By Queen's Grace. Shari Anton

pushed aside a flash of anger that Judith had been chosen as a mate for an upstart rebel lord, much as one would choose a broodmare, albeit a royal broodmare. But then, she wouldn’t suffer the obscenity. As soon as he had the information he wanted, he and Judith would leave the band.

      “Have we reached an accord, Thurkill?”

      “Our cause can use men with your training. If you truly wish to join us, I would be a fool to say you nay.”

      “Say me nay and you die.”

      “A consideration, but of little import. Sheath your dagger, Corwin of Lenvil.”

      The moment of win or lose had come. All depended upon Thurkill’s decision.Give some, gain some-with luck. Corwin released his captive’s hair, backed up a step and tucked his dagger beneath his belt-close to hand.

      Thurkill rose from the log and shook away his tension. The other men started to get to their feet. Thurkill raised a staying hand, which his men obeyed.

      With narrowed eyes, Thurkill proclaimed, “You may travel with us, but will be guarded closely. ‘Tis for our lord to decide your worthiness.”

      Corwin didn’t let his relief show. He wanted to ask the lord’s name and whereabouts, but held back. He’d thoroughly embarrassed Thurkill, could understand the man’s ire and wounded pride. Now was not the time to push for answers.

      “Then I will fetch my mount and hobble him near the other horses.”

      “Duncan will go with you.”

      Judith sat on the boulder and put her face in her hands. If she cried, he couldn’t see or hear her sorrow. ‘Twas his fault she hid behind her hands.

      Slowly, Corwin unfastened and lowered the flap of chain mail that protected his neck and throat, then reached beneath to fetch Ardith’s letter. A small consolation, maybe, but reading it might take Judith’s mind from her troubles for a little while.

      Corwin held up the piece of parchment and nodded toward Judith. “May I?” he asked Thurkill.

      “Aye, but have a care she does not scratch your eyes out. I think she now hates you more than she hates us.”

      A wise and likely true observation. Corwin crossed the clearing and stopped before Judith. Her eyes were red rimmed and wet, but more with anger than misery. She snatched the letter from his fingers, then, with a mere look, consigned him to the darkest depths of the netherworld.

      He couldn’t think of anything to say that would ease her mind and not give himself away. As she unfolded the letter, he turned to leave her.

      “Corwin!” she called after him.

      He looked back.

      Her hands were shaking. “Your sister writes of her kind and generous brother,” she said in the Norman French that Ardith had probably used in the letter. “You will break her heart if you persist in your extreme folly.”

      Having had her say, she went back to reading. Knowing there was nothing he could do to ease her mind until after he won the confidence of the rebel band, he resumed walking toward Thurkill.

      “What did she say?” the man asked gruffly.

      Thurkill, or any of the others by the looks of them, hadn’t understood the Norman French. That might prove useful.

      “You are right, Thurkill. She hates me more than you. By the by, you will need to set a guard tonight. The nuns were intent on returning to the abbey to alert the sheriff.”

      Thurkill scoffed. “I doubt he could find us so soon.”

      So did Corwin, but he wasn’t about to take the chance. Now that he’d set on this course, he wanted no interference.

      “That depends upon how quickly the sheriff received the news,” Corwin said, and glanced back at Judith. “And any man who brings her back will likely receive a hefty reward. I intended to brave the night, if necessary, to find her. The sheriff might, too.”

       Chapter Four

      Judith longed for the comfort of a thin straw mattress on a small cot, within the confines of her meager nun’s cell. No matter which way she twisted or turned, she couldn’t convince her body that the ground didn’t become harder or the night air less chilled.

      Neither would her worry over what was to come ease, nor her disappointment in Corwin’s betrayal lessen.

      Giving up on sleep, Judith sat up and wrapped the rough woolen blanket-which Thurkill had presented to her as if it were a feather-filled coverlet-more tightly around her shoulders. Scattered about the campsite, the men slept. All but Duncan, who roamed the forest to watch for the sheriff who Judith doubted would come tonight. The best she could hope for was that Duncan might awaken a hungry bear so she might be rid of the most belligerent of her captors.

      She rose and stretched, then took two slow steps in an effort to bring some feeling back into her legs.

      “Going somewhere, my lady?” Corwin asked softlyfrom where he’d bedded down several yards to her left. She saw no more of him than the bulk of his body lying on the ground at the edge of the clearing.

      Earlier, she’d thought about stealing a horse and risking an escape. Wandering about in the dead of night in unfamiliar surroundings, however, didn’t seem a good plan. She would only become hopelessly lost and might come upon the hungry bear she wished on Duncan.

      Judith ignored Corwin’s question to pose one of her own, not bothering to hide her disgust. “Does your guilt over betraying Gerard disturb your sleep?”

      Corwin propped himself up on an elbow. “Nay, merely training. A soldier learns to sleep where and when he can, and then with one ear open and one hand upon his sword. I heard you get up.”

      “These other men are soldiers and they do not stir.”

      “Nay, they do not. They must trust Duncan to raise an alarm if the need arises. I do not have their confidence in him, so I listen for anything that might threaten our safety.”

      “Including me?”

      With a low, rumbling laugh, he answered, “Especially you. Should you have a dagger hidden beneath your robe you might be tempted to slit our throats while we slept. Come toward me a few steps and you will find a patch of long grass that will make a more comfortable resting place than the one you chose.”

      Judith hesitated to move any closer to Corwin, a man who she should consider more her enemy than the rebels. Though she’d heard his reasons for wanting to join the rebellion, she didn’t understand how he could so easily turn traitor. When this hopeless scheme failed-and it would come to grief as earlier Saxon rebellions had-Corwin would receive the same harsh punishment as the others.

      If he lived through the battles. Or unless she convinced him to turn from this path he’d unwisely chosen.

      Maybe some unresolved dispute between Corwin and Gerard had clouded Corwin’s judgment, making him susceptible to a rash decision to seek a means of revenge. But by hurting Gerard, Corwin also hurt Ardith, and. Judith knew he genuinely cared for his sister.

      Judith thought back to the day they’d met. Corwin’s concern for Ardith had been very apparent, and part of the reason Judith had been so drawn to him. True, she’d experienced a female’s reaction to a handsome, well-puttogether male. A woman couldn’t possibly look on Corwin without noticing the brilliant blue of his eyes, the angled perfection of his strong chin or the seductive tilt of his smile.

      His looks had captured her attention. His tender concern for Ardith had touched her heart. As much as her head said to be wary, her heart longed for another glimpse of the man he’d been then, the man Judith prayed Corwin could still be.

      ‘Twas