Where Love Has Gone (31 page)

“She is a witness in the matter I have been
investigating,” Desmond said. “We require fresh horses and we must
leave as soon as they can be saddled.”

“From where have you come?” Sir Edmund asked.
“Where are you bound?”

They were reasonable questions, considering
the system Desmond had described to Elaine, of lending horses that
awaited return to their home stables, yet she thought she detected
something more than mere ordinary interest in Sir Edmund’s manner
as he stepped off the dais to stand facing Desmond.

“We have ridden from Avranches in hope of
finding King Henry in residence here at St. Lo,” Desmond answered
with no sign of concern or hesitation. “Since he is obviously not
here, our duty is to follow him to Caen.”

“And in haste, you say. Well, Sir Desmond,
let me offer a piece of good advice. Recently I have received
reports of trouble along the main road that runs from St. Lo to
Bayeux, and thence to Caen. Several travelers were stopped and
robbed and one man even now lies close to death from a sword
thrust. My men-at-arms are searching for the thieves, but I dare
not call that road safe until the villains are found and
imprisoned.”

“I see.” Desmond considered the information.
“What do you suggest we do, then?”

“Take another route. Follow the road that
leads south from here, along the River Vire.”

“I have no wish to travel south,” Desmond
objected.

“I know it seems a roundabout way,” Sir
Edmund told him. “But if you leave the road at the village of
Torigni and ride northeastward across the open countryside, you
will soon reach the royal road that runs north to Caen. That road
is patrolled by King Henry’s soldiers, so it will be safer than the
other route. Surely you know the most direct road is not always the
quickest way to reach your destination. Or, in this case, the
safest way.”

“I’m sure your advice is good, and I thank
you for it,” Desmond said politely.

“If you can spare an hour or two, it will be
my pleasure to provide a meal for you and a chance for the lady to
rest,” Sir Edmund said.

“You are very kind,” Elaine spoke up, “and at
another time I will be delighted to sup with you. But, as Sir
Desmond has said, we must be on our way.” She offered her hand and
smiled when he bent over it, though she distrusted him as she had
once distrusted Lady Benedicta, on instinct alone.

“I don’t know your name,” Sir Edmund
murmured, returning her smile.

“I am Lady Aglise of Dereham.” Elaine
surprised herself by how easily she lied. “Lord Royce is my
godfather, and when I see him in Caen, I will be certain to mention
your kind assistance to us.”

“Ah.” Sir Edmund dropped her hand and turned
to the squire who had remained listening and watching the
interview. “Pierre, conduct our guests to the stable and allow them
to choose any two mounts among those destined to be returned to
Caen. And be assured, Sir Desmond, that your own horses will arrive
safely in Caen within a few days.”

Less than an hour later they were on their
way again, riding southward as Sir Edmund had advised, moving at a
steady canter that allowed Elaine the opportunity to observe the
countryside. Around them lay rolling hills clothed in the gentle
green of early spring, with the sparkling River Vire on their
right. It was all quite lovely, but even as she breathed deeply of
the fresh warm air after the unpleasant odors of the fortress hall,
she kept an eye on Desmond. She expected him to make a contrary
move soon, and she wasn’t disappointed.

Once they were out of sight of the fortress
on its high, rocky hill, Desmond flashed a sudden grin at her and
spurred his horse into a gallop. Elaine was prepared, so she easily
kept pace with him until he slowed enough for them to talk.

“How much farther shall we travel before we
choose our own route?” she asked. She was not surprised to hear his
delighted laugh.

“So, you trusted Sir Edmund no more than I
did,” he said. “I thought not, though you kept so quiet. Clever
Elaine. You are a good student; you’d make a fine spy.”

“I saw something cold and calculating in his
eyes,” she revealed. “At first, I supposed he was being cautious
about unexpected visitors, as the commander of any fortress ought
to be. But I could not like him, perhaps because he reminded me of
Lady Benedicta. It’s possible the tale he recounted, of travelers
being stopped and robbed, is true. He may have seized on the
circumstance as a convenient excuse. Or perhaps, he invented the
story to frighten us and to make you worry about my safety.”

“Did you notice the men-at-arms in the hall?”
Desmond asked. “They looked like thieves, themselves. It’s too bad
I have no previous personal acquaintance with the commander of St.
Lo.”

“Are you suggesting the man we spoke to is an
impostor? A French spy, perhaps? But, Desmond, this countryside is
so peaceful. If the fortress was taken by force, wouldn’t we see
burning houses, trampled fields, bodies along the way?”

“Not if St. Lo was seized by stealth. I just
don’t know, Elaine. Royce may be able to answer our questions after
we reach Caen. Our task now is to arrive there alive and in fit
condition to speak to him. Our one advantage is that Sir Edmund may
assume we are riding slowly out of deference to your supposed
limitations as a woman. If he plans an ambush, we will be far ahead
of where he expects us to be, for he cannot know what a fine rider
you are. We leave the road here.”

“Well before we reach Torigni, where any
sensible traveler would stop for a short time, to eat and rest the
horses,” she said, nodding her approval of his plan. “I’ll wager
that’s where Sir Edmund thinks to catch us. But when his people
ride into Torigni, we will be well on our way to Caen.”

They left the river behind and galloped east.
At first the sun lay warm on their backs. Then they entered a
forest, where the shade chilled the air and the dense underbrush
slowed their progress. As soon as they were out of sight of anyone
on the road, Desmond halted. While Elaine watched, puzzled, he dug
into his saddlebag.

“Here.” He handed her a knife in a long
sheath. “Fasten this to your belt. You may need it.” His fingers
lingered against hers when she accepted the weapon.

“Don’t hesitate to use it,” he instructed.
“I’ll do my best to defend you, but we don’t know how many men will
come against us.”

“Are you sure we’ll be attacked?” she
asked.

“As sure as any spy can be.” His familiar
smile flashed again, giving her the impression that he was looking
forward to a fight. “I have learned to listen to the warnings in my
mind. On the one occasion when I did not listen, I was captured.
I’ll not be taken by treachery a second time. Nor will you be
harmed while I have breath in my body.”

She said nothing, merely meeting his level
gaze for a long moment before she finally, and very reluctantly,
secured the knife so she could reach it easily. She prayed she
wouldn’t have to use it, though she trusted Desmond’s
instincts.

They spent the next hour or so moving through
the forest as quickly as possible while trying to leave few traces
of their passing for anyone to follow.

“I begin to think we should have ridden
directly to Bayeux,” Elaine grumbled. “Or else, I should have
dressed in hose and tunic, so I’d have no skirt to catch on
brambles and twigs.”

“I’d like to see you in men’s clothing,”
Desmond responded, though he wasn’t looking at her. “Stay here. I
see sunlight just ahead, so I think that must be where the trees
end. Let me see if anyone is waiting for us.”

He rode on and Elaine finished untangling her
hem from a bush, then tried to tidy the hair that had pulled out of
her thick braid. By the time she reached Caen, she was going to
look thoroughly disreputable. She hoped Royce would recognize her.
She couldn’t begin to imagine what her mother would say about her
appearance. Lady Irmina was always perfectly dressed and coifed,
and she had frequently criticized Elaine for her lack of interest
in the gaudy finery and face paint and jewels so common at the
royal court.

“Come on,” Desmond called softly. “The way is
clear.”

Once again they rode in sunshine, across open
fields, past orchards and neatly ploughed rows where vegetables
sprouted in fresh, springtime shades of pale green and tender red.
Peasants working in the fields lifted their heads to watch them
ride by. Desmond took care not to trample the newly planted crops,
instead keeping to the grassy paths between the fields. Wherever
the land was firm enough, they galloped, making up the time they
had lost in the forest.

“Perhaps we’ve outwitted any men who are
trying to follow us,” Elaine said during a period when a muddy area
resembling a small swamp forced them to slow their horses to a
walk.

“Perhaps.” Desmond sounded doubtful.

“Or, better yet, perhaps no one was following
us at all.”

“You must always assume someone knows what
you are doing and is following with the intention of stopping you,”
Desmond warned.

She didn’t think that could be a very
pleasant way to live, always suspicious of people, constantly
looking over one shoulder to see who was creeping up from behind.
She refrained from saying so. Desmond’s excessive caution was going
to see them safely through any danger.

“I do believe I see the road just ahead,”
Desmond said, pointing.

The royal road was a dirt track that wound
across the countryside between the fields and that curved around
any steep hills. Deep ruts scored the surface, caused by the wheels
of heavily laden carts heading for the nearest town to sell farm
products on market days. By King Henry’s order the trees and brush
on either side of the road were kept cleared so there would be no
hiding places for brigands, and once or twice a year the ruts were
filled in with fresh soil. Desmond and Elaine stayed on the rough
grasses along the side of the road, hoping to find more secure
footing there for their horses.

By now it was late afternoon and the sun cast
long shadows over the countryside. When a flock of blackbirds flew
up from a field on Elaine’s right, she assumed they were heading
for their nighttime roosting place until Desmond uttered a warning
in a low voice.

“Here they come.” He wheeled his horse so its
rear was toward Elaine. “Stay behind me. You’ll be a bit safer
there.”

Two men wearing chainmail galloped directly
across the field from which the birds had fled, their horses’s
hooves throwing up large clods of earth. A peasant who was
scattering seed along the neatly ploughed rows cried out in anguish
at the destruction of his work. The armored men paid no heed to the
protests, not even pausing to strike at the peasant for daring to
complain.

The two clearly weren’t interested in
peasants, only in Desmond and Elaine. They reached the muddy road
and turned on to it, not slowing their advance as they came
closer.

“They aren’t going to waste time in talking,”
Desmond remarked in a conversational tone. He was ready for them,
sword in hand, reins loosely looped around the pommel of his
saddle. While fighting he would control his horse with just the
pressure of his muscular thighs.

Elaine drew the knife he had given her from
its sheath and sat waiting, afraid yet determined not to be taken
down. She and Desmond mustn’t be stopped in their purpose; they
could
not
be prevented from reaching Caen and Royce. She
vowed to do whatever was necessary to see they carried out their
mission.

The first man reached Desmond and began a
furious assault with his broadsword. Elaine couldn’t see how
Desmond was faring against him, for she was occupied with the
second man. He rode directly at her, forcing her horse away from
Desmond’s protection. The man’s right arm snaked out to pull her
from her mount. The attempt might have worked, if she hadn’t been
riding astride. She clamped her knees against her horse’s sides and
stabbed as hard as she could at her attacker, aiming for his
outstretched right arm. The knife jabbed through the chainmail with
a wrench that pulled the blade from Elaine’s hand.

The man yelped in pain, then tried to turn
his horse so as to cut off any hope of escape by forcing her
farther away from Desmond. Elaine reacted swiftly, taking the only
defensive action she could think of in the heat of the moment. She
pulled hard on the reins until her horse reared upward, thrashing
the air with its sharp hooves.

Blood spurted around her. She wasn’t sure if
it came from the man attacking her, from his horse, or from her own
horse. A shriek rang in her ears, deafening her for a moment or two
and, again, she wasn’t certain if its origin was human or animal.
She was still in the saddle, but her horse was circling wildly,
fighting her efforts to control it, and she was utterly
disoriented, not knowing where Desmond was, or even where the road
was. The shriek went on and on, then suddenly stopped.

In the abrupt silence Elaine looked down to
see a chainmail-clad figure lying facedown on the road. A few feet
away Desmond dismounted and, reaching up, hauled the limp, bleeding
figure of an assailant from his horse to the ground.

“Elaine!”

She heard her name through the ringing in her
ears and saw Desmond’s shape wavering in the mist that swam before
her eyes.

“Dismount before you fall off your
horse.”

The sharp command sent her out of the saddle
to stand next to the horse. Fearing she’d crumple to the ground,
she held on tightly to the saddle.

“Are you hurt?” Desmond called. “Damnation,
woman, answer me!”

“I – I am unharmed.”

“Then come here,” he ordered.

At first she wasn’t sure she was capable of
obeying. Then she let go of the support of her horse and put one
foot before the other, moving slowly toward Desmond, until he
reached out and took her hand.