Knight of Seduction (20 page)

“I’ll be very discreet.  They’ll never suspect me of any participation.”  She grinned.  “You’ll never believe what Anne suggested before she left.”

“What?”

“She said that
I
should set my cap for Hugh, that
I
should wed him after he’s declared a widow.”

He frowned, looking alarmed.  “You?  Wed to Lord Hugh?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Why not?  I’d be in charge of Castle Morven again.  It would all be ours—as it was in the past.”

“Except you’d be shackled to that…monster.”

“A trifling fact.”

Her mind was awhirl with the prospect.  She hadn’t contemplated marrying Hugh herself, but why shouldn’t she? 

She was only a few years older than he.  Why not marry him?  Why not be his next bride?  Who was better equipped to manage his castle for him?

Oh, she was so glad Anne was gone! 

She fell to her knees, thrilled to note that Eustace was aroused.  It was one of the great benefits of their relationship that she drove him wild with lust, but she never had to satisfy him in the end.

“Blodwin, my dearest”—he laid a hand of blessing on her head—“please tell me you’d never wed Lord Hugh.”

“What if I did?  Would you be jealous?”

“I could never be your husband.  I’m wed to my Lord, Jesus Christ, so I couldn’t be jealous of any earthly mortal.  I just hate to imagine that you would sell yourself for such a low price.”

“Low price!” she snapped.  “I’d be mistress of Castle Morven.”

“There are loftier goals to which you could aspire,” he haughtily opined.

“I can’t think of any.”

They might have quarreled, as occurred between them more and more, but a loud banging rattled the door.  She’d made it clear to the servants that she was resting and not to be disturbed.  Who would knock?   

She leapt away from Eustace, as he whirled in a panic, searching for his robes, not remembering that she’d hung them on the hook on the wall.

“Who is it?” she called.  No one answered, so she added, “I’ll be there in a moment.”

There was another loud bang, then the door was kicked in, and Blodwin nearly fainted as Lord Hugh burst in.  His cousin, Henry, hustled in behind him.

There was a shocked silence, then Hugh snickered.  “My, my, if it isn’t Ranulf’s widow and my priest.  I should have known.”

“I can explain,” Blodwin feebly said, but Hugh ignored her.

“Fancy meeting you here,
Father
Eustace.”  Hugh’s greeting sounded like a threat.

“I…I…”

Eustace was stammering like a halfwit as Hugh walked in a circle around him.  Hugh’s gaze was perceptive and cruel, studying the scabs from scourge marks on Eustace’s back.

Blodwin had always found the wounds to be romantic, a sign of his undying devotion to her, but with Hugh viewing them, they simply looked hideous.

Hugh scoffed with disdain.  “And you wonder why I don’t worship in your church anymore.”  He nodded to his cousin.  “Henry, help the good father with his vestments.  He seems to have misplaced them.”

Henry retrieved them from the hook and held them out as Eustace jammed his arms into the sleeves.  They waited, observing, the interlude incredibly humiliating.

“Didn’t you take vows of celibacy?” Hugh asked Eustace.

“I won’t be questioned by you.  Nor will I be castigated.”

“No, you’ll just misbehave with the master’s wife while he’s away and killing heathens for your God.”

“How dare you, sir!” Eustace huffed.

“Henry,” Hugh casually said, “if he speaks to me again, gag him.”

Eustace sniffed with affront, but didn’t reply. 

Hugh stepped in, towering over Eustace, towering over Blodwin.  He peered down his nose as if they were vermin, as if they were something he’d wipe from the heel of his boot.

“Tell me about Anne,” he ordered, and as he glared at Blodwin, her heart dropped to her knees.

She and Eustace exchanged a guilty glance, one that she quickly masked, but he’d never been able to lie.  He appeared as if he’d planned and implemented Anne’s entire escape.

“What about Anne?” Blodwin blustered so Eustace wouldn’t give them away.

“I know you helped her leave.  Confess every detail of your scheme, and it will go easier on you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Blodwin insisted.

His focus moved past her and over to the chair by the bed.  Blodwin spun to see what had caught his attention, and she gasped with dismay.

After Anne had fled, Blodwin had stupidly scooped up Anne’s shorn hair and brought it to her room.  She’d looped it together, had woven it into a long braid and draped it over the back of the chair. 

She wasn’t certain why she’d kept it.  She was simply so delighted to be rid of Anne, to possess a small piece of the evidence of her departure. 

She’d intended to dispose of the damning object before it was discovered, but for just a bit, she’d wanted to enjoy the sight.   It represented her final victory over Ranulf and Bedelia. 

“You cut her hair?”  Hugh muttered the query as if it was a hanging offense.

He went over and picked up the braid, stroking it over his hand, the smooth tresses flowing across his skin.

He was so forlorn, so devastated, as if he’d had…
feelings
for Anne, which was preposterous.  A worldly, sophisticated man like Hugh would never develop an amour for such a silly, witless child.

He stuck the braid into his belt, then he came over to Eustace and seized him by the throat.

“You always told her,” Hugh charged, “that it was witch’s hair.  You made her feel like a whore because of it.  Did you cut it?  Was it you?  Admit your perfidy, or I will kill you where you stand.”

“It was I, Lord Hugh.”  Blodwin jumped over and pulled him away from Eustace.  Hugh was so enraged that he didn’t seem to have heard her, and she repeated, “It was all my doing.  I cut it.  Father Eustace wasn’t involved.”

Hugh turned his stony gaze on her.

 “You?”

“Yes.  She asked me to.  She changed her appearance so she could sneak away.”

“Changed her appearance to…what?”

“A boy.  She’s dressed like a boy.”

“In tunic and breeches?”

“Yes, with her shortened hair stuffed under a cap.”

“She’s bound for Dumfries?”

Blodwin frowned.  How could he possibly know? 

“Yes.”

“On horseback?”

“No, on foot.”

“So she’s had a two-day head start,” he muttered to himself.

They four of them stood, waiting for Hugh’s verdict, as he fumed and mulled the situation.  Finally, he peered over at Henry.

“I want Blodwin confined to her room, with a guard at the door.  She’s not to be allowed out until I’ve had time to deal with her.”

“And this perverted lout?”  Henry grabbed Eustace and gave him a shake.

“Take him to the dungeons.”

“What?” Blodwin wheezed.  “No!  You can’t.”

“I’m sending him to London,” Hugh said, “to his Archbishop.  In chains—at the first opportunity.”  He spoke to Henry.  “See to it.”

“I will.”

“I’ll be in the stables, saddling the horses.  Meet me there as fast as you can.”

“We ride after her?”

“Yes, at once.”

Hugh scowled at Blodwin, and his expression made her blood run cold.

“If she’s encountered even the slightest difficulty, I’ll be back for you.  Be ready.”

He spun and left.

Blodwin went over to her chair and dropped down, her knees quaking so hard that she could no longer stand.

*          *          *          *

Anne rested on a pile of straw and stared up at the barn’s ceiling.  There were holes in the roof, and it was a clear night, so stars were shining down.  They were the same stars that shone over Morven, and she supposed she should have been waxing nostalgic over that fact, but she wasn’t.

She still couldn’t feel anything.  Not loneliness.  Not despair.  Nothing.  She might have been invisible, a ghost floating through the countryside.

She was extremely exhausted and thought she would doze immediately, but her mind was awhirl with what she’d seen and done. 

There were many travelers on the road to Dumfries, and she’d simply followed along in their wake, listening, learning how to survive.  The entire ordeal wasn’t as frightening as she’d imagined it would be, and she took some comfort from knowing she wasn’t the only lost soul in the kingdom.

The cathedral at Dumfries was in possession of a saint’s finger bone, so many pilgrims journeyed there, not just for the markets and fairs, but to pray and be healed. 

With so many venturing north, there were places to sleep all along the route.  If you mentioned that you were on a pilgrimage, a door was always opened, food was always offered.

Currently, she was at a small monastery, the handful of elderly monks providing soup and a bed of straw for those seeking respite.  She was surrounded by several dozen people.

She probably should have walked a few more miles before stopping, or perhaps, she should have slumbered somewhere off in the forest where she would have been hidden from view.  But she wasn’t brave enough to do that.

There’d been no sign of pursuit from Morven, and she wasn’t worried about Hugh taking her by surprise.  Most everyone she’d met was on foot, with only the rarest person mounted on a horse.  Whenever, she heard a horse approaching, she would slip into the woods, so she was easily concealed from those who might be searching.

And anyone who bothered would be looking for a young woman.  Anne’s disguise was working well.  No one had noticed that she wasn’t really a boy.

Swamped by her many regrets, she tried to relax, and she must have drifted off, because she was awakened by the sound of the barn door creaking.  She assumed it was late arrivals staggering in, so she didn’t glance over.

The newcomers were very rude, carrying a brace of candles, and people began to stir as the bright light was passed over them.

Anne burrowed down, her eyes tightly closed, when it dawned on her that there were spurs clinking on the floor.  These weren’t fatigued travelers.  Two men were wandering through, carefully scrutinizing each prone form.

As they neared Anne, as they halted, her heart sank.

“Get up, Anne,” Hugh quietly commanded.  She didn’t move, and he said, “Get up.  Let’s go.”

For an extra moment, she remained where she was, pretending she was still free, that she was still headed to live with her uncles, that she could actually reach that haven.

Then she sat up.  Hugh towered over her, with Henry loitering behind.  Her cap was off, her shorn hair visible, and Hugh glared at it, aghast.

They stared and stared, as he studied her boy’s clothes, her bed of straw.  He simmered with contempt.

“When I wed you,” he said, “I didn’t realize you were insane.”

“I’ve always been crazed.  Just ask Father Eustace.  He claims it’s my mother’s tainted blood.”

“Well, something caused you to behave this way.  Your mother’s blood is as good an excuse as any.  Who am I to argue with such incontrovertible logic?”

“How did you find me?”

“Rosamunde can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

“She knew I’d left?  How?  I didn’t tell her.”

“Her mother can’t keep a secret, either.”

“Blodwin told you?”

“Yes.  Now come.”

She sighed with resignation.  She’d been so sure of Blodwin, of her discretion, of her desire to thwart Hugh.  Anne couldn’t imagine her providing him with the truth—unless she’d extorted an enormous boon. 

Perhaps he’d given her her old rooms.  Or perhaps he’d cancelled Rosamunde’s betrothal.

It might have been any reward, and Anne had to accept the fact that when she was hauled to Morven in disgrace, she wouldn’t even have Blodwin to turn to in the future.  Not that Blodwin had ever been much of an asset, but Anne had found Blodwin’s hatred to be useful.

After this debacle, there would be no soliciting Blodwin for any favor.  There would be no assistance she could seek from anyone.  Especially when people saw how quickly Hugh had located her.  Her flight had been pointless, her scheme so easily foiled.

She couldn’t seem to stand; her legs wouldn’t work.  She was too sad, too humiliated.

He grew tired of her dawdling, and he leaned down and lifted her.

“Am I your prisoner?” she inquired.

“Don’t be absurd.”

“I don’t wish to go with you, and you don’t really want me.  Why take me back?  Why not just let me be?”

“You have to ask why I’m taking you home?”  He appeared greatly aggrieved.

“Yes.  I’ll keep trying to escape.”

“I repeat,” he said through clenched teeth, “when I wed you, I didn’t realize you were insane.”

He started out with her, Henry behind them so she couldn’t spin and race out the rear.  The groggy travelers in the barn were agog, gaping as if they might be dreaming—or having a nightmare—as the two burly knights marched her out. 

“You’ll have to shackle me,” she advised, “so I don’t run the instant I have a chance.”

“Anne?”

“What?”

He yanked her around to face him.

“You have pushed me beyond my limit.  Be silent and let me ride to Morven in peace.”

He stomped to his horse and threw her up on it.  Then he leapt on behind.  The horse took off at a canter, and they continued on and on and on, through the dark and into the morning.

Hugh didn’t speak again the entire way.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“I’ll kill you for this.”

“You’re welcome to come back and try—once you’ve matured a bit.”

Hugh glared up at Cadel.  They were in the yard, and Cadel was tied to his horse.  Hugh’s men were about to ride off to London, and eventually, the wide world beyond.

Father Eustace was going, too, and—praise be!—he was silent.  His fury and sense of unjust treatment were evident, but he knew better than to taunt Hugh.

Blodwin raced out of the keep and hurried down the steps.  She was surrounded by an escort of knights and no longer allowed even an instant alone where she might have a chance to cause trouble. 

At seeing Cadel and Eustace on their horses, she wailed, “Cadel, my boy!  My only boy!  And my dearest Eustace!”  She swung her livid gaze to Hugh.  “How could you take them from me!  You…you…fiend!”