Arrow To The Heart (De Bron Saga) (15 page)

"Oh, yes, yes, yes."  Shaking his head in agitation, Sir William mumbled beneath his breath.  Something about his regret at having spoiled the girl as he had.  Chattering away he tried to keep his young guest occupied.  "Perhaps she has a headache, poor dear.  My daughter has......"  He glanced up to find her perched like an elf on the serving table.  "Rowena...."  His mouth seemed to be open in a permanent "O" as he appraised her.

"Good evening, Father."  Purposefully she had dressed in clashing colors.  Nor was that the only fault with her grooming.  She had left tendrils  falling about her face as if she hadn't brushed  or combed her hair.  Her gown was wrinkled, her skirts askew.  On her feet were mismatched shoes. "And good evening to you, my lord de Bron."

At first Kendrick didn't notice the flaws in her appearance.  He was too busy taking in her figure.  Hers was not a voluptuous body.  She was slim, boyishly so, with a bosom that strained at the cloth of her gown.  Pert, firm breasts as he remembered.  How glorious they had felt beneath his questing hand.

Look at her now
, he thought, poised as if she were ready for a fight.  Her eyes were fixed unwaveringly on his with such intensity that he nearly shivered. He watched the way she moved, with all the grace of an animal who could explode into action if need be.                

"Good evening. Lady Fitz Hugh." 

His eyes clung to her slim figure.  Oh, but she was a proud one, he thought.  Her shoulders were squared, her chin tilted.  She walked slowly, confidently.  When she greeted him there was laughter in her voice, as if she were privy to some private joke.  It made him extremely uncomfortable.  He felt like a child having been caught looking through a peephole.  It wasn't a comfortable feeling.  Not in the least.  Then all at once he realized the reason for her levity.

"You look lovely.  Green, saffron, purple, scarlet and buttercup orange are my favorite colors."  Though perhaps not worn all at one time.

"They are my favorite colors as well," she snapped without giving him even a cursory glance.  Flattery, from him.  He must be mocking her.  Well, war it would be then.  Plopping into her chair she positioned her elbows on the table in a definite display of discourtesy.

"Rowena!" 

Sir William gave his daughter several warning looks but she wasn't glancing his way.  She was too engrossed in eating a roast leg of swan which she promptly tossed over her shoulder as soon as she was through.  With a plop it fell to the rush-strewn floor to be fought over by the hounds.  "Good," she proclaimed, licking her fingers.

"Very good,"  Kendrick echoed after taking a bite of his own portion.  Oh, he knew just what she was up to, but it wouldn't work. No matter what the little hellion did
, he wouldn't be drawn into an argument.  He wouldn't be sent scurrying from the Fitz Hugh household a second time. "My compliments to the cook."

"Aye, to the cook," Rowena shouted out.  Picking up her cup she leaned across the table, clinking it against Kendrick's.  "Even if he is a whoreson."  Putting her chalice to her lips, she downed  her ale quickly and loudly.

"Even if he is a whoreson," Kendrick repeated.  Oh yes, she needed taming all right, he thought, watching as she put her feet up on the table.  Leaning back in her chair she tossed an apple up and down as if it were a ball then tossed it at him.

"Good throw."

"Good catch!"  She looked back at him and had to admit that she liked what she saw.  Oh, the devil knew how to dress to his advantage, she thought, staring at his manly physique.  How many women had he tumbled because of his good looks?  Strange how such wondering spurred such a swift rush of emotion within her breast.  The strange feeling was caused by the swan's leg no doubt.  She had eaten it much too fast.

"Kendrick tells me he likes dancing," Sir William blurted
, watching as his hopes were dashed but still trying to salvage the moment.

"Oh?"  Rowena smiled impishly, planning to step on his toes.  "Then by all means."  In preparation she wiped her mouth and hands on the tablecloth as the manor's two deft musicians  hastened to pick up their lute and harp.

Alas, the dancing was to be her undoing.  The moment he reached out and took her hand she was captivated, though she would never have let that be known.   His touch was a shock.  He clasped her hand in a way that was definitely a prelude to "other" things.  Why, the way his index finger caressed the palm of her hand, it was nearly as if their hands were making love.

"Musicians, a slow dance......" she heard him say in that husky voice of his.  Then for just a moment she was lost, mesmerized by his voice, his touch and the charmed circle of their closeness that seemed to block out all else.  She could feel the muscles of his body as he briefly held her close against him. 

Her breasts were crushed against his hard chest, his hand was around her supple waist and oh, the temptation was just too much for him.  Kendrick stroked the fingers of his other hand through the soft hair at her temples.  For a timeless, dizzy interval their mouths were only a whisper apart. 

Suddenly Rowena's sense returned.  "Don't you dare!" she warned, turning her back to him as she clumsily did the footwork of the dance, a pattern of facing each other, then moving back to back, then facing each other again.  Twirling and whirling.  She told herself that she was only too happy when it was through.

"Let me go back to my eating.  I am starved," she insisted.

"As you wish."  Kendrick smiled with self-satisfaction.  Say what she might, he had sense
d a response from Rowena Fitz Hugh that was anything but hostile.

Merry-go-up, I'm capitulating to him
, Rowena thought  as she picked at her food.  That realization made her feel as if all the blood from her body was draining away.  He was a man who was little more than Prince John's puppet.  How quickly she had forgotten that Kendrick de Bron was a usurper when she was in his arms.

"Patience.  Patience," Kendrick mumbled with a smile.  It was a vow he might have been able to hold to had the subject of Prince John not been purposely brought up.

"And what have you heard from the Prince?"  Rowena asked out of the blue, knowing the subject would spark a squabble.

"The Prince?"  His eyes narrowed.  It wasn't at all what he wanted to talk about.

"Your master," Rowena  said under her breath.

"Only that he has mentioned that your lovely face was missing from his castle," Kendrick said, paying her what he thought was a compliment.

"Oh?"  His words, far from flattering her, infuriated Rowena. 

Kendrick pressed on.  "Like myself
, he is a man known for appreciating beauty."

Rowena looked from her father to Kendrick and back again.  She counted to ten, she held her
breath, but it did little good. "The Prince is a pompous, vain, despoiler of women," she said letting her anger out.  "I would as soon he found me wanting."

Shrugging, Kendrick hurried to make peace.   Oh, how he wished that he could tell her the truth, that he too detested the Prince, but he didn't dare. "'T
is no secret that the Prince is a bit too fond of the ladies but....."

"And fools of a feather flock together."  No doubt de Bron and the Prince often talked freely about their conquests. 

"I suppose that could be said," he answered, clenching his teeth and ignoring her purposeful insult.

"Oh, what's the use."  Rowena felt the sudden need to be away from de Bron before she ended up infuriating her father again, thus she bolted for the door.

"Rowena, come back," her father demanded, a command that she ignored.

Without really knowing why, Kendrick found himself reaching out to grasp her by the wrist as she passed by him
.  Stubbornly he held her fast. "Were she my daughter I would lock her in her room and put her on bread and water until her anger cooled," he suggested.

"Indeed," answered Sir William with a look on his face that clearly said he was considering such an action.
             

"Bread and water." The reminder of the power and physical punishment that her father and all other men held over
her was too much for Rowena.  What's more, the subject of her anger was close at hand. Picking up the bowl of blankmanger, her nearest and seemly only weapon, she  dumped its contents upon Kendrick's head.  "Father told me this is your favorite dish.  How fortunate, for it does become you so."

"BiGod!"   Stunned, Kendrick rose from his chair, the blankmanger dripping down his face. Ignoring his host's horrified apologies he calmly and cool
ly wiped the blankmanger from his brow.  Looking towards Sir William, he surprised himself more than the old man as he said, "I can see that you are right, Sir.  She does need a husband, who hopefully can survive such a marriage."  The look on Lady Rowena's face as he said, "let that husband be me," was priceless.             

Chapter Fourteen

Sitting on the hard floor, her knees curled up to her chin, Rowena repeated for the hundredth time, “I will not marry Kendrick de Bron! Don’t even so much as think upon it, Father!”

“You will not. So say you, when in truth you have naught to say about it. The marriage settlement will be drawn up quickly before yon suitor has time to think upon it and changes his mind.” Sir William shuddered at the thought.

“Draw up the settlement if you will, but I warn you, Father, I will tear it up. I will not tie myself to a man like that. I would as soon spend the rest of my life languishing in the Sheriff of Nottingham’s dungeon.” Without realizing it she had clenched her fists so tightly that she had drawn blood. Now she looked at her wound.

“I am old. You need a man to care for you. You need…..”

“I do not need anyone! Most of all a husband who monitors my every mood.”

“You do. You of all people need caring for before you find yourself in trouble.” He sighed. Reaching up, he  tugged at the gray strands of hair on his forehead, what there was left of it. “Dungeon indeed. You might well end up there.”

“Aye, I just might.” She was tempted to tell him everything just then. What would her father’s reaction be were she to tell him of her escapades with a bow? Opening her mouth, she was just angry enough to do so,  but as she looked into his eyes he looked so old, so tired, so worried that she changed her mind.

“I want grandchildren, Rowena. Particularly a grandson. Is that too much to ask?”

“Nay, as long as the sire is not de Bron. Otherwise you ask too much of me.”

“You will feel much differently after he has bedded you.” Leaning against the wall, he rested his head upon the wood.

“Bedded me?” She blinked, then fearing that somehow her father might read the truth of how she really felt about de Bron, she hastily turned around. “Kendrick de Bron will never touch me, nor will I be his wife.”

“I will have to see that you
change your mind.” It was the first time that he had ever taken such a tone with her.

“What are you saying?”

He came up behind her and took her by the arm, not forcefully but gently. “That I will have to initiate my fatherly prerogative and lock you up until you decide to comply with what I have asked of you.”

Rowena followed her father out of respect and love, not out of fear. Let him believe that he was still strong, still in control of her. She knew differently. She was free, or at least she soon would be. Waiting only long enough to hear the door close behind her, she moved to the window, opened the shutters and disappeared into the bushes.

W
hat a strange evening it had been, Kendrick mused as he tore off his cloak and hung it on a peg by his front door.  Aye, strange.  But his emotions and actions  had been stranger by far.  BiGod, what had prompted him to actually ask Sir William for his daughter's hand in marriage?  Had it been a whim?  Impetuosity? Insanity? 

"My lord, your garments.  What happened to your clothes?  To your personage?"  Hugo's questioning as he greeted him did nothing to lighten Kendrick's mood.

The blankmanger.  "Don't ask.  By my faith, don't say a word.  Just fetch me water for my bath, Hugo and be quick about it.  And heat it on the fire so my teeth don't chatter."

Hugo hurried to comply, eyeing Kendrick in a manner that seemed to indicate that he wished he could read his mind.  What was it about the man that always unnerved Kendrick so?  Ma
de him feel uneasy?  Spied upon?  Well, on the morrow he would rid himself of the man, be he Prince John's retainer or no, he thought as he stripped off his clothes.

"You may go, Hugo."  When the man didn't comply Kendrick said a second time, "you may go!"

Kendrick stepped into the small wooden tub.  The water was tepid but  pleasing.  As he sank slowly into the water he let it surround him.  He sighed.  All those who looked upon bathing as a strange custom just didn't realize how soothing it could be at times.  Closing his eyes he was determined not to think about anything for the moment and just relax.

"What is this?  Kendrick, tell me how it can be, that you have taken to wearing your dinner instead of tasting it?"

Kendrick opened his eyes with a start to see Robert, or Robin as he now suspected him to be, standing by the tub, hands on his hips.  "You saw."

"I peeked in Sir William's window just in time to view the scene."  He clucked his tongue.  "Me thinks you have met your match this time."  It was obvious by the twitching of his lips that Robert was holding back a laugh.

"Not at all.  What Rowena needs is a good spanking."  Kendrick  sat up, attuning his ears for any sound.  "Your coming here is dangerous.  Prince John is searching for you."

Robert's mirth evaporated.  "Well I know, but I had to take a chance."  His voice lowered to barely a whisper.  "I fear that I must ask a favor of you, old friend."

"A favor?"  One that would get him into trouble, no doubt.   "So this is not just a social call."  Kendrick shook his head.  Things were going much too good for him to take a chance on spoiling it all.  "I do not want to become involved in any of  your schemes, Rob."  Stepping from the tub, Kendrick dried himself and stood with a large linen draped about his muscular body.  Like some ancient Greek, he thought.

"You must!"  There was an edge of desperation in Robert's voice.

Kendrick eyed his friend warily.  "What's wrong?"  Usually Robert was so self-assured, so devil-may-care.  Clearly he was worried.

"The k
ing is in dire trouble.  There is a plot afoot."

Unpleasant memories soured Kendrick's sense of loyalty to Richard.  "So....."

"His life is in danger.  He must be warned."

Kendrick angrily turned his back.  "So, warn him."  What happened to Richard was of no great concern to him.

"I can't.  Now that I have been declared outlaw, I can no longer move freely about.  I'm being watched."

The reminder did little to calm Kendrick's now pounding heart.  He whirled around.   "And because you are,
you have now undoubtedly put me likewise in danger."

"If I have,
Kendrick, I am sorry."  The tawny haired Rob shrugged.  "But I could not think of anyone else I could turn to.  Or trust."  For just a moment the years melted away and he reminded Kendrick of the young boy he had so openly admired.

"Trust," he repeated.  H
e didn't have a care about the king, but Rob was in trouble.  How could he just turn his back?  Anxiously he ran his fingers through his hair as he thought the matter out.  At last he asked, "what is it you want me to do?"

Quickly Robert explained.  The k
ing's brother was plotting to take over the crown he all but wore now, even if it meant imprisoning his brother in a faraway land.  "I know that Richard has proven to be a negligent king who has spent little time in England.  He left on his crusade with little thought to his duty to his people.  He handed over his crown on a silver platter to John.  I know that you and your family have suffered at his hands.  But, Kendrick, he is king.  However bad a king he might have been at times John would be much worse."

On that Kendrick had to agree.  Power had gone completely to the younger brother's head.  "Aye.  And to think that Henry was such a good ruler.  He would turn over in his grave."

It was as if all that had been done by Henry II was now all for naught.  If not for Hubert Walter, Archbishop of Canterbury and Chief Officer of the Crown, Kendrick had little doubt but that John would have indeed already have placed the very crown upon his own head.  So far, the archbishop had suppressed John's treason, but he could not fight the prince's ever growing ambition forever.

"Just tonight I found out that what we have so feared has happened."  Robert took a deep breath, then let it out in a rush of words.  "Richard has been thrown into an Austrian prison by his fellow crusaders as he was returning to
England.  Those who wear the Austrian arms."

"What?  Prison?"  Kendrick stood dumbfounded.

"It's true.  Now you know why I am so desperate to initiate your aid.  I am going  to ride to London.  I must inform all the nobles of what has come about.  We must set forth to raise an army to rescue the king!"

"And me?"  Already Kendrick was frantically tugging on his garments.

"You must ride to Canterbury to talk with Hubert Walter.  Perhaps the church can aid in some way in the return of the king."  Taking Kendrick's hand, Robert manifested their old boyhood secret handshake, then thrust a letter into his fist.  "Hurry."  Then he was gone.

Kendrick took no time to don his armor.  Instead he rushed to the stables clothed only in tunic, hose, shoes, mantle and gauntlets, a dagger and sword his only weapons.  He was unaware of the traitor beneath his own roof or that he was being watched.  Saddling his horse he made ready for his tedious journey
, planning to stop at inns along the way.  For the moment Rowena Fitz Hugh was forgotten.  With his mantle billowing out behind him he rode.  Richard was in danger.  It was easy to pay an assassin to slay an imprisoned man.  The king would be an easy target to aim for now that he was captive.  An easy mark for the prince.

"John must never be king."  It would bring havoc.  Fighting.  Bloodshed.  Robert had been right when he had espoused the opinion that as unskilled a ruler as Richard had been, John would be much worse.

The forest lands loomed ahead of Kendrick, but he set aside his fear of outlaws.  Robin was their leader.  They would not do him harm.  He would be safe in the wooded lands.  Why then was his path blocked up ahead?

The men were dressed in hoods, much as the one he had seen Robert wear.  "I come in peace," he said, raising his hand in a gesture of camaraderie.  Alas
, he noticed too late that there was something in their manner to be fearful of.   The way they sat their horses gave them away.  They were no Saxon foresters, no outlaws.  They were Norman lords.  Prince John's followers.

Too late Kendrick spun his horse full circle to flee from the horseme
n.  "Don't let him get away!" commanded a voice.  Three horsemen rode to the left of Kendrick, two to the right, one followed upon his horse's hooves.

"If you can't take him alive, kill him," shouted a voice familiar to Kendrick.  He could not place it, yet knew the man from somewhere.  Hugo?  God's blood, it was not possible.  Yet it was.

Kendrick rode as fast as he could but it was useless to try and escape.  Reaching for his sword, he turned to fight, meeting one man in arm to arm combat.  The sound of their swords clanged through the forest, frightening the deer and woodland creatures away.  Kendrick thrust out and felt the blade of his sword hit muscle and flesh.  He saw a man fall.

"Kill him!"  This time he knew it to be Hugo's voice.  Fury overcame him, the desire to see the traitor die, but he had no time to attack the man who had played him false.  As he swirled there were two other men at his
side.  He had wounded one  man but five were in pursuit.  It was a battle he could not win.

Kendrick fought on gallantly nonethe
less, swinging his sword like a demon possessed, wounding yet another man.  Being so outnumbered, however, he knew well what was to be his fate.  He would die.  As he felt a burning stab of pain sear his arm, felt a warm gush of blood, he knew that to be a certainty. Still, he fought on.

Blood seeped from his wound as he struck blow after blow. 
He was dizzy from loss of blood; the faces before him became little more than a blur.  Another sword pierced his side, the force of the blow knocking him from his horse.  He fell with a thud to the cold, hard ground.

"Finish him off and let's go.  I want my money ere night falls," he heard a voice say, as if through a fog.

"Rowena!"  Strange that as his agony engulfed him he should whisper her name.

"Kill him.  Hurry."

Kendrick waited for the sword prick which would end his life but strangely it never came.  He could hear horses hooves and wondered at the sound.  Why were the men leaving him now?  It was puzzling, but he wasn't clear-headed enough to ponder the matter.  Darkness overcame his senses, but not before he whispered a prayer for his king and one for his own soul.

Rowena's fingers trembled as she slipped another arrow into the bow and took aim at the fleeing horsemen.  "Be gone with you all, you jack-a-napes!
  My men and I will see you in hell," she bluffed, hoping they would believe that there were others.  The bluff worked and she reasoned that cowards such as they were always wont to flee when it appeared that their own lives were threatened.  She could see the colors of their tunics in the distance--the greens, grays and browns looking like leaves of autumn.  "Be gone, whoever you are."

At first she had reasoned them to be followers of the outlaw Robin Hood, but after recognizing one of the men as the knight she had bested near
Nottingham, she knew at once that these were Prince John's men.  But why were they disguised?  Curious. 

Running over to where these assassin's victim lay, Rowena bent down and examined the damage their swords and clubs had done.  That she was too late to save the wounded man, that he was already dying or dead
, troubled her, for he had fought bravely.  Never had she seen a man of stronger mettle.  Who was he and why had he been set upon so cruelly?