King's Decree
This story is straight fanfic, written solely for entertainment purposes. No profit is being made by the author and no infringement is intended to the copyrights held by ABC Television, Gil Grant Productions, or any other holder of Covington Cross Copyrights. Lots of romantic tension for Richard (who else??) and a fairly plausible reason why John Mullens is such an ogre¾at least in the World of Covington Cross According to Kate.
With a grunt, Armus Grey shifted in the large bed, using one hand to guide his injured leg to a comfortable position on the pillows stacked beneath his knee. He could feel the pull of torn skin and lacerated muscle. Although the sword had cut cleanly, it had also cut deep, severing sinews that would be long in healing. “There’s no sense fretting over it,” he said aside to his younger brother, Richard. “We’ll know the answer soon enough when Father returns.”
Sparing only a distracted glance, Richard turned his attention outside the narrow window. Gnawing on his thumbnail, he appeared preoccupied as he considered the grounds below. “He’s been gone almost two weeks. He could have sent a herald with news, t’were it something unfavorable.” Disgusted, he turned from the autumn-dressed view and paced restlessly to the foot of the bed. Though his face was composed, tension constricted the muscles across his shoulders. Wrapping one hand around the wooden post of the footrest, Richard sat on the edge of the mattress. “This is my fault. If I’d just controlled my temper¾”
“Mullens’ men were determined to provoke you,” Armus inserted reasonably. “Are you forgetting I was there?”
“How could I¾you’ve got a butchered leg to prove it.” Sighing, Richard stretched his legs over the mattress, crossing booted feet at the ankles. Considering his brother from the opposite end of the bed, he laced his hands over his stomach. “Hopefully the King isn’t so angry, he’ll allow wrath to cloud his judgement.”
Armus shrugged. He had a slightly more optimistic view of the sovereign monarch’s curt summons to Sir Thomas and John Mullens. Still¾the entanglement he and Richard had had with four of Mullens’ men-at-arms was not without cost. “We did all but obliterate the Magpie’s Nest,” he reminded his brother, thinking of the village tavern. “And damn near killed two of Mullens’ best men.”
Richard closed his eyes, not wanting to remember. “¾And wounded the wheelwright,” he admitted, recalling the villager who had inadvertently got caught in the melee. Initially, a visit to the Magpie’s Nest had seemed the ideal way to end a day spent overseeing autumn harvest. Neither he nor Armus had counted on four of John Mullens’ men arriving at the same conclusion. The youngest¾cocky and brash, strutting like a peacock¾was clearly eager for an opponent to test his mettle. Almost immediately, he marked short-tempered Richard as his quarry. Though tempted to engage the braggart, Richard successfully contained his anger through a string of taunting. It was only when the man leaned close and whispered a slur about Eleanor directly into his ear that his patience snapped.
Richard groaned, recalling the damage he’d done once he’d drawn his sword. Almost reluctantly, he glanced at Armus. “Sometimes I wish I had your patience.”
Armus smiled tightly. “It has nothing to do with patience, Brother. It’s called wisdom, and it’s not something one acquires overnight. If it’s any consolation, I was ready to draw on them myself. You simply have a knack for bad timing.”
“You’re too kind.”
Armus had long grown accustomed to the tart edge of Richard’s words, and grinned at hearing the familiar bristle. Relaxing into the brace of pillows at his back, he watched as Richard pushed from the bed, restless once again. His brother roamed the confines of the room, agitated tension stoked to new heights with each clipped stride. Beyond the walls of Covington Cross an autumn wind moaned over the heath, chasing dry leaves and long shadows into the setting sun. Armus thought the sound oddly mournful, as though the day wept for its own demise. He wondered at Richard’s restlessness, his brother seemingly unaffected by the eerie song without.
The abrupt approaching rattle of hoofbeats drew Richard to an immediate halt. With a quick glance at Armus, the younger man darted for the window, pausing to look on the courtyard below. Almost nervously he wet his lips. “Father’s returned,” he told Armus without turning.
Armus exhaled loudly. His father had been in a wretched frame of mind when summoned before the King over his sons’ antics. Depending on the outcome of that audience, he was likely to be congenial or greatly incensed. Chancing a glance at his brother, Armus watched as Richard scrubbed a nervous hand over his chin.
“I’m not looking forward to this,” the younger man mumbled.
Armus rubbed his injured leg. “How bad can it be, Richard?” Though the tone of his voice conveyed lightness, the set of his shoulders contradicted that ease. A short time later, the door banged inward, and Sir Thomas Grey strode into the room.
Silver hair snarled; blue eyes flashing carefully controlled rage, the Lord of Covington Cross glowered at his expectant sons. For a moment no one spoke. The silence in the room thickened like fog on the moors.
“Father¾?” Richard queried when the abnormal hush grew strained.
Slowly, Thomas drew a breath as though attempting to gather resolve. He sent the door arcing backward with an absent push of his hand. “I have spent an inordinate amount of time listening to His Majesty’s council regarding the constant feuding between this family and those loyal to John Mullens,” he announced as way of greeting. Striding into the room, he hesitated at Armus’s bedside. Briefly his eyes touched on his injured son then shifted to Richard. “Hostility is no longer an acceptable solution in the King’s eyes.”
“Father¾” Richard attempted.
“Not another word!” Thomas snapped with a belligerent glare. “I’ve just been chastised before the King’s court, Richard. I have no patience for¾nor want of¾your explanation.”
Properly chastised, Richard lowered his head. Thomas’s gaze returned to Armus. “It saddens me this effects you most of all, Armus. King Edward has decided the only way to bring unity between the House of Grey and the House of Mullens, is for you to marry the Baron’s daughter.”
“Alexandra?” Armus cried, appalled.
Thomas shook his head. “No. The older daughter¾I believe she is Richard’s age.”
Unable to stop himself, Richard crossed to the opposite side of the bed. “Gwendolyn? That black-haired, she-devil who lives with her aunt?”
Thomas’s glance was baleful. “I suggest you find a more complimentary form of address, Richard, as you and Cedric are to escort her here, along with John Mullens and a contingent of our men. A courier has already been sent to Lady Gwendolyn from the King, commanding she make herself ready.”
“Marry Gwendolyn?” Appalled, Armus sat straighter. “But that’s preposterous! Why me?”
“Because you are the eldest son,” Thomas supplied miserably, “And thus the strongest bond between our families. It’s unfortunate this incident has wrought such dire circumstances.” As he voiced the words, Thomas’s eyes flecked to Richard as though imparting blame. Beneath his father’s dark stare, Richard squirmed uncomfortably. “Mullens will be here in two days time, to finalize preparations for departure. Richard, you and Cedric shall accompany him¾and you will do it congenially, with the proper respect due a man soon to be related by marriage.” With a final glance for Armus, Thomas shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. Clearly miserable, he turned and strode from the room.
Richard glanced at his brother, unable to speak. They had always known the day would come when Armus, as eldest, would be forced to take a wife for political gain, but neither had envisioned the daughter of an enemy. Richard had not seen Gwendolyn Mullens since she was thirteen and had been sent to live with an aunt, in hopes a female influence would temper a natural inclination for reckless behavior. She had been taller than him in childhood and shared the same driven bent as her brother Henry for provocation. On numerous occasions, involved in an altercation with Henry, Richard had been forced to fend off Gwendolyn as well. Even now he recalled a fracas which had ended with he and Gwendolyn tumbling into a mud bog. The thought of his brother forced into marriage with his childhood tormentor made his throat constrict.
"Armus, I¾” The words stuck. It’s my fault, he thought again. If I’d just held my bloody temper. “I don’t know what to say,” he managed.
Armus looked at him bleakly. “There’s nothing to say. We both knew this day would come. I just didn’t expect¾I’m not ready¾” Exasperated, Armus sloughed down against the pillows. “Richard, do I look like a man who wants to get married¾and to a woman who has every reason to despise me no less? Be thankful you’re second-born, little brother. The mantle of eldest bears as many curses as it does blessings.”
Richard wet his lips. “Armus¾”
“Leave me alone,” Armus said dismally. Rolling onto his side, he turned his broad back to his brother. Richard hesitated, wanting to say something to right the wrong he’d created. But there were no words. Worse, there was no means to alter the King’s decree. Once ordered, the marriage was set in stone.
Wordlessly, Richard left the room.
++++
John Mullens was a guest at Covington Cross.
Though he made every effort to conceal his aversion, Richard deemed it best he steer clear of the man altogether. Though there was little liking between Mullens and any member of the Grey household, Richard’s relationship with the Baron was particularly antagonistic. A quarrelsome temper and sharp tongue made him an exceptionally easy target for the nobleman’s deliberate goading. Though he had managed a curt greeting at Mullens arrival and had somehow survived a mockery of dinner, Richard could stomach the forced association no longer. He disappeared shortly after the evening meal, collecting his horse from the stable and leaving his father, Cedric and Eleanor to entertain their unwelcome guest. Confined to his bed, Armus was able to forgo the pleasure of greeting his future father-in-law.
Hours later, when blackest night drew the autumn day to a close, Richard returned to Covington Cross. He stabled his horse by the glow of a single brazier, then made his way up the footpath toward the castle. The grounds were deserted, almost eerily so¾yawning bleak and barren under the expansive bowl of a cloud-laced sky. Obscured by that heavy veiling, the moon was a black orb, ringed with a fraction of light at the outermost edge. Richard blew on his hands, flexing cold fingers beneath his brown leather gloves. He could feel the sting of cold air on his cheeks, his complexion heightened to ruddy color by the bite of brisk wind. Quickening his pace, he strode past the gardens¾now brown and desolate with the arrival of fall¾and veered toward the inner courtyard. As he neared the rear portcullis of the castle, Richard heard voices. It was only when he recognized the unmistakable edge of John Mullens’ sardonic rumble that he slowed his pace, moving to the edge of the castle wall.
A short distance away, Mullens spoke with another man. The natural gloaming of shadow made it impossible to identify the stranger, while distance muffled their words. Richard caught only a few, as the wind carried them in his direction: “ . . . as planned shortly after Gwendolyn . . . no mistakes . . . an unforgiving man . . .”
Though he strained to hear more, the conversation was lost to Richard. Overhead the cloud cover thinned momentarily and an opalescent cascade of moonlight illuminated the grounds. In that fleeting moment, snagged between daylight and shadow, the stranger turned his head. Richard caught a glimpse of his profile¾sharp features, ginger hair and a spade beard. A crescent-shaped scar marred the tallow skin of his right cheek. Though there were currently a number of Mullens’ men in residence at Covington Cross, waiting to act as escort for Gwendolyn, Richard did not recognize this particular retainer.
As quickly as the moon appeared, rain-swollen clouds consumed it, plunging the grounds into deepest shadow. With a final nod for John Mullens the stranger departed, his manner oddly secretive as he vanished amid the gloaming. Disturbed, Richard waited until Mullens left, then followed the path the stranger had taken.
By the time he rounded the corner of the castle, the man was gone.
+++++
Richard paced restlessly outside his brother’s bedroom. He was dressed for departure¾mud-brown boots, breeches and jerkin contrasted by an olive tunic and multi-hued neckscarf. His black cape swirled against his ankles as he roamed impatiently in the hallway. Below in the courtyard, Mullens, Cedric and a escort of guards¾most of them wearing the colors of Covington Cross¾readied for the journey to Lady Gwendolyn’s home, in the province of Derry.
Gathering the feeble shreds of his courage, Richard pushed down on the latch of Armus’s door and stepped within the chamber.
The light was warm and golden, much like the autumn sun outside, but Armus’s expression lacked for similar sentiment. Propped up by pillows, he glanced at his brother indifferently. “Shouldn’t you be leaving?” he queried stiffly.
Richard hesitated on the threshold, hand hovering on the latch. Almost nervously, he wet his lips. “I-I wanted to say goodbye. See how you were¾”
“Incapacitated,” Armus supplied shortly. Folding his hands on his lap, he puffed out his cheeks and glanced away. “Listen, Richard¾I might be ill-mannered over this marriage, but I don’t fault you for its conception.” Slowly his gaze returned, the edge in his eyes less frigid. “Quit looking so damn guilty and fearful. If I were whole, I’d likely throttle you for that quarrelsome temper you rarely control, but you needn’t worry about it now.”
Richard stepped closer to the bed. “Then you do fault me,” he said quickly, only now realizing the extent of that blame himself. “If I’d walked away from the man in the tavern¾”
Armus shrugged off the possibility. “¾you’d have delayed the confrontation, nothing more. You irritate the hell out of me, little brother, but you’re truly not to blame. I worry more for Father and the difficulty this marriage will place on him. He’s told me dowry arrangements have been made. Gwendolyn brings us much wealth in land and coin, and in exchange Mullens gains the Barbican and Riverford.”
Richard cocked his head. “That seems a bit one-sided¾Mullens offering so much and claiming so little. The Barbican’s practically worthless and Riverford carries as much hardship as it does wealth. Most of the province is wilderness.”
Again Armus shrugged. “So perhaps he intends to harvest trees¾bid against us for the King’s ship-building contract. It doesn’t matter his intention, because once Gwendolyn and I are wed, the House of Grey and the House of Mullens are bound in partnership.”
With a sigh Richard sank to the edge of the bed. “You’re too bloody logical, Armus. Where’s your emotion¾your anger?”
“Safely tucked away, where it will remain for the sake of Father. I suggest you do the same.” The edge returned to his words, the frost to his eyes. Armus folded his arms across his chest. “You’d better leave, Brother. I wouldn’t want to become agitated.”
Stung by the dismissal, Richard kept silent. He hesitated only briefly, then pushed from the bed, striding quickly from the room. Armus’s rebuff lingered in his ears as he strode down the long corridor. Surely there was something he could do to rectify matters for his brother; to right the wrong he’d unintentionally created.
Gnawing on his bottom lip, he tugged on his gloves. He was still contemplating the matter when he entered the outer courtyard and encountered John Mullens rounding the gatehouse. The Baron appeared ill disposed, his expression surly. Behind him in the distance, Richard glimpsed the party that had been selected as escort for Lady Gwendolyn. He knew most of the men¾saw the familiar green and white banners of Covington Cross fluttering from mounted standards. Elsewhere, a few sported gray and black¾the somber hues of Torsun-Narr, John Mullens’ ancestral home.
“You’re late,” the older man said curtly. His gaze raked over Richard, noting the precise fit of his well-cut clothing. Fishing for a rise, he sneered. “If you’re to be my daughter’s escort, I suggest you start paying more attention to your duty than your appearance. The next time you want to preen¾”
Richard flushed, struggling to hold his temper. “Baron Mullens,” he snapped. “I was visiting my brother. I wonder if you’ve made a similar effort, considering he’s soon to be your son-in-law.”
Mullens’ lips curled contemptuously, his gaze as oily as the polishing grease Richard applied to his sword. “I’ve more pressing concerns then prattling with the injured,” he returned smoothly. Half turning, he glanced back over his shoulder. “The company is ready to depart. Unless you wish to delay your sainted brother’s nuptials, I suggest you develop similar motivation, boy.”
Stifling an impulsive surge of anger, Richard watched as the older man stalked away. The long journey to Gwendolyn’s home in Derry would be trying under normal circumstances. Coupled with the presence of John Mullens and his men, Richard deemed it nothing short of unbearable. Drawing a breath to temper his quicksilver emotions, Richard followed in the Baron’s wake.
As he drew abreast of the horses he could feel the eyes of Mullens’ men upon him¾each near-tangible gaze narrowed in marked perusal. The din of voices dropped to a muted garble, as he strode towards his black charger. Nearby, as though awaiting his arrival, stood Cedric and his father. The latter looked almost angry while the former appeared clearly ill at ease.
“Father. Cedric.” Richard addressed both crisply as he double-checked the straps on his saddle. His movements were clipped and brusque. Sensing his agitation the horse tried to shy away. Frowning, Thomas caught his arm and drew him aside.
“There’s no room for anger on this journey, Richard.”
“I know that,” the younger man returned tightly, though it was clear he was having a hard time embracing the sentiment. With a disgusted sigh he scraped gloved fingers through his long hair. “It’s bloody unjust,” he muttered, thinking of Armus.
"Perhaps next time, you’ll consider that before drawing your sword,” Thomas chastised sharply. Stung, Richard winced and glanced away. Exhaling, Thomas relented slightly. When he spoke again, his words were less severe. “Richard I’m counting on you to be level-headed. You and your brother have no easy task ahead of you, travelling with John Mullens and his men. You are the eldest son on this journey, and thus the representative for the House of Grey. I expect you to behave accordingly.”
Richard averted his gaze. “Yes, Father.”
Thomas glanced aside to Cedric. His youngest son had stood mute through the entire exchange, his blue eyes inordinately wide. Though he frequently wrought more mischief then Armus and Richard put together, Thomas knew Cedric undertook this latest task with grave misgivings. He had the unenviable role of striding neutral ground, between two potentially hostile parties. On one side was John Mullens and his men. On the other¾his temperamental older brother, whose very presence shrieked of instability.
Thomas smiled wanly and clapped a hand on his youngest son’s shoulder. “We shall all look back on this one day with humor,” he said mildly. Cedric managed a half shrug and a fleeting smile, but Richard’s gaze was annoyingly sharp when it slid in his direction. Agitated, Thomas nodded toward the horses. “You’d better go. ‘Tis a long journey and tempers are already short.”
“Goodbye, Father,” Cedric said sincerely. Richard merely turned away and swung up into the saddle. Watching as the column of men rode from the courtyard, Thomas had the sinking sensation the journey was doomed to failure. Though he trusted Mullens not at all, he hoped the King’s decree counted for something when it came to keeping the man in line. With Cedric as intercessor, perhaps¾just perhaps, Richard would curb his tongue where the Baron was concerned and the unlikely escort would complete its duty¾conveying Gwendolyn Mullens to Covington Cross.
With any luck the girl would be nothing like her father.
+++++
“ . . . she was a pig-headed, foul-mouthed little ruffian who made Henry seem angelic by comparison,” Richard muttered bitterly. Drawing his cloak tightly about his shoulders he settled against a fallen tree, its uprooted trunk providing the perfect backrest for the road-weary.
Across from him, Cedric blew on his hands and huddled closer to the fire.
The group of horsemen had traveled most of the day, halting only when the descent of night made further progress impossible. A quick camp was established deep within the sheltering ring of Tiner Forest. After a brief meal, Richard and Cedric retreated from the others, intent on burying the day with the heady toxin of sleep. Settling near the fire they’d kindled against the brisk autumn wind, Richard found himself compelled to expound on Cedric’s casual query about Gwendolyn. “Trust me, little brother. It’s better you don’t remember her. The girl is an irascible shrew, intent on the annihilation of anyone bold enough to cross paths with her.”
Cedric arched a brow in direct counterpoint. “Including you?” he queried a trifle too smugly.
Richard frowned. “Laugh now. You won’t when you meet her.”
“It sounds like she’s made a marked impression on you.”
“Go to sleep, Cedric.” This time the edge slipped through in Richard’s voice. Shifting, he rolled onto his side, turning his back on his brother. Cold air blew across his face, creeping beneath his collar. He felt the chill touch trickle over his spine like a ghost awakening a string of gooseflesh. The ground was hard and lumpy; the tree pressed against his cheek with the bite of gnarled bark. Sighing, Richard thought of Armus lying in bed with a butchered leg.
Cedric didn’t understand the complications. Didn’t understand that Gwendolyn was the sister of the man Eleanor had killed¾didn’t understand that once when he was fourteen, Richard had kissed Gwendolyn and found himself wanting more.
That of course was childhood fancy. And if he remembered correctly, the damn she-demon had punched him in the face for the affront.
+++++
“Get up!”
Richard grunted at the sharp strike of a boot against his leg. Jerking abruptly awake, he found Baron Mullens standing over him, aristocratic features narrowed in sly challenge. “Time’s wasting, boy. We should have been moving hours ago.”
As he strode away, Richard sat forward drawing his cloak around him. The ground was dew-sodden and cold, and a gray mist hung in the bleak morning air. Richard glanced aside at Cedric, who was already fastening his bedroll. “Why doesn’t he do that to you?” he asked somewhat irritably, suppressing a yawn. His mind was still too fogged with sleep to take more than passing affront at Mullens sniping.
“Because he knows I’m not likely to bite his head off, so where’s the fun in it?” Abandoning the bedroll, Cedric squatted by the fire¾flames now dwindled to a few remaining embers. Spreading his hands before the feeble heat, he attempted to warm the chill from his fingers. His eyes slid sideways, and he grinned indulgently. “I think I should surprise him one of these days¾just to see what he’d do.”
Richard shrugged his blanket aside and stood. He shook out his cloak, then scraped a hand through his tangled hair. “Just don’t do it when I’m around. Father will skin me alive if I’m involved in even a hint of trouble with the Baron.” Reaching for his bedroll, he cast a skeptical glance at the horizon. The morning had dawned gray and bleak, sunlight obscured by the heavy mist of impending rain. The cloud cover was low and swollen, bloated at the edges with harsh scrawls of charcoal. Tattered beams of sunlight pierced the trees, but the light was waxy and fleeting, lacking the welcome infusion of heat. “Lovely day,” he muttered. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Baron Mullens standing a short distance away, watching expectantly. Richard’s mouth thinned perceptively. “Come on, Cedric,” he said sharply. “Let’s get moving.”
The camp broke shortly after a quick breakfast of bread, cheese and cider. Riding at the middle of the column with Cedric, Richard listened to the snap of the banners in the brisk morning air.
The green field of Covington Cross on the raised standards, was muted in the hazy light, but the white markings appeared almost celestial¾floating disembodied among the trees. The sounds of Tiner came alive as the forest awakened to dawn¾the rustle of small creatures through the underbrush; the crackling song of crows; the spectral hiss of wind sighing through brittle branches. All were sounds Richard knew by heart. They blended into subtle harmony, meshing with the methodic clop of shod hooves striking packed earth.
Shortly before noon the rain began¾a cool drizzle which quickly became a torrential downpour. The bite of wind and rain developed fanged teeth, slashing beneath Richard’s cloak and jerkin. The ground grew muddy and treacherous, carpeted with fallen leaves and slick beds of moss. Still the party pressed on, sheltering only briefly when the rain reduced visibility to near-blindness. By midday the downpour had dwindled to a steady, annoying drizzle. Thankful for the respite, the party drew reign on the banks of a swollen river.
Richard raised a hand, pawing rain-drenched bangs from his eyes. Beside him Cedric fidgeted in the saddle, his black hair trickling water across the high planes of his cheeks. On either side of them, the company fanned out along the riverbed, watching the heightened swell of water as it funneled through channels of rock, creating eddies and angry pockets of rapids. The passage was not wide, only thirty feet across, but the rain had engorged the water enough for concern.
The man on Richard’s left¾a retainer by the name of Raulf¾glanced downstream through the trees. “The passage might be easier yonder, My Lords,” he observed.
Richard followed his gaze. Though the man was new to his father’s service, Richard thought the judgement sound. He didn’t like the way the water moved so rapidly here, swirling angrily around jutting obstacles of rock, creating dragon-teeth of white foam. He could feel the spray of mist against his face¾not as cold as the rain, but worse in its own ominous way. Experience had taught him water needn’t be deep to be dangerous. “Another few yards down the bank won’t hurt,” he agreed.
“We’re wasting time,” Mullens snapped. “If you’re too cowardly to cross here, perhaps we should just leave you behind.” Before Richard could bite off a reply, Mullens wheeled his horse around and plunged into the water. “Men of Torsun-Narr follow me!”
Perturbed, Richard cursed softly. Cedric glanced at his brother. “I don’t think we have a choice,” he said.
“Apparently,” Richard responded tightly. Gathering the reins of his horse he urged the steed into the river. One by one the men of Covington Cross followed, led by Cedric. The rush of water over rock grew loud in Richard’s ears, creating a crescendo not unlike a waterfall. His horse shied as it struggled for footing on the rocky bottom. With an expert tug of the reins, Richard brought the panicky stallion under control. Ahead of him he could see Baron Mullens emerging on the opposite bank, five of his men close behind.
Halfway across the river, Richard encountered the deepest point. The cold embrace of the water rose against his thighs, pushing with insistent force, attempting to unseat him. Once again the horse shied and Richard struggled to bring it under control. Behind him to the right, he saw Cedric fighting his own mount. “Hang tight, little brother,” he yelled. His long hair was plastered to his face with rain and mist; the bone-chilling spray of the river. Blinded by the clinging strands, Richard raked it from his eyes. He had almost reached the opposite shore when he heard a strangled cry behind him. Twisting in the saddle, Richard saw Raulf’s horse rear on its hind legs. The retainer struggled for control, grappling for the mist-slick reins. Chilled fingers slipped free, and with a squawk of disbelief, Raulf tumbled from the saddle.
“Damn it!” Richard wheeled his horse around, bolting for the retainer. Cedric did the same, snagging the reins of Raulf’s horse, even as his head dipped beneath the surface of rushing water.
A moment later, a snarled blonde mane reappeared, bobbing downstream like a disembodied cork. Richard fought the staggering force of the water; the panicky resistance of his own mount. “Damn it, man, grab something!” he yelled. The loud roar of the water made his voice sound hoarse. Overhanging branches scraped across his cheek as he plunged frantically after the retainer.
Raulf’s head disappeared again, sucked below the water. He emerged coughing and sputtering, but this time managed to snag an outcropping of rock. With effort Richard plunged through the water¾waist high to his black charger¾his own hands slick on the water-soaked reins. Knotting one hand in his horse’s mane, Richard extended his arm, hooking the other man below the elbow. The steed shuddered, wanting to bolt, but Richard held firm until he was able to swing Raulf behind him.
Moments later, cold and exhausted, they emerged on shore. Further upstream Richard could see the remaining retainers. All had made it safely across¾including Cedric, who had snared Raulf’s frightened mount. Already, most of the men had dismounted, fatigued from the difficult crossing.
“I’m sorry, My Lord,” the blonde-haired man said. “The confounded animal got the best of me.”
“It’s the river got the best of you,” Richard returned sharply. His anger wasn’t for Raulf but the man who had goaded them into crossing. Riding into the throng of men, Richard dismounted and stalked straight for John Mullens. Not slowing his stride, he jabbed a finger against the other’s chest. “You damn impertinent fool. You could have gotten us all killed.”
Mullens feigned surprise. “I can’t help it your man doesn’t know how to sit a saddle. Perhaps next time you should insist on a skilled retinue rather than playmates.”
Richard’s temper snapped. “You arrogant bastard.” Drawing his fist back to strike, he found himself abruptly restrained by Cedric.
His brother appeared at his shoulder, looking as waterlogged and exhausted as he did. “Richard, let it go,” the younger-man cautioned, gripping his wrist. “Are you forgetting what Father told you?”
Delighted that he had finally provoked his nemesis to hostility, Mullens chuckled snidely. “There, there, Richard¾you’re causing a scene, and your hair’s all mussed. Go make yourself pretty again.”
Before he could so much as sputter a reply, Cedric wrenched his brother from the throng. He could feel the heated gaze of Mullens on his back, baiting and amused. Tugging Richard away from the group, he tried to calm his quarrelsome older sibling. “You’re doing exactly what he wants¾you know that don’t you? What was it Father said¾you’re the representative of the House of Grey on this journey.”
Richard groaned. “Cedric, why must you remind me?”
“Because one of us needs to be level-headed, and as there’s no pretty maids to chase, I’ve got nothing better to do.” Halting by the bank, Cedric grinned impishly. “Besides¾” he elaborated, blue eyes twinkling with devilish intent. “If anyone’s going to rattle you, it’s going to be me, not that stick-up-his-ass-arrogant-as-snot-Mullens.”
Despite himself, Richard grinned. “You have a way with words, Brother¾positively exemplary for the clergy.”
Cedric snorted his disdain. “Cleric’s do saintly deeds. I’m going to be a knight.”
The last of his anger diminishing, Richard drew a breath. Raising both hands he scrubbed them over his face, pushing the wet hair from his eyes. “Cleric or not, you can count your intervention between myself and Mullens your saintly deed for the day.” Glancing over his shoulder, he realized the rest of the group was readying to mount, a shame-faced Raulf among them. “Let’s go,” Richard said to Cedric. As they rejoined the group, he walked past Raulf. “I’ll expect you to do the same for me someday,” he called with a reassuring grin.
Immediately, the retainer’s face brightened. “A promise, My Lord.”
+++++
The rain continued throughout the day and into the night. It was a cold, bedraggled group who huddled beneath the trees with the onslaught of darkness. Tired and miserable, each man kept to himself¾even Mullens, who took lone solace in a flask of wine. Weak sunlight arrived with the dawn, brightening to a marigold haze by midday. The clouds thinned and vanished, bowing before the unfurling banner of a clear, azure sky. Though the twining paths of the forest grew more difficult, the warmer weather improved dispositions tremendously. Occasional clearings afforded easy passage over autumn-browned grass, many strewn with wind-carved stones known as tors.
On the third night the party camped near a ring of standing-stones. Though some of the men grew nervous in the shadow of the monolithic boulders, Richard lay awake, watching the glint of moonlight turn pitted rock to pure silver. The wind sighed¾scrolling across the heath with a voice like amber¾fluid and molten as the scattered radiance pouring from the sky.
Rising before dawn, Richard woke with the distinct feeling he was being watched. The night thinned substantially, still cloaked in sooty discharge, but graying at the edges as dawn crept ever nearer. Startled by the presence he felt, Richard turned. Framed in the ring of standing stones was the ghostly image of a doe¾the silhouette as pale and ivory as the bodiless orb of the moon.
A cool breeze caressed his face, scattering the long bangs on his forehead. For a moment he remained frozen, startled by the apparition. The animal too remained rooted to the spot¾motionless, as the wind rippled the grass at its feet. And then it bolted¾darting from the protective ring of stones, into the vaporous mist of the heath.
Richard exhaled slowly. A man more superstitious then he might view the apparition an omen, rather than a trick of morning light. The rational part of him dismissed the vision with casual logic, but a buried inner voice warned he shouldn’t be so hasty. If memory served correctly, a doe bode good fortune, but the wraith-like quality of the animal disturbed him. Deciding to keep the vision to himself, Richard rose and began the daily tasks necessary for breaking camp.
By midmorning, the heath fell behind them and the intertwining trees of Tiner Forest embraced them yet again. Dry leaves created a crinkling rustle beneath the steady trod of their horses’ hooves. More glittered among ponderous branches overhead, rippling in gem-bright veils of claret, russet and gold. The following days unfolded without event, and by weeks’ end they found themselves within the province of Derry.
Passing through a succession of villages the company made it’s way to a stately castle nestled amid rolling hills and fields of wildflowers¾the latter sporting a tangle of browned autumn grasses. Though the retainers remained outside, helping the grooms unburden the horses, Richard and Cedric followed John Mullens within. Escorted to the solar, they waited while Mullens disappeared, presumably to locate his daughter.
A short time later a gray-haired, regal looking woman appeared. Richard guessed she was Gwendolyn’s aunt. Marked by the same aristocratic features as the Baron, she had a decidedly haughty curve to her lips. After a cool visual appraisal that rankled Richard to the bone, she introduced herself as Edrea Yardley, John Mullens’ sister.
Richard kissed her hand, averting his eyes to conceal his instinctive loathing. “My Lady,” he said evenly, then released her fingers. “We are at your service. I am Richard Grey of Covington Cross, and this is my brother Cedric.”
As he spoke, Cedric performed the same obligatory courtesy, but with greater ease than his brother had displayed. For all his seeming youth, there were times Cedric exhibited elegance well beyond his years.
Edrea nodded to the younger man’s courtly gesture, then turned a dagger-toothed smile on Richard. “Such service would of course be rendered by gentlemen knights who do not appear out of place in a lady’s solar.”
Richard stiffened. Travel through rain, mud and raging river, had left both he and Cedric unkempt. Richard’s clothing was torn and mud-streaked. His long hair hung in dirt-encrusted strands about his face, curling limply over his collar. Only now did he become aware of the mud caked on his boots and breeches, dried bits of which had flaked away on the floor. Straightening, he cleared his throat. “Forgive our appearance, My Lady. The journey was somewhat . . . difficult.”
“Pray the return trek is not similarly fraught,” a new voice announced.
Richard flinched as the unexpected coursed through him. Lifting his head he gazed across the room, startled by the appearance of the woman in the doorway. Gwendolyn Mullens had matured from the whippet-thin straggly-haired child he remembered. The black hair had darkened and thickened, tinted with gold where it rested against her comely face. There was a hard edge to her mouth that might easily be given to arrogance, but Richard could envision that same mouth melting in a smile.
Startled by the thought, he blinked, coming to his senses. “Lady Gwendolyn,” he said tightly. Unbidden, he felt his throat constrict as she moved into the room, her step graceful and sure. Her thick hair was bound into a single braid, draped over one shoulder, the gilt-tasseled end brushing her hip. As she stepped nearer, he realized that her body had ripened in all the right places, evidenced by the snug fit of her bodice and the sway of soft material over her shapely hips. Surprised, he found himself gazing down at her¾this girl who had always been taller in childhood.
She appeared momentarily amused. “Your name eludes me, Sir.”
Richard’s jaw tightened. She knew damn well what his name was. “We had a passing acquaintance in childhood,” he reminded her. “I’m Richard Grey.”
“Oh yes¾the boy with the ragged curls.”
Unable to contain himself, Cedric chuckled. Richard retaliated with a sharp, baleful glare.
“May I present my brother, Lady Gwendolyn¾Cedric Grey.”
Gwendolyn offered her hand, which she had not to Richard. “How utterly charming,” she cooed at Cedric. With a showy bow, Cedric brought her slim fingers to his lips. Richard glanced away, narrowly avoiding rolling his eyes. He could feel himself growing irritated but wasn’t certain if that agitation was directed at Gwendolyn, Cedric or himself. Flexing his hands, he tried to maintain proper decorum.
“I do not see your father, Lady Gwendolyn,” he observed flatly.
Her eyes returned to his face¾irises drenched with the coldfire of blue flame. “He should be here presently. He informs me we are to depart in the morning.”
Richard inclined his head stiffly. He felt as though she was baiting him¾engaging a dance of subtlety, where once she had antagonized him with childish taunts. He thought again of the mud bog and the girl who had wrestled with him when he was just ten, and she nine. “My brother Armus would have come himself, had circumstance allowed. He sends his well-wishes Lady, and hopes your journey will not prove too taxing.”
“How pleasant,” Gwendolyn returned, and Richard heard the sardonic sting of John Mullens in her voice. With a disapproving glance, she considered the soiled state of his clothing; the dirt-encrusted strands of his hair. “The company itself is presently taxing,” she returned, not bothering to conceal her contempt. “You will, Sir, kindly find a washtub, before continuing in the role of escort.”
Richard’s green eyes flashed dangerously. “Lady Gwendolyn, if my presence so offends you, perhaps you should¾”
At his side Cedric uttered a sudden strangled snort, nudging him in the ribs and cutting him short. Pushing in front of his brother, the younger man offered a placating smile. “I fear my brother’s a little edgy from the journey, Lady Gwendolyn. We won’t trouble you further except to have a servant show us our chambers.”
Appeased by the diplomacy, Gwendolyn nodded. Much later after a bath had been prepared and the servants departed, Richard stripped off his clothing and climbed into the wooden tub. Sinking below the water line, he relished the infusion of liquid warmth as it eased the knotted cramps from his muscles. Rising, he swept the hair from his eyes, then leaned back against the stout boards of the tub. The servants had left a pitcher of mulled wine, and Richard helped himself to a brimming goblet. Like the surrounding warmth of the water, the touch of heat in his belly was a welcome salve to combat the after-effects of the journey.
He heard the door to the outer room scrape open. A moment later Cedric appeared in the bathing chamber, looking clean and refreshed in a loose gray tunic and brown breeches. Grinning, he slouched in a nearby chair, stretching his legs out against the stone floor. “A pig-headed ruffian, was it? Seems to me you and Lady Gwendolyn haven’t forgotten how to spar.”
Scowling, Richard tilted the goblet to his lips. The steam from the water drew a flush over his face, inducing heightened color in his cheeks. “She’s a harridan,” he muttered. Then, as though irritated: “Cedric, what are you doing, here? Can’t I bathe in peace?”
“That depends. They’re serving dinner in the Great Hall, and it would be unseemly for us not to attend. As much as you’d like to stay here and drink yourself silly, you are Father’s emissary on this trek.”
“Don’t remind me,” Richard mumbled. Sighing, he set the goblet aside. “Very well. Let’s get this charade of civility over with, so we can all go back to being disagreeable again.”
+++++
Dinner was not as bad as expected. John Mullens and Gwendolyn remained at one end of the table, conversing cordially with Lady Edrea, while Richard and Cedric sat at the other, surrounded by Raulf and three other men. From time to time, Richard glanced in Gwendolyn’s direction, wondering again at the transformation from girl-child to woman. The feathering of gold in her hair was as striking as it was unusual, confined to the strands surrounding her face.
In the light from the hearth, her skin was fawn-colored, dusted with the palest touch of rose. There was no questioning she was beautiful. The thought of her sharing Armus’s bed made him oddly jealous and for a moment he struggled with the incomprehensible turmoil of his emotions.
A she-witch, he reminded himself, and jabbed at the food on his plate. Like everything else about Derry, it had lost its appeal.
+++++
Gwendolyn sat on the edge of the bed drawing a brush through her unbound hair. The castle had grown quiet, wrapped in the thick mantle of night. Though she knew she should be sleeping, conflicting emotions kept her awake. When she had first received the missive from the King, decreeing her marriage to Armus Grey she had reacted with histrionics. It was not so much the man he chose¾just that any man had been chosen. Like most women, Gwendolyn preferred to think of herself as an individual, while the men around her viewed her as chattel. As difficult as it was to admit, her father fell within that scope as well. Though he had bristled over the Grey alliance, Gwendolyn knew he would readily marry her to the right man for political gain. As much as she wanted to despise him for that coldness, she loved him, as a daughter should. Accepting her duty, she had resigned herself to the marriage long before her father and the escort arrived.
And then she had seen Richard.
His appearance had taken her utterly by surprise. Granted, he was unkempt after the journey, but even then his presence had exuded autocratic elegance¾a purely physical bearing that had caught her unaware. Likewise, his height had surprised her, for she’d still envisioned him as a child¾the scruffy-haired tormentor of she and Henry.
The thought of her brother made her hand still on the brush. She knew she should fault the Greys for his death¾should feel the black animosity that her father did¾but she knew Henry’s passing was the result of his own deceit. She had heard the tale from numerous witnesses at the time, and they all said Sir Thomas had spared him. Eleanor had acted justly in saving her father’s life. Surely Gwendolyn herself would have done no differently had their roles been reversed.
Sighing, she set the brush aside. She did not wish to marry Armus. Worse, she did not wish to journey to Covington Cross under the escort of Richard Grey. A man who looked like that, was far too dangerous¾someone who could easily invoke a foolish woman’s desire.
Gwendolyn bit her lip. The journey promised to be grueling in more ways than one.
+++++
The following morning the escort departed Derry, their numbers grown by the inclusion of Gwendolyn, two lady maids and a contingent of servants. While the maids rode in a carriage, Gwendolyn opted to sit horseback. Unlike Eleanor who wore breeches when riding, Gwendolyn wore a gown, slitted with underskirts. Her hair was pinned with ivory combs, looping curls drawn close to her slim shoulders. A heavy cloak trimmed with a collar of wolfskin held the autumn breeze at bay.
As though wanting to place as much distance between them as possible, Richard rode to the head of the column. As he passed, Gwendolyn spared a sidelong glance. He was attired mostly in black this morning. A navy jerkin and white undertunic accented the jet-black hue of his breeches, boots and cloak. The predominance of somber colors made him appear older than his twenty-one years. It was only when the wind laced his ragged curls to life¾lifting the strands away from his face, that she glimpsed the youthfulness of his features. Leaning forward, he said something to Cedric, smiling briefly. The impish curl of his lips had not changed in the seven years they’d been apart, and the sight easily resurrected the memory of the boy she knew from childhood.
Annoyed, Gwendolyn dismissed the thought. It was foolish and imprudent to spend so much time dwelling on a man she adamantly disliked. He’d likely laugh if he knew the truth. Gathering her reins, Gwendolyn urged her horse to a clipped canter. She was thankful when her father joined her and distracted her with conversation.
As the day lengthened and progressed, and the sun climbed to its noonday nest, Gwendolyn found herself growing restless. They were deep within the forest now, the villages of Derry lost somewhere in the distance. The path was narrow, bordered by an embankment to the left, and a thick stand of trees to the right. The density was such, Gwendolyn could barely see scant feet in into the foliage. A few paces ahead Richard rode with his brother, while her father had meandered to the front of the column. Gwendolyn herself was almost at the rear, only a handful of retainers behind her. Lost in thought, she jerked at the abrupt clamor of noise that rose from the thicket. Before her retainers could react, a party of armed men erupted from the trees, descending on the column with drawn swords. More surprised then frightened, Gwendolyn wrenched on her reins, drawing her horse to a halt. Immediately, the retainers surrounded her, forming a protective circle.
“Lady Gwendolyn!” She heard Richard call her name, and then suddenly a masked man broke through the circle. A rough arm grabbed her around the waist, wrenching her roughly from her horse. Hoisted into the air, Gwendolyn shrieked. She pummeled her captor, cursing and spitting like a harpy from Hell, but the effort was for naught. Laughing, he dumped her unceremoniously across his saddle.
“Gwendolyn!” Witnessing the abduction, Richard tried to win past the man who blocked his advance. Raising his sword, he battered his opponent aside, startled momentarily when the man’s hood slipped and he caught a glimpse of his face. Ginger hair and a spade beard offset the crescent-shaped scar on his cheek. Shocked into inaction, Richard recalled the mysterious stranger he’d seen John Mullens conversing with at Covington Cross. As quickly as his hesitation arose, it fled. Richard leaned low over his horse and raced in pursuit of Gwendolyn’s abductor.
The column of men fell behind him as he urged the stallion to greater speed. At first the road ahead was empty, but as he rounded a bend, he caught a glimpse of the rider disappearing among the trees. With drawn sword, Richard continued the pursuit. Mile blended into mile until he was able to draw even with the hooded man. Sheathing his sword, Richard launched himself from the saddle, bearing the man, himself and Gwendolyn to the ground.
Gwendolyn shrieked. Together the three rolled down the embankment in a tangle of arms and legs. Richard’s back struck a tree and the breath left his lungs in a harsh whuff. Something soft slammed up against him, and for a moment brittle granules of light danced before his eyes. He heard the sound of retreating footsteps¾the slap-slap-slap of someone hastily running away. Only then did he try to move.
“Get your hands off me!” Gwendolyn snapped.
Richard blinked, becoming aware of soft flesh beneath his gloved fingers. Before he could ponder the fit of that delicious round orb in his hand, an elbow jabbed sharply into his ribs. He grunted beneath the impact, and Gwendolyn wrenched away.
“You insufferable¾” She was standing now, bits of leaves and bracken snagged in her hair. The ivory combs had worked free, spilling raven tresses over her shoulders and back. A single comb clung to the end of one curling strand, teeth tangled amid snarled curls. Annoyed, she snatched it from her hair and shook it in front of his face. “You might have killed me with a stunt like that.”
Wincing slightly, Richard sat up. A glance up the embankment revealed Gwendolyn’s abductor and their horses had vanished. “I think I just saved your life.” Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck to ease a sudden crick, Richard stood. “You could show a little gratitude, you know.”
“For what? For tumbling me down a hillside, and then-then . . .” She glanced about, sputtering for words, “ . . . stranding me here with no horse!”
“Perhaps you’d rather I let the man carry you off?”
“He at least, may have been a gentleman.”
Scowling, Richard stalked forward and caught her arm. “Come on¾”
Gwendolyn took only two steps before drawing to an immediate halt. Angrily, she tugged her arm free. Defiance heightened the color on her face, imbuing her blue eyes with witch-light. “And where would you have me go?” she snapped.
Striving for patience, Richard exhaled. He couldn’t tell her the man who’d led her abductors, was same man her father had parlayed with at Covington Cross. It was unlikely she’d believe him. What’s more, he wasn’t certain what the revelation implied. He only knew he didn’t want her anywhere near John Mullens or her escort, until he figured the matter through. “Since we’ve lost the horses, we’d better start walking.” His lips curled thinly. Not the impish grin she remembered, but a sly challenging smile that infuriated her. “Can you manage such a hardship, Gwendolyn?”
“Lady Gwendolyn,” she said sharply.
Richard cocked a brow but refrained from comment. The look of smug superiority on his face made her want to strike him. Instead she gathered the folds of her cloak¾as regally as she could¾and stalked toward the embankment. Richard caught her beneath the elbow, and drew back sharply until she bumped up against his chest. Haughty demeanor shattered, Gwendolyn gave a startled squawk¾as much from the abruptness of his movement, as the feel of his body against hers. “Not the road,” Richard said, and started to pull her into the trees.
He’d no sooner voiced the words then the sound of hoofbeats rattled down the hillside. A rider appeared near the bend. The silver-gilt trappings on his horse and the cut of his dark hair, easily identified him as John Mullens. Relieved, Gwendolyn moved to hail her father¾
¾and found herself abruptly restrained, a hand cupped forcefully over her mouth. “No!” Richard hissed near her ear.
Enraged she pushed against him, jabbing viciously with her elbow. Though he uttered a short grunt at the impact, Richard held tight. Above on the road Gwendolyn saw her father hesitate, his eyes scanning the beaten earth of the passageway. The tracks left by her abductor’s horse and Richard’s continued away from the bank, into the distance. Realizing her father would follow the path, Gwendolyn screamed. Despite her struggles, the sound was muffled and subdued, effectively blocked by Richard’s hand. Infuriated, she bit down on his fingers¾inflicting enough damage to make him curse and jerk his hand away.
“Damn you.” Before she could so much as draw breath, Richard grabbed her about the waist and bore them both to the ground. He clamped his hand over her mouth, pinning her body beneath his. She struggled, writhing furiously, until she realized with a belated sense of shock, there were parts of his body that fit much too perfectly with hers. She could feel the hard, muscular line of his thigh; the startling swell of his manhood nestled between her legs. Sensing the contact at precisely the same moment, Richard stilled, eyes widening at the arousing sensation.
Above on the road, John Mullens rounded the bend and disappeared from view. Recovering, Richard lowered his hand.
“Get off me!” Gwendolyn snapped. She was trembling¾as furious with herself as she was with him. He at least had the decency to look chagrined, but he lingered longer than necessary. Mortified, Gwendolyn raised a hand to strike him.
Catching her wrist, Richard twisted her arm aside. “Is that how you repay kindness? You’ll thank me for this one day.”
“I’ll thank you for nothing. Why would you keep me from my father?”
Rising, Richard held her wrist secure and pulled her to her feet. Standing so near, Gwendolyn found herself overshadowed by his height. Swallowing, she lifted her chin and gazed at him defiantly. She’d forgotten how green his eyes were¾not the dark jade of deep forest, but the lighter celery of spring grasslands. As angry as she was, she felt unbalanced by his nearness.
“I don’t expect you to understand this,” Richard said evenly, “But the men who attacked us, were most likely employed by your father.”
“That’s ludicrous!” Gwendolyn snapped. “I can see now, you’ll say whatever’s necessary to cast my father in an unflattering light. He was right about you and your family.”
“I’m not going to argue with you,” Richard warned. His fingers were still curled about her wrist, his grip possessive and harsh. He gave a sharp tug as though trying to shake sense into her. “Believe what you will, but until I deem otherwise, we’ll keep to the trees and avoid the road. It’s a long walk to Covington Cross, My Lady, and like to be overly trying if you continue to fight me tooth and nail. Pray sheath your claws¾at least temporarily.”
“Gladly, My Lord¾in your throat.”
Richard chuckled. Amused, he released her. “You’re still a she-demon, Gwen. If you didn’t hiss and spit so prettily, I’d turn you over my knee.”
Enraged, Gwendolyn flushed to the roots of her hair. Clenching her hands, she fought for control of her temper. He was baiting her now¾engaging her in a battle of wills she was ill equipped to win. Here in the forest, stranded as she was, the game was his. He had already proven he could out power her, and held no qualms about using his greater strength to advantage.
Stifling her rage, she stiff-armed him across the stomach, brusquely pushing past. Back straight, head held high, she stalked into the tangle of brush and trees.
Richard frowned. He wondered how long it would be before he strangled her.
+++++
“We need to keep looking,” Cedric said firmly. Squatting by the roadside, he brushed two fingers over the beaten earth. Richard’s horse had left its distinctive print in the soft soil, as clearly as marking a trail. Rising, Cedric dusted the mud from his hands and glanced at John Mullens.
The older man sat rigidly on his horse, his face drawn in belligerent lines. “Your brother’s absconded with her. Either that or this is a Grey plot to make my daughter appear unfavorable before the King. I should have expected no less than an underhanded attempt to thwart the marriage”
“We were attacked,” Cedric said sharply. “Only an idiot would fault Richard for attempting to save your daughter’s life.”
Mullens hissed. Unaccustomed to sparring with Sir Thomas’s youngest son, he was momentarily flustered by Cedric’s bluntness. Richard routinely fenced with subtlety and finesse¾a trait Mullens could admire even if he thought the young man an egotistical cockscomb. Cedric’s crassness was vulgar by comparison, making Mullens realize how much he enjoyed the veiled nuance of Richard’s gibes. “I’m not going to waste valuable time tracking that fool brother of yours, when my daughter’s life is in danger.” Gathering the reins, Mullens wheeled his horse around. “Do what you will¾chase after the knave for all I care. The outcome is on your head.”
Urging his horse forward, Mullens disappeared into the distance. The men of Torsun-Narr followed behind, strung like beads on a thread.
Cedric exhaled. “Damn the lot of them,” he said to no one in particular. The wind scuttled through the brown grass at his feet, stirring dry, crinkled leaves to life. It was how he felt¾agitated and restless¾uncertain what path to take. In the past it had always been his father or Richard who told him what to do. When Armus returned, his brother assumed the same mantle, and Cedric fell into the easy role of follower. This decision was his alone¾follow after Richard, or ride with John Mullens in search of Gwendolyn. Though the tracks clearly indicated Gwendolyn was likely with Richard to the east, Mullens persisted in riding west.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Raulf said at his elbow. Startled, Cedric gave an involuntary jerk. “If the man’s so bloody worried about his daughter, why ride in the opposite direction? In one breath he says he fears for her life, and in the next he accuses Master Richard of kidnapping her.”
“He’s a shit-sucking fool,” Cedric said bluntly. Puffing out his cheeks, he exhaled loudly. “He’s more like to return to Covington Cross and accuse Richard of abducting his daughter.”
“So the marriage can’t proceed?” Raulf guessed. “But we all saw the attackers. We’d all vouch Richard had nothing to do with it.”
With a resigned shake of his head, Cedric pursued his lips. “Until Lady Gwendolyn and Richard are found, Mullens is certain to make my brother the culprit in this. Gather the men, Raulf. We need to find my brother quickly.”
As the retainer moved away, Cedric cast a glance at the sky. He calculated the hour, wincing at the precious time already wasted in debate. Mullens would head straight for Covington Cross, intent on denouncing his brother and the House of Grey. If Cedric hoped to prevent catastrophe, he had to find Richard and deliver Armus’s bride, before the Baron arrived at the castle.
Simple problem solving for a novice cleric with the heart of a knight.
+++++
Stubborn!
It was the first word that came to mind when Richard thought of Gwendolyn Mullens. The day had lengthened with the bloated passage of hours, swelling to late afternoon. Likewise the air had grown crisper, scuttling through the trees with cold, grasping fingers. The terrain alternated between obstacle-fraught paths and cumbersome beds of rock. Five paces ahead of Richard Gwendolyn walked determinedly, her face set in a stone mask. Once, shortly after noon, Richard had offered to stop for a brief respite, but she’d steadfastly denied the need to rest. If they were to halt any time soon, it wasn’t going to be by her admission. Knowing she had to be tired, Richard debated letting her stubbornness override her strength. It would serve her right if she stumbled over a root, banging hands and knees, or twisted her ankle between jutting knobs of rock.
As soon as he’d entertained the thought, Richard regretted it. She was stubborn, yes, and foolhardy, but he could hardly blame her for her black mood. Forced marriage, abduction and his own curt insistence they avoid her father surely had to be more than most women would abide. To make matters worse, she was forced to share company with a man she loathed.
Richard scowled, realizing his own animosity was born from frustration rather then true dislike. Upon examination, he realized there was a part of him that enjoyed having her near. Indeed, that had responded to the feel of her body pinned beneath his. Animal urges aside, there was something about her scathing demeanor that attracted him more than he wanted to admit.
Dismissing the thought, he glanced aside, wishing for distraction. A small stream meandered through the trees on his left, twining among the leaf-blanketed ground and diminishing beds of rock. With a glance to the sky, Richard noted the slumbering path of the sun, now on steady decline. If he hoped to find them food for dinner, he needed what little light remained. As though on cue his stomach rumbled, reminding him his companion had to be hungry as well.
“Gwendolyn.” He’d walked behind her most of the day, letting her clamber ahead in self-enveloping anger. Paces ahead, she came to an abrupt halt at the use of her name without its courtesy title. Turning, she pressed her lips together and waited as he walked to her side.
“I see the forest has taught you to forsake manners and civility,” she snapped tartly.
Richard ignored the icy tone of her voice. His eyes flecked over her face and into the tees. “We should stop here,” he commented indifferently, ignoring the remark altogether. “There’s a stream for water, and I might be able to manage some fish.” Striding past her, he walked between the trees, stooping to examine broken branches on the forest floor. His cloak puddled behind him like a black cloud, brightly-colored leaves snagged in the hem.
Irritated that he’d dismissed her observation so casually, Gwendolyn stalked after him. “Now what are you doing?”
“Looking for something I can use as a gaffing pole.” Lifting a narrow branch, Richard inspected it carefully then tossed it aside. “I need something straight, with as little flexibility as possible. It’s got to be strong and stiff.”
Intrigued despite efforts to remain hostile, Gwendolyn narrowed her eyes in bewilderment. “Whatever for?”
Richard tapped the knife sheathed against his hip. “I’ll sharpen the end to a point, then hopefully find some fish in that stream¾” A nod of his head indicated the creek behind him “¾which are either full-bellied and slow, or stupidly accommodating.” A crooked smile lifted the corner of his lips. “I seem to remember a time when you went fishing with a pointed stick and a your mother’s favorite scarf for a net.”
Gwendolyn flinched. Though the light in his eyes was teasing, the memory was something she didn’t wish to consider. Examining their childhood relationship might make her recall the girlish crush she’d once held for him¾a crush she’d effectively disguised with antagonistic battles. Refusing to yield to his ribbing, she turned away, retrieving the first branch she could find. “How’s this?”
If Richard was disappointed at her coldness, it didn’t show in his eyes. “That just might do,” he returned, claiming the branch. It was a little over five feet in length, mostly straight, with only a crooked elbow or two to affect handling. Hefting it at waist-level, Richard spun it for balance, then moved away. Drawing his knife, he turned the blade against the gnarled wood and began stripping off the bark. “You might gather some wood for kindling,” he called without turning. “If I’m lucky enough to spear something, we’ll need a fire to cook it over.”
Glad for the distraction, Gwendolyn turned her attention to the forest floor. As she rooted through the strewn leaves for twigs, her thoughts eventually rambled back to Richard. She hadn’t thought about him much since leaving Torsun-Narr those many years ago. Deeming it best her childhood fancy remain buried in childhood, she’d embraced her father’s hatred of the Greys. Once or twice she’d wondered what kind of a man Richard had become, but she’d never envisioned him quite so handsome, and certainly not so tall.
A heated flush crept over her cheeks as she recalled the delicious feel of his body pressed to hers. The delightful shock she’d felt still lingered in her mind. Perhaps it was nothing more than her body’s treasonous reaction, which made her dislike him so intently.
Wrapped in her thoughts, Gwendolyn reached blindly into the bed of dry leaves, absently searching broken twigs. Something cold and wet slithered past her hand. With a startled jolt, she glimpsed a dark serpentine form, gliding with liquid ease through the autumn-browned leaves.
“Oh!” The cry of dismay slipped from her lips before she could retract it. Wrenching backward, she became entangled in the folds of her cloak and plummeted rear-end first against the ground. The breath left her lungs in a startled whuff of air, but she felt the bruise to her dignity more than her body. Struggling to recover, she was unprepared when Richard approached from behind and drew her to her feet. Balanced precariously on a bulging knob of rock, Gwendolyn stumbled clumsily into his embrace.
“How forward of you,” he chided lightly.
Horrified, she started to pull away, a scathing retort on her lips. The words died abruptly in her throat, when she lifted her head and caught him gazing down at her. The teasing light had returned to his eyes, joined by something she didn’t wish to examine. Unbidden, heat rose to her face. He’d yet to release her, his arms looped loosely about her waist. Disturbed by his nearness, Gwendolyn’s thoughts scattered in a myriad of directions: she was to marry his brother . . . she loathed him . . . he secretly mocked her . . . his sister had killed her brother . . . oh, dear heavens, he has the face of an angel, and must surely kiss with the rakish charm of a devil.
Frightened, Gwendolyn flattened her palms against his chest and shoved as hard as she could. “Let go of me!” she demanded angrily. Richard released her just as the momentum of her thrust carried her backward. Unprepared for sudden freedom, Gwendolyn reeled clumsily and fell butt-first to the ground.
Richard raised one perfectly shaped brow. “I think I’ll leave you as I found you. The seat becomes you, Lady.”
“Ohhhhh! You obnoxious, overbearing¾”
But Richard turned his back before she could finish the tirade. Grinning extravagantly, he headed for the stream. He knew his casual dismissal irritated her more than her own clumsiness.
Somehow, he found the thought extremely satisfying.
+++++
Gwendolyn wrapped her cloak tighter, inching unobtrusively nearer the fire. The cold night air made her long for the security of home and the comforting warmth of her bed. Hours past, Richard had managed to spear three fish with his makeshift gaffing pole, while she had rummaged a handful of edible roots from the soft forest soil. They’d shared a passable dinner, washed down with handfuls of clear water from the nearby stream. Now, wrapped in the folds of night’s shadows, there remained little to do to pass the hours until dawn.
Extending her hands to the fire, Gwendolyn warmed cold-stiffened fingers. Beyond the flickering dance of jeweled flame, she could feel the near-tangible touch of Richard’s eyes. Clearing her throat, she raised her head. “Tell me about your brother,” she said abruptly, wishing a distraction¾any distraction¾from the sharp sting of cold night air. “If Armus is to be my husband, I’d like to know something about him. I remember so little.”
Surprised by her even tone, Richard shifted. His glance grew guarded, oddly annoyed. For the past few moments he’d been watching her¾noting the way the highlights in her hair glittered like gold foil in the rippling firelight. Her irises¾normally the hue of ocean waves¾appeared raven-black in the darkness. The contrast was startling and wholly seductive against her cold-reddened skin. The last thing Richard wanted to do was discuss his brother.
“Armus is fair-dispositioned and kind. You couldn’t want for a more honorable man.”
“He left for the crusades right before Father sent me to Aunt Edrea,” Gwendolyn commented. Drawing her legs up, she huddled deeper into her cloak, hoping to trap elusive warmth. Gathering the wolfskin collar close to her throat, she smiled wanly. “I remember he always seemed to be fetching you from trouble.”
Richard smiled sourly. “He still does.”
They fell silent for a time, wrapped in the awkward reality that Gwendolyn was to be Armus’s wife. Richard wondered how day-to-day life would transpire when she became his sister-in-law. Would they continue with the same wearisome, antagonistic dance, or would they grow comfortably bored, as the awkward became the mundane? Somehow Richard couldn’t imagine ever being bored when Gwendolyn was around. Not for the first time, he experienced a disquieting twinge of jealousy as he thought of her in his brother’s arms.
“Why do you feel my father was behind today’s attack?” Gwendolyn asked suddenly, shaking him from his reverie.
Richard met the barbed challenge in her eyes. “I saw him with a man at Covington Cross,” he explained with little hesitation. “A man with a crescent-shaped scar on his right cheek. That same man attacked us earlier today.”
“That’s preposterous!” Annoyed, she shook out the hem of her cloak, rearranging it over her legs. “Why would my father send men to attack me?”
“Not to attack,” Richard corrected. “To abduct. Your father’s men only feigned resistance, thus enabling him to plead injustice before the king. It will look as though my escort was unable to protect you. As a result,