shadow and lace (21 page)

"Ride hard, little one," Marlys murmured. "Ride as if the devil himself were on your heels." She knelt there as if in prayer until her knees went numb, dashing away her tears before they could splash on the stones.

Lindsey Fordyce swore under his breath as he slid off the nag for the third time. His bad leg throbbed. He lay on the frozen dirt like an amiable cherub swaddled in scarves from toe to brow. The illusion was shattered when he opened his mouth and a new string of curses spewed forth. His sons loped to his rescue, tugging him to his feet and dusting him off with hamlike hands. Two of the boys rewound a scarf over his pink-tipped nose and across his eyes.

He clawed at the scarf. "God's nightgown, why don't the lot of you just throw me on the ground and smother me? Are you in that much haste to gain your inheritance?"

The boys looked at each other blankly, then broke into grins. Fordyce shook his head. "Scold you and you grin. If I thrash you, will you laugh?" He shook his fist at the shuffling circle of giants, then thought better of it.

He satisfied himself with kicking the nag. The beast rolled its eyes but did not flinch. "I cannot fathom where that chit found such a creature. 'Tis not fit to feed the vultures. More carrion than horse, I say. But the chit was more man than woman if you ask me. Wouldn't surprise me if she were hiding a healthy moustache beneath all that hair. She was a beastly little girl, too, always tagging after that arrogant brother of hers. You there—William. Nay, Phillip. Whatever the hell your name is, hasten over here and help me mount."

The hulking lad he pointed to got down on hands and knees. Fordyce trundled up on his back, heedless of the dig of his heels into his son's ribs. He laid across the horse with a solid "oomph." His rounded gut fit neatly into the hollow of the horse's spine. The other four boys pushed him into place as their brother lay gasping for air.

The ribbon of road unfolded through the massive trunks of trees scarred with winter's grayness. The ancient forest had lost none of its menace with its leaves. An aura of stillness and decay hung over it like the pall of the sun pasted in the gray sky. Fordyce rubbed his dripping nose on his scarf, his temper unimproved by the memory of the warm hall he had been forced to desert as dawn had claimed the skies.

He might still be languishing there now if that hairy creature had not thrust his tunic into his hand, hissing of danger and flight. His regret sharpened with the chill in the air. He had so hoped to deepen his acquaintance with that ample widow he had danced with the night before. Images of pleasant days spent living off de Crecy's food, ale, and hospitality rolled before his eyes to be obliterated by the narrow road leading back to Revelwood. He considered sending the boys on and braving a return to Caerleon. His body followed the direction of his thoughts, pivoting on the horse so he could peruse the ancient Roman road they had traveled from Caerleon.

Rowena had done well enough for herself there. She had sat like a princess on a throne of furs at Sir Gareth's feet. Why should her father be responsible if she had thrown a tantrum and ran off to sulk? Surely a man as reasonable as Sir Gareth would not blame him for the folly of a woman. Rowena had probably trotted back to the castle at first hint of dawn and was even now cuddled in the knight's arms, begging prettily for his forgiveness.

If he returned to Caerleon, he and Gareth would raise a mug around the fire and toast the stubbornness of women. A smile played around his lips. 'Twould not be the first time they could ruminate one with another over the fickle heart of a woman.

He was still lost in his pleasant reverie when a nightmare garbed in black rounded the bend and hurtled down the long stretch straight for him.

Ignoring the open-mouthed mutters of his sons, he slammed his heels into the nag's flanks. The horse did not budge. A frantic glance over his shoulder showed the dark shape looming larger, riding as one with a white beast whose hooves skimmed the earth as if winged.

Fordyce bounced up and down to jog the horse into motion. The nag shuddered and leaned backward. For one terrible moment, Fordyce feared it would sit down, dumping him onto the packed earth for the fourth time. The nag swayed but held firm. He wrested a rusty dagger from his waistband and drew the blade neatly across the nag's hide. With a bray of pain, the horse lurched forward in an uneven canter Fordyce would have thought impossible seconds before.

He heard the cries of his sons and dared a look back to see them trotting after him, arms upraised. Almost upon them was the thundering shadow. Chuckling with glee, he humped over, his heels beating a sharp staccato against the nag's ribs. His next look back showed the boys staring after him, limp-handed and open-mouthed. He twisted around, gripping wisps of mane to hold his seat. The stretch of road between them was empty. The dark rider had vanished.

A flash of pure black out of the corner of his eye warned him. His pursuer was no longer behind him. He wheeled around with a choked squeal as a muscled arm shot out and curved around his windpipe. The nag galloped on without him, finding a grace it had forgotten in the freedom from his bulk. The sun went purple before Fordyce's eyes. For a moment, he thought he would simply hang there, finished by that merciless arm with no noose, no gallows, no noble speeches of farewell. When Sir Gareth launched himself off his stallion without losing his grip, he knew he would not be so fortunate.

They hit the ground with an impact that had to hurt Gareth as much as it hurt him. The thought gave Fordyce satisfaction even as his lungs sucked in on themselves. Their momentum sent them rolling off the road into the dead underbrush of a ditch. A twig dug a shallow trench in his forearm, but the pain was a welcome reprieve from the numbness in his chest.

Gareth straddled him. Fordyce dragged in a breath as the arm at his windpipe was replaced by the icy tip of a misericord. "What have you done with her?" Gareth rasped. Blood trickled from a corner of his lip.

Fordyce started to say "Who?" but wisely refrained. He satisfied himself with blinking owlishly until he could summon enough breath to answer. He made a decision he would not make often in his life. He told the truth. "How many lads do you see?"

Gareth looked at him askance, wary of a trick. Neither the misericord nor the hand that held it wavered as he raised his head. "Five. And if they are lads, they are overgrown indeed."

Fordyce gave a fraction of a nod as if that settled the matter. "Five. Then mayhaps you should pursue the other three and ask them what
they
have done with her."

The five shaggy men crept nearer, hands shoved deep in flaps that were once sleeves. A frown of consternation touched Gareth's brow. Fordyce bit back a smile.

Gareth settled back on his heels. Dirt smudged his cheek, making him appear as sinister as if he had been driven from hell itself, trailing sparks and ashes. "The silver-haired boy has her. And Irwin—the one who tells the stories. They are the ones who carried her off? Where might they be?"

Fordyce shrugged. "How should I know? They came to me last night, blathering about some preposterous plan to rescue Ro." He embellished the tale with typical dramatic flair. "Irwin told me how she came to him on her knees, weeping piteously and begging her rightful betrothed to free her from your monstrous bondage."

Gareth opened his mouth, then closed it. The hand holding the misericord went limp. "And you refused to help her?"

Fordyce sniffed. "I made a wager. I am an honorable man." He nudged aside Gareth's blade with one finger and sat up, plucking dead leaves from his scarf.

Gareth's gaze traveled frantically from Fordyce to the road. His brow furrowed, the weight of decision obviously paining him. His words were more for himself than Fordyce. "There is no telling what those fools will lead her into."

He stood, towering over Fordyce. The baron climbed to his feet to find himself glaring at Gareth's hauberk. When had the lad grown to such monstrous stature? He threw the ends of his scarf over his shoulders and started up the ditch bank. "To be so accosted! There are laws to protect innocent travelers. England is a civilized land. Why, if the king had any inkling—"

His words died on a gurgle as Gareth caught the ends of Fordyce's scarf and wound them around his fist. He was jerked against a body as hard as iron.

Gareth's breath was hot in his ear. "You haven't seen the last of me yet, Fordyce. I'll be back for you. And if I find her with you—if I find out you lied— neither law, nor Edward, nor God Himself will stop me from killing you. Do you understand?"

Fordyce managed a cough that Gareth blessedly took for assent. The knight freed him. He scrambled out of the ditch, heedless of the dirt and leaves he scattered on Gareth's head. The nag was nowhere to be seen, and Fordyce eyed Gareth's stallion wistfully. The beast rolled its eyes and pawed the dirt. Mustering the remnants of his dignity, he limped down the narrowing road, his eyes darting from side to side in search of his own dismal excuse for a mount. The boys followed in a bedraggled parade.

He was well out of arm's reach and almost out of earshot when he called back in the tones of a benevolent papa, "Don't fret about the girl, Sir Gareth. She is in good hands. Little Roddy is a responsible lad."

"His name is Little Freddie, you idiot!" Gareth's cry was filled with such virulence that Fordyce began to march in double time and the lads had to lope to keep up with him.

Rowena should have grown accustomed to the cold. But as her numb fingers uncurled from the reins, the prick of it stung her anew. The fingerless gloves swathing her palms hung in tatters. The air was different today—lighter somehow, and sparkling with an airy iridescence that rendered its raw chill all the more cruel. Rowena felt giddy, as if the air burning her lungs lacked substance. The sun hung like a flat yellow disk in the sky, mocking them with its illusion of warmth.

A harmless ribbon of gray clouds unfurled themselves on the horizon. She glanced at Little Freddie. After a week of huddling in the forests, nibbling on what berries or acorns they could scrounge, his cheeks had taken on the sunken look she hated. Sensing her somber gaze, he swiveled on his pony and gave her a heartening smile.

They sat on the hill overlooking Revelwood. An unbroken stretch of gray swelled behind the castle, resembling more a vast sea than the moor it was.

Without wanting to, Rowena saw another castle transposed over the crumbling ramparts of Revelwood. She blinked to dispel the image, knowing she might as well imagine her hands cupped around a steaming bowl of barley stew or her hair untangled by hands that mocked her with their tenderness. Below them, nothing stirred but the wind. Irwin's bay snorted nervously.

"No reason to dawdle now." Irwin chafed his palms. "Home awaits us."

But none of them moved until Rowena clucked softly to her mare to lead them down the hill. They dismounted clumsily, their limbs stiff with cold. Big Freddie took a step toward the frozen moat.

"Wait!" She caught his arm.

They all looked at her, then at the moat. The splintered planks that had served as a drawbridge were gone. Between them and the iron-banded door lay a ditch fifteen feet wide, ten feet deep, and mottled with water frozen to a grimy dun.

Big Freddie dropped to hands and knees to peer into the abyss he had almost walked into. Little Freddie paced along the moat, his gaze trained to the ground. His smooth forehead puckered in a frown.

Irwin hugged himself and stamped his feet. "Hullo," he called out.

The cry echoed, then went drifting over the moors. A rising wind whipped tears into Rowena's eyes. The impassive stone walls blurred before her watery gaze. She shivered with a chill that had nothing to do with the cold as she remembered Gareth's long-ago threat. Perhaps even now the bodies of her papa and brothers littered the great hall, their eyes frozen in sightless horror, a single line of crimson staining their throats.

Irwin blew into the cup of his hands. "How we reached Revelwood before they did I do not know. This beastly week has gone on forever. Did Uncle remove the planks when we left? I cannot recall it, but he must have."

"He did not." Little Freddie straightened, his lips compressed to a thin line. "Do you see any planks? The ground was soft from the melting snow when we started out. Do you see any ridges or marks where the planks might have been dragged away?"

Irwin gave the ground a halfhearted sweep. "Well, nay, I suppose not…"

"Of course you don't," Little Freddie said. "Because the planks were not dragged away. They were—"

Rowena finished the sentence with him. "—dragged inside."

They lifted their gazes to the weather-beaten stones; seeing their home as an impenetrable fortress for the first time. The empty eyes of the arrow slits stared back at them.

Big Freddie ambled to his feet, scratching his head.

"The ice is solid enough. I could climb down and cross it."

"How would you reach the door? Spread your arms and fly?" Little Freddie shook his head. "Nay. 'Twon't be necessary." His voice cracked as it rose to a roar. "Whoever locked us out can bloody well open the door and let us in!"

Something in Rowena snapped to see her brother's even features contorted with rage. Her voice joined his in a mindless cry of anger. Irwin bellowed. Big Freddie scooped up a handful of stones and pelted the castle door. Their cacophony should have woken any dead Gareth might have left.