Sanctuary of Roses (14 page)

The solitude—at the least, as much isolation
as one could have when traveling in a group of men-at-arms—suited
him fine. He’d begun the journey riding at the rear of the party,
keeping Rule to a handy trot as they left Mal Verne and started on
the road to Whitehall. It would take four days to reach the king,
even traveling as quickly as he planned, since the roads were mired
with mud from the heavy rains that had fallen in the last
sevennight.

The carts carrying the bulk of their luggage
would have a slower time of it, but there was no help for it. Nor
could he have allowed the women to ride in a cart because of its
slower pace. The king’s message had made it clear Gavin was to make
all haste to bring Madelyne de Belgrume to his presence.

He remembered the fear that turned her face
ashen when she learned de Belgrume knew of her presence, and of his
desire to see her. It had not been an insignificant expression—it
had been true horror and panic. Gavin brooded, wondering what it
was that she feared and if it was anything he could protect her
from. Then, frustrated he shoved a hank of hair out of his
eyes.

He was not the permanent protector of
Madelyne de Belgrume—he was merely her escort to the king’s side,
after which he would be free to never see her again.

His attention wandered over the backs of his
men until it found the mount carrying Jube and Lady Madelyne. Gavin
tightened his hands on Rule’s reins and forced himself to look away
from the slim figure cloaked in a midnight blue wrap. She rode
behind Jube, and he could see the wrist-thick braid that
disappeared into the neckline of the cape where her hood had fallen
back.

He clearly remembered the feel of her
settling on the saddle in front of him, his thighs locking around
her and her head jouncing just in front of his chin as they rode
along. That memory was precisely the reason he’d refused to share a
mount with her again, and was just as strongly the reason he’d made
certain she sat behind Jube, rather than in front of him.

And, verily, it was also the reason for his
nasty mood.

Annoyed at the distraction, he jabbed his
mail-covered heels into Rule’s side, and the steed surged forward
with a sudden leap. They clipped quickly along, weaving expertly
among the others in the party, to the head of the group where
Gavin’s three scouts cantered along. Glad to put Madelyne de
Belgrume behind him, he manipulated the stallion so that he could
talk with Leo, the leader of his scouts.

* * *

Fantin gripped the reins of his dancing
mount and jammed a heel into its side. The bloody horse was causing
the bush to shake and would alert Mal Verne and his men to their
presence long before the ambush he planned.

After praying and fasting with Rufus for two
days, Fantin understood: God wished him to return Madelyne to
Tricourten immediately.

It had become clear there was some purpose
she must play in his quest—for her reappearance was the sign he’d
been awaiting. Not only must she return to his fold because she was
his daughter, his flesh and blood, and he
owned
her…but
because she must play a part in this purpose with which God had
burdened him so generously.

Whatever Madelyne’s task, it would be
revealed to him in God’s Time.

With a hiss, for he did not know how much
longer ’twould be before Mal Verne’s party approached this curve in
the road, he captured the attention of his thirteen men-at-arms who
stood ready to swarm into their path. He cocked his head, catching
the eye of Tavis, and ordered, “Go you back on the road and look
for signs of their approach.”

He had no need to wait for the king to make
his decision regarding the fate of the girl—or even to grant him an
audience. The wench was his daughter, and he would have her if he
pleased.

The message he’d sent to Henry served only
to cause him to appear complacent—to allay any suspicions the king
might harbor against him and his Work. And thus when he appeared in
the royal court, demanding to see his daughter, Henry would only be
able to tell him that she’d disappeared again. And no one would
fault Fantin for his anger against the king for allowing Mal Verne
to lose his daughter again so soon after she’d been found. He
licked his lips, feeling their pleasing plumpness—due to the
herb-scented goose fat he smeared on them each night—and
smiled.

The king was no better friend to him than
Mal Verne was—and his whore of a wife as well. They would be among
the first to feel his wrath when he completed his work and had the
Stone in his grasp.

Eagerness rising within, he swallowed the
smile and manipulated his stallion away from the group of men,
taking a post further up the road. Mal Verne would die today, and
Madelyne would be back in the care of her loving father…as she
should have been for the last ten years.

He grinned there, silent in his glee, and
thought of the destiny that awaited him once his daughter was in
his custody.

And he gave a solemn prayer of thanks.

* * *

’Twas a capriciousness very unlike him,
Gavin thought as he bent toward Rule’s head, just missing being
slapped in the face by a heavy branch. He patted the smoothness of
the steed’s neck, digging his fingers into the thick mane. An
exhilaration filled him as the stallion leapt over a small creek,
galloping at full speed through the thick forest.

They’d left the traveling party in favor of
chasing a stag in hopes of having venison for supper—and to give
Rule a few moments to exert his stunted energy. Gavin grinned,
enjoying the feel of the wind buffeting his face. It had been
overlong since he’d enjoyed himself so, and for a few moments, he
felt young again—as if he’d shed the weight of his past, his
mistakes, and that of those he’d loved.

The white tail of the deer was just visible
as it bounded over a fallen tree, and Gavin leaned forward, urging
Rule to go faster as they drew closer. He reached back for the
spear he carried, readying it for the fatal thrust, crouching low
as Rule sprang over the fallen trunk.

Suddenly, a scream rent the air, far distant
but chilling to his ears. Gavin jerked his head toward the sound,
hearing its echo even over the thrashing of Rule’s hooves through
the brush.
Madelyne.

Gavin yanked back on the reins, kicking his
mount frantically, and the destrier spun on its rear legs with the
practiced grace of a warhorse. They reversed direction instantly,
and he pressed forward, hugging Rule with his powerful thighs and
urging him on with commands in the stallion’s ears.

They burst from the forest onto the road
moments later and swerved in an easterly direction, following the
path of the travel party. Hooves thudding, Rule did not hesitate as
he galloped furiously toward the sound of swords clashing in the
distance.

Gavin swallowed back the dryness of fear at
the unmistakable sound of battle, and froze all thoughts of
self-rebuke from his mind. He would curse himself later. Now he
must keep his wits clear in order to subdue their attackers.

Bellowing a clear battle cry, Gavin drew his
sword as they rushed into the midst of the skirmish. He engaged one
of the attackers, who wore a helm to cover his face and had been
about to strike Clem and Tricky. A quick glance away from his
opponent revealed no sign of Madelyne, and Gavin summoned all of
his strength and rage to plow his sword through the chest of his
adversary. He wheeled Rule about and cantered around the perimeter
of the melee, which seemed to be dying down now that he’d reached
it. In fact, those that remained were men from Mal Verne, with the
exception of three bloody bodies that lay unmoving on the
ground.

“Madelyne!” he shouted, rising on his heels
in the saddle.

“She is taken!” cried Clem between gasps of
air. He clutched his side even as he held Tricky in place on his
lap. Gavin took in the sight of red staining his friend’s arm and
fury escalated within. “They came upon us from nowhere, and took my
lady right from behind Jube!”

Gavin fought the urge to rush pell-mell in
the direction Clem pointed, and halted for a moment, his chest
heaving with heavy breaths. “Jube!” he shouted, then looked where
another man pointed.

The tall blond man stood to the side of the
road, his sword hanging at his side, violence darkening his
features. The destrier that Gavin recognized as Jube’s was on its
side, its gut slit open and spilling entrails onto the dirt
road.

“They made certain I could not save her!” he
shouted furiously, rage roughing his voice. “By the rood, I’ll
murder the man who took my Blazon!”

“
To me
!” Gavin roared, calling his
men to cluster about him. “You who cannot fight, do you ride ahead
to Prentiss Keep and relate this stealing of the lady to Lord
Markhand’s captain of the guard—ask for reinforcements. We go east
and will see them as they come to join us. Those who can, follow
me!”

Rule leapt forward and the others fell in
behind. Fortunately, the ground was soft from the rains and left a
clear pattern of tracks along the easterly road. Gavin and Rule
kept a generous lead from the remainder of the party—approximately
eight of the fifteen men with which they’d left Mal Verne.

As they thundered down the road, Gavin
forced himself to focus on reaching the kidnappers and saving
Madelyne. The man he’d killed had worn no standard or livery that
could identify him. It was likely he was part of a band of thieves
that preyed on travelers. Mayhaps Madelyne been targeted and taken
to be held for ransom. If that were the case, then she would not be
harmed.

The tightening of his chest—the fear that he
was wrong, that there was some other reason for her kidnapping—grew
and he urged Rule on further.

* * *

Madelyne swallowed the fear that bubbled in
her middle, nauseating her. Mayhaps ’twas the stench of the man who
carried her on his mount in front of him that caused her stomach to
turn, but most likely it was the horror that she was no longer in
the safe hands of Gavin Mal Verne, and had been catapulted into a
worse fate than that of being taken to the king.

Her hands were bound tightly in front of her
with a rough rope, and she clutched the mane of the horse in hopes
that she would not lose her balance and be trampled under its
hooves. The man behind her—she’d heard his name given as
Arneth—breathed heavily, leaning forward and billowing stale breath
into her face.

Lord Gavin.

She thought his name, praying that he would
have heard her scream and was even now racing to save her. She did
not know who had taken her, nor had the four men who accompanied
her captor said anything to disclose the reason for her kidnapping.
She had seen through the whirlwind of fear and fighting that some
of the men who’d ambushed them had been left for dead, and the
others had been separated, retreating in a different direction.

Suddenly, they changed course, wheeling off
the road and into the underbrush. She heard a grunt from Arneth,
and the reek of his breath buffeted more strongly as he shouted,
“We are followed! Break away!”

A leap of hope lunged in her chest, and she
wrenched her head to look back. Arneth’s face, drawn together in
ugly intensity, loomed inches behind her, his gray teeth bared in
concentration. Madelyne jerked away from the ugly proximity and
felt her seat slip. Bracing her aching legs against the side of the
horse, she struggled to regain her balance even as she heard the
man chuckle in her ear.

Dear God, please let that be Gavin.
Please let him find me.
Madelyne prayed with more vehemence
than she’d ever thought possible on those nights at the
prie
dieu
in Lock Rose Abbey.
I will cease these errant thoughts
of him if You will grant me this.

She felt Arneth shift behind her, and then
heard his exclamation of surprise. Loud thrashing, heavy breathing,
shouts and the unmistakable sound of steel being slid from within
steel filled her environment…and then suddenly, it was over.

A howl reverberated in her ears as she felt
a jerk behind her, then the loss of Arneth’s weight in the saddle
as he tumbled to the ground. She clutched at the horse, a cry
escaping her lips as she began to slip, and then suddenly, she was
lifted—plucked easily from her seat—and slammed onto the front of
another saddle.

She did not even need to look behind her to
know that it was Gavin whose powerful arm held her steady in the
seat in front of him, and whose brawny thighs enclosed her. Her
heart still thundered in her chest even as they slowed to a canter,
and then a trot, and finally to a standstill in the middle of the
forest.

If there had been others in the chase, they
had left them far behind, and the stillness of the wood caught up
with them as they stopped in a small clearing. The only sound was
his rough breathing mingling with her own.

Gavin said naught, and she, too, had
remained silent, trying to catch her breath and slow her heart. He
slid from the saddle, his feet landing on the ground in two
rhythmic thumps. When he turned his face to look up at her, raising
his arms to lift her from the saddle, Madelyne nearly recoiled in
shock.

It was Gavin Mal Verne, and yet it was
not.

If she had thought him to have a mask of
stone for a face before, she had not a clear idea of how that truly
should look—for now his countenance was still, angry, and hard, and
his gray eyes blazed with intensity and ferocity as his chest
heaved with exertion. His wide brown hands slipped under her bound
arms and lifted her down with a gentleness she had not
expected.

“I cannot plead your forgiveness enough, my
lady,” he said stiffly, his flat gaze inscrutable. “My foolish
actions and lack of attention to your person were disgraceful and
inexcusable.” He looked down at her hands, which were beginning to
gray due to the tightness of her bonds. His mouth pinched and she
saw his face darken. In a trice, he had sliced the hemp at her
wrists and began to chafe them gently.