more than half gone. You are not yet well enough—”
“That is not your concern, Father, but I will ask that you come with me.” Roger’s expression softened for an instant. “If Madeline has fallen into that man’s hands, she may need such help as only a man of God can give.”
Father Gabriel nodded in agreement.
* * *
“I must say, Sir Guy, I feel so much safer with you and your men to protect us!” Madeline said as they drew closer to the forbidding outer wall of the manor. Ever since they had turned down this lonely road, Madeline had struggled to recall what she knew of anyone named Sir Guy. For some reason, the name had a taint of scandal about it.
When she saw the manor in the fog-encased valley, she had recalled what it was she had heard, long ago when she had first arrived at the convent. A young noblewoman of great rank had been brought there. No one except the Mother Superior and the most senior nuns tended to her, but that did not stop the other sisters from telling what they guessed. Madeline did not hear much, for the whispers would cease when the youngest girls drew near. Nonetheless, she had heard enough to know that something terrible had happened to the woman at the hands of a man named Sir Guy de Robespierre, who had cared nothing for the woman’s rank or family and who lived far from other people, in a valley that was as dank and unsavory as his appetites.
Madeline blessed her decision to play the ignorant fool when he had approached, hoping three things: that it was not Sir Guy de Robespierre, but another Sir Guy; that if it was the same Sir Guy, claiming to be a nun might afford her some protection; and that if she rendered herself as unattractive and stupid as possible, he would leave them alone. So far, only the final hope was not completely dashed by his behavior and manner toward her. Thank heavens she was not alone!
Sir Guy turned to her with an ingratiating smile. “I agree this is a most fortuitous meeting. There are countless thieves and brigands about who would not heed your holy calling, but see only two travelers, alone. I heard talk that some have even dared to attack Sir Roger de Montmorency.”
“Sir Roger de Montmorency?” she asked with wide eyes as she tried to subdue both her excitement at news of Roger and dread for what she might learn. “Who is he?”
“A most powerful Norman knight. I heard they wounded Sir Roger and they’ve taken his lovely sister, who I understand is quite a beauty, perhaps even as lovely as you. Did you not hear of this?”
“Oh, you flatter me, Sir Guy! To tell you the truth, though, Father David and I have been rather lost of late. The only time we spoke to anyone was to ask directions. I knew nothing of this terrible business. Sir Roger was wounded, you said? Not mortally, I hope?”
“No. He’s in the good hands of the brothers of St. Christopher, I hear. His death would have been quite a tragedy, eh, Farold?” His companion’s lips curled in what Madeline supposed was meant to be a smile. “He is a well-made man, I understand.”
“The poor young lady! Attacked!
And taken by horrible outlaws. And beautiful, too, you say? What was the name?”
“Madeline. Lady Madeline de Montmorency.”
Madeline reined in her horse. “No! Madeline? I met a Lady Madeline in a convent once—what does she look like?”
“I have never had the pleasure of making the lady’s acquaintance.”
“Yellow haired, is she not? Very ruddy complexion?”
“I do not know,” Sir Guy replied somewhat wearily.
“Yes, that is it. Blond, and very tall. Thin. Some say she is surpassing elegant, but I thought she was rather gawky. And proud! Good heavens above! I never saw such a vain creature. You are quite certain you haven’t met her?”
“I believe I would recall her if I had,” Sir Guy replied.
“Yes, yes, of course you would. Well, well, well, I daresay she will not be so haughty now, in the hands of an outlaw.”
“Farold and I are fairly certain it was a band of thieves who have been harassing my lands. Welsh rebels, in fact.”
“Of course! How silly of me! It would take more than one man to defeat a Norman. As for these outlaws, I trust you will deal with them rigorously, as I see you have already dealt with other miscreants.” Madeline’s voice softened. “I saw the bodies...”
“That is by way of example. Tell me, Sister, where is Father David from?”
“Cornwall,” she replied without a moment’s hesitation.
Farold nudged his horse closer to Dafydd and the Welshman struggled to keep a scowl from his face. By now he had decided that whatever Madeline was up to, it would be best to go along, at least until they could both get away from this place. She could have identified herself and abandoned him to a cruel fate at the hands of these men, for surely they would not harm Sir Roger de Montmorency’s sister. He was not certain either Sir Guy or Farold believed the web of lies Lady Madeline was spinning. Now, he didn’t doubt that she was in danger of a different sort, and he would not leave her to face it alone.
“I am sure the good father here would have kept you safe,” Farold remarked. “He seems a brawny enough fellow.”
“Oh, I wish I could be so sure!” Madeline said with a twitter. “I confess Father David looks impressive, but he has never wielded a weapon. He has spent all his life in a monastery, you see.”
By now they had reached the imposing gates of the manor. Dafydd’s steps slowed, for he felt as if he were being led to his own execution.
After they entered, a thin, elderly man who offered no word or greeting swung the gate shut behind them. The clang echoed like the tolling of a funeral knell.
Dafydd surveyed the spacious yard. The stables were to the left, and other outbuildings crowded the walls. This place, too, was curiously silent, as if any sounds of talk or mirth or even orders were given with hushed voices, or else discouraged completely.
Sir Guy’s men waited while stable boys appeared to take their mounts. The slender but seemingly well fed and well dressed boys said nothing, and never looked any of the men in the eye. They only grabbed the horses’ bridles and hurried away. One came to take hold of the bridle of the roan, and for an instant, Dafydd caught a look in the lad’s eyes. He was quite obviously terrified, and Dafydd’s heart went out to him. Sir Guy must be a severe master, indeed.
The old gatekeeper suddenly appeared at Dafydd’s elbow. “Gochel!” he whispered before moving off.
Welsh for beware. Dafydd watched the old man totter away, more dread filling him.
“You must allow one of my men to take your sword, Father,” Sir Guy said, drawing his attention. “There is no need for such weapons here.”
Dafydd kept his face inscrutable as he shook his head.
“Father David never removes his sword until he sleeps,” Madeline said quickly. “I am always afraid he’s going to injure himself with it.”
“Well, I suppose a holy man should keep his weapon handy, even if it gets little use,” Sir Guy replied with a sly grin. “Wouldn’t you agree, Farold?”
“Yes, Guy,” Farold replied.
“I do not understand you, Sir Guy,” Madeline said with an air of befuddlement. “Is there some reason he might require his sword?”
“I was not referring to that weapon, Sister,” Sir Guy answered. The other young men exchanged amused glances. “But of course he may keep his sword, if it makes him happy.”
Dafydd could not believe any man would make such a coarse jest before a lady, and a supposed nun, at that. What kind of base, disrespectful men had he led Madeline to?
Sir Guy headed toward the large stone hall. It was strong, impressive, old but well maintained. Dafydd also managed a good look at the entourage that accompanied Sir Guy. It was composed of several young men, well dressed and well fed, although none had quite the appearance of plenty as Farold. How could one explain this, Dafydd thought, when his tenants looked to be starving and incapable of working hard enough to tend the fields and bring in the crop? It was a mystery, but the answers were not as important as finding a way out of this manor.
“Welcome to my hall,” their host said as they entered. Once again, there was little choice but to follow, and once again Dafydd wanted nothing more than to take Madeline’s hand and flee the place. “Although I am happy to be of assistance, Sister,” Sir Guy continued as he led them forward toward the dais, “I would also have been happy to rescue Lady Madeline de Montmorency. I am sure her brother would be most generous with his thanks.” He looked at her far too shrewdly, but the only response he got was that idiotic giggle and she began to chatter away like some kind of demented bird and exclaim about the fine furnishings.
Dafydd noted that while the hall was richly furnished with heavy oaken furniture, most of it looked old and scarred, as if Sir Guy’s men had carved pieces from it for their amusement. There were several faded and smoke-stained tapestries, clearly made long ago. The rushes on the floor were clean, however, and the linen upon the tables pristine. Torches already burned in their sockets upon the walls, sending dark smoke curling upward. Huge dogs roved about, growling and snapping at each other, and fighting for any bit of food that lay on the floor.
Sir Guy’s men scattered to the different tables as he led his guests to the dais, where a long table stood ready for the evening meal.
Dafydd realized with some surprise that there were no women in the hall, only several youths splendidly dressed as pages. They were all quite comely, with complexions as fine as any girl’s and well-groomed shoulder-length hair, but there was something in their eyes, like those of the stable boy. They were terrified.
He glanced at Madeline and caught her unguarded expression, which was one of revulsion. Did she guess what kind of place this was, what kind of men Sir Guy and his followers might be?
“Perhaps you would care to wash, Sister? I will gladly allow you the use of my chamber.”
“Oh, you are most thoughtful. Perhaps later, Sir Guy. Blessed saints, your hall is most sumptuous. And these squires—how very many and how well you dress them! I am most impressed, Sir Guy, truly. And the aroma from the kitchen! I have not had a good meal in such a very long time. Father David and I welcome your hospitality, I must say. I fear we might overindulge.”
“There is nothing wrong with indulgence,” Farold said quietly, taking a seat beside the one Sir Guy indicated as Madeline’s.
Dafydd saw the way Farold looked at her, and he would gladly have slit the man’s throat.
Madeline giggled as she took her place. “But Father David and I cannot overindulge! That would be a gross sin, I assure you. But it all looks so tempting,” she remarked as the first of the food was placed before her.
“Yes, indeed it does,” Farold agreed, smiling over her head at Sir Guy.
Dafydd could only stare with hopeless impotence.
“We shall be happy to spend the night in the stable, after the sinful luxury of this meal,” Madeline said, apparently unaware of the undercurrents in the room.
“Sister, you wound me,” Sir
Guy replied, placing a bejeweled hand upon his breast. “Would you deny a sinner like myself the opportunity to converse with holy ones? Why, Farold, too, would be most upset, wouldn’t you, Farold?” He went on without waiting for any reply from his friend. “Farold likes priests.”
“Well, they are certainly a necessity,” Madeline replied with a high-pitched giggle. “I fear I shall have to make a confession of gluttony soon.” After a swift glance at Dafydd, she began to eat.
He, however, had no appetite. He was scanning the room, desperately seeking a way of escape. One door led to the courtyard, another, at the far end of the hall, apparently to the kitchen. The kitchen was farthest from the stables. The fastest way out would be the main door. But how to get there without attracting undue attention?
“That is a lovely thing,” Madeline suddenly said. Dafydd saw that she was pointing at the dagger hanging from Sir Guy’s belt. “Blessed Mary, are those emeralds in the hilt? They are! Indeed, I have never actually seen emeralds before. May I hold it?”
Sir Guy gave his guest an indulgent smile and held it out to her. “I would be only too happy to let you handle my dagger.”
The men around him laughed openly. But only for a brief instant, because the moment after Sir Guy delivered his dagger to Madeline’s hand, she was holding it at his throat.
“What—!” he exclaimed, pressing against the back of his chair.
“Everyone sit down!” she cried. After some hesitation, they wisely obeyed.
“Have your men throw down their weapons,” Madeline ordered.
“I don’t understand!” Sir Guy protested.
“I think that you do.” Aware that the Welshman had jumped to his feet, Madeline glanced at him before pressing the dagger into Sir Guy’s throat. “David, he does not think I will hurt him, but you will, won’t you?”
“I would happily run him through right now,” Dafydd replied hotly, his hand clenching his sword as if anxious to do it.
But however evil these men were, and Madeline could guess that they were very evil indeed, she could not abide the thought of murder. “Gather the weapons.” She glanced at the youths standing anxiously nearby. “Will you help us?”
The Welshman's Way Page 6
