Yearning Heart (31 page)
Stephen did not need to worry. Rebecca was tired and cold from the dampness. And it was here she found she was not with child as a result of her wild matings with Stephen.
“The gods perchance are looking after me,” Rebecca told her reflection in the cracked mirror, a mirror showing an unflattering image of pale face, big eyes and forlorn droop to soft pink lips. “Stephen does not need to worry about having a son, and I shall see that there is no other chance for such. As soon as a few favored things are packed, I will be gone.”
She slept little, and down the hall, Stephen lay wide-eyed, his body stiff with anger. How dare she leave a safe place such as New Sarum to journey to London to see Hugo Benet and his motley group of minstrels? How dare she disobey him?
He arose and walked around the small room. There was no window where he could stare into the darkness, and if he opened the door, Aubin would awake and wonder at his restlessness.
At least, the king is in a safe house. He stopped. Hugo Benet's offer was generous, and he should not condemn the man for his love of Rebecca. Hugo had said they were friends only. Mayhap he told the truth. But how could a man not love Rebecca?
Stephen continued to pace and only towards morning did he lie across the lumpy mattress to close his eyes in sleep.
* * * *
It was barely morning when Aubin readied the carriage and Stephen helped Rebecca inside. Gathering her skirts closely around her, Rebecca huddled away from him. The wind across the low-lying hills cut into clothing, and her fluxes had her irritable and fussy. She wished for a hot drink, something warm to hold, something to take her mind from Stephen's cold and unfeeling demands.
“Thou art comfortable, Rebecca?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Rebecca steadied her voice, unwilling to let Stephen see her misery.
“We will reach New Sarum by mid-afternoon, and thou...”
There was a yell from Aubin, wild whinnies from the horses, and the carriage swung wildly.
Rebecca slid across the bench to Stephen, arms flailing as she tried to balance herself. Stephen caught her, pulling her upright.
“What trouble is this?” he muttered.
He pushed Rebecca into her corner and threw the lap rug from his legs. He reached to open the carriage door when it flew outward.
Now they saw horses, three of them, their riders wearing masks. Each rider held a heavy club and the one nearest the carriage pointed a short sword at Stephen.
“Dismount, my lord,” a cold voice ordered Stephen. “Thou wilt part with thy purse or thy head. Mayhap both, eh?” The cold voice turned into a high-pitched laugh, echoed by men on either side of him.
Rebecca stared with wide, disbelieving eyes at another figure behind the three. He was clothed entirely in black, even to the mask on his face. A heavy sword hung from his saddle scabbard.
“Thy money, my lord,” the black clad figure said. “Dost hesitate your man will lose his head.” He lifted the sword towards Aubin who sat like stone in the driver's seat.
“I have little money, knave,” Stephen said. “Thou art welcome to it.” He lifted a purse from the case at his feet. Stephen knew enough not to argue with highwaymen and would give up his money ere his life, or allowing Rebecca and Aubin to be hurt. This robber, there was something strange about him. He swayed in the saddle as though weak from hunger, as though he lacked enough sleep of late.
Stephen frowned, studying the masked face, letting his gaze drift over the men nearest the carriage. He had heard the man speak ere this meeting, but he could not recall the voice.
“Ho, what of the lovely maiden, sire? Shall we search for gems on her lovely person?” The man who had opened the carriage door peered in at Rebecca.
“Aye, and the garment she wears is worth more than my lady's complete wardrobe,” another voice said. “What say I remove it for my sweet Caroline?”
“Take as thy will,” the bored voice said. “But make haste. Get the money, and then do as thy will with the passengers. Mayhap they have returned from London where they visit fancy shops and have much we can use.” The black clothed rider urged his horse closer to the carriage. “Perchance did see the king whilst in London, my lord? Is it true he cringes in terror over revenges planned for the murder of Sir Thomas Becket?”
Stephen then knew who the highwayman was, and he turned cold with the knowledge—King Henry's son, the one called ‘The Young King’ by all who knew him. Henry's namesake, a scapegrace with his own band of robber barons. Sir Thomas Becket had taught Young Henry while he and the king were still friends. Is this, then, what the archbishop had taught him? To rob and torment weary travelers?
“King Henry even now plans a penance worthy of his royal highness. He is not afraid.” Stephen watched closely as the big horse pranced and drew near to them.
“Ah, yes, penance. Sackcloth and ashes and loud laments for the soul of Sir Thomas.” The man laughed, the laugh cut short by a wracking cough. It was a moment before the man spoke again. “William, put monies and jewels in the knapsack. Aye, and take the lady out that we might see her beauty.”
“Nay,” Stephen said. He jumped from the carriage to catch the rein of the young king's horse. “Nay, thou canst have all the money and jewels but leave Lady Rebecca alone. She is not to be harmed.”
One of the robbers swung a club, hitting Stephen behind the ear. He fell heavily and lay without moving.
Rebecca was out of the carriage, kneeling by her husband, when the same robber yanked her to her feet. She fought, dropping her black velvet muff, her hands out with short nails raking over the man's mask. Her body twisted, arched and stiffened, and her arm hit the ground, scraping painfully. The man grunted and cursed as Rebecca broke loose and swung her fist, which clutched a stone she grabbed from the mud at their feet. He let go, and Rebecca tumbled beneath the carriage wheel. Above her, Aubin fought with the frightened horses, and then she was pulled upward once more and forced against the heaving sides of one of the animals.
“Ah, the female tiger, she is,” the hoarse voice of the black-robed rider said. “Tie her up and bring her along.”
Her hands tied behind her, Rebecca was thrown astride the leader's horse. She looked back to see Stephen lying still beside the carriage and Aubin struggling with the reins to restrain the animals.
* * * *
They camped deep inside the woods out of sight and hearing of the road. Horses, carriages, pilgrims and peasants could pass nearby never knowing Rebecca was being held against her will. She could see no hope of rescue.
She huddled near the fire, willing herself not to be frightened, but the ugly language and brash looks afforded her from the group were not to be taken lightly. Stephen had once told her of being robbed and beaten by highwaymen who had later been caught by the king's knights and hanged in the public square.
With heavy heart, she thought of Stephen lying unconscious in the mud, hurt mayhap badly while trying to prevent harm coming to her. How hurtful were his wounds? She shuddered to think how painful they might be.
She stared into the fire, her mind going over plans to escape, discarding them, and turning to another. What could she do against four rough rogues who had not good intentions? With her hands tied, she could not even scratch or throw stones. Anger erased the helpless feeling. She would wait, and she would watch. Sooner or later, they would make a mistake.
“She will bring fair ransom, Henry,” one of the knaves said. He held a tin cup filled with spirits, sloshing it over his hands as he talked. “'Tis a lovely damsel we steal. Mayhap we can have our pleasure ere she is rescued, eh?”
I will cut out thy evil heart ere you rape me, you ... you scoundrel, Rebecca thought, but she kept her eyes downcast on the fire. Already, she had seen the knife lying beside the one called Henry, the leader of the band of rogues. Her fingers tingled to hold such a weapon. She had not used a knife since leaving Grinwold where she cut thick bushes from the pathways around the animal pens or dug into the damp earth for worms to fish when she and Richard sat on the lake shores during moments stolen from papa's demands.
“Aye, ‘tis useful she will be but hold thy desires until we are away from this place.”
“Wherefore art taking her?”
“No one will suspect the city of stones as a hiding place. It is thought to house ghosts and evil spirits so pilgrims and travelers avoid it.”
Raucous laughter made Rebecca look up. She had heard of this dreary place, but knew naught about it. She, too, recalled stories about its evil face, its sudden appearance from nowhere. A place known only as Stonehenge where no human beings lived, and no one knew how the stones formed nor for what reason.
They reached the place of stones on the second evening. Rebecca stared at the somber columns standing higher than a house. The taller ones were shrouded in mist, and it seemed evil swirled over the uneven shapes. The stone stood as grave markers, unmoving, lifeless, filled with murky perils, indeed, like a dread disease.
What fate awaited her here in this lonely place?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aubin waited fearfully until the thundering hooves of the highwaymen's horses faded before he jumped from the carriage seat. Stephen lay in the mud between the wheels, bright red blood dripping into his beard.
Aubin choked. He had never before seen his master lying so still. He struggled but could not lift Stephen, so dragged him from beneath the carriage and stretched him against a tree. From the carriage seat, he took the lap robe and as he turned, stooped to pick up Rebecca's black velvet muff. He held it to his wide chest and blinked away the sting in his eyes.
What would they do to the gentle Lady Rebecca? he wondered. There were rumors repeated to all who would listen of the things highwaymen were capable of, especially with women. Should harm come to Rebecca, he could not foresee what his master would do to the guilty ones. It would be a terrible thing to watch, he was certain.
He covered Stephen, then took a cloth from his pocket, wet it in a stand of water, and began to wash his master's face. There was a deep cut from temple to ear, blood matting into Stephen's thick hair. Malvina would have to work with the wound in order to stop the flow of blood.
His face puckered into a worried frown, Aubin worked until Stephen moaned and pushed his hand away.
“Nay, Sir Stephen. Thou art hurt and must needs lie still.”
Stephen's eyes blinked open. “Rebecca? Where is Rebecca?”
“I am sorry, my lord. The robbers ...” Aubin sat back and waited to be yelled at. He would have saved Lady Rebecca if he could, but there had been naught he could do with four highwaymen standing by with clubs and swords.
Stephen sat up quickly only to groan and lean over, retching. Aubin held his head then gently lowered him back to the lap robe. Stephen lay gasping, reached up to touch his face.
“The head wound is deep, my lord. Thou must take care.”
“Aye.”
Stephen's voice was a low murmur. He had acted foolishly in his worry over Rebecca. Aubin was right. If he were to be of any use in finding her, he would have to move slowly. Everything within him urged speed, but neither his body nor mind responded the way he wished.
If the young king or his henchmen dared harm Rebecca, he would take the son's head to his king. That, he meant with all his heart.
* * * *
Rebecca sat on the cold ground deep within the giant circle of stones so big she had not seen any end to them. Fog hung around the tops of the stones, and mists swirled low to the ground. Overhangs afforded protection for the dirty horsemen who had taken her from Stephen's carriage.
Two of them lay snoring in the blackness of midnight. The one she thought the leader stretched out by the fire, a flask of drink in his hand from which he sipped long and often. One other stood guard somewhere out amid the stones.
Rebecca had not slept. Her bound hands were numb from the tightness, and the thin robe beneath her let the cold fill her body. The men did not talk to her, but their muttered words among themselves and loud laughter when they glanced her way served to cause uneasiness. If they chose to use her body, there was naught she could do about it. But, if she could somehow get the leader's sword or the knife .... She had not a notion of what she could do with them, but she would cause injury to some of the knaves should she get her hands on any weapon.
At first light, Rebecca opened her eyes from a brief sleep to see one of the robbers kneeling in front of her, a tin cup of steaming gruel in his hands. He placed it on the cold ground, untied her hands, and sat back on his heels. He was dirty, and she wondered at what filth he carried with him.
“Eat.”
Round black eyes glittered from deep sockets, and his thin lips grimaced over broken teeth. With a thin-bladed knife, he cleaned beneath his fingernails, slowly raking black dirt out and wiping it on stiff leather britches.
She was hungry but the thought of eating what this unclean rogue had cooked was sickening. Rubbing her wrists to restore feeling, Rebecca boldly eyed the man. His gaze ran over her body, but she would not look away. He licked his lips and laughed.
She tilted the cup and took a swallow of the thin soup. It tasted like the water New Sarum's dirtiest dishes were cleaned in, but Rebecca forced it down. If she planned to escape, she must have strength to run. There must be a rock nearby which had not lain in the same place for a thousand years and could be lifted to strike. If they but left her hands untied ...
“Ho, William,” a gruff voice spoke from the dimness. “Dost crave yon tender maiden.”
“Aye, my lord. ‘Tis long we have been without the flesh of woman to satisfy needs.”
“Thou must wait a while longer.” The leader stepped into the dim light afforded by a flare burning on the wall, sending dark smoke down to choke them. “We must send a message to the lady's husband and to our beloved king.”
“Canst wait until our use for the damsel is finished?”
Rebecca cringed, awaiting the man's answer to William. It was slow in coming, and she squeezed the cup of ill-tasting liquid.