From This Moment On

  “On how long we stay at Solonge.”

  I’d rather not go at all was the first thing that came to mind, but she decided against saying as much. So she smiled weakly.

  “I’ve no desire to linger,” she said finally. “Nothing therefor me.”

  Besides death.

  But there was no use in saying that either.

  “I’ve no reason to dawdle there myself,” Colin said. “Let us be on our way, be about our business quickly, and then we’ll see where our path leads us. But for now, let us make haste. We’ll leave Jason behind, lest he slow our progress.”

  She rose and packed her handful of belongings. She was ready far sooner than required and followed Colin silently out to the courtyard, where their mounts were saddled and ready. She wished, absently, that she’d had more time to spend at the priory. Her memories of it were quite faded, but definitely pleasant ones of time spent with her mother alone. No wonder she had dreamed so deeply and vividly of the woman.

  She shook her head suddenly to clear it before she broke down and wept. By the saints, she was not feeling herself lately. Just the slightest thing made her give in to tears. Perhaps she had spent one too many days as a man. It was likely enough to wreak havoc on the most sensible of women. Or perhaps it was that she was on the verge of going back to the very place she had fled in terror and vowed never to return to.

  Would Marie recognize her on sight? Would one of her bloody brothers blurt out her name the moment she walked through the door? She couldn’t have been fortunate enough to return and find them all safely wedded and ensconced in other keeps. François, at least, would still be hanging about, doing everything but an honest day’s work and passing all his hours trying to convince their sire that he should merely give François what he wanted without question.

  She was not looking forward to seeing her brother.

  She could only hope he wouldn’t recognize his mail shirt—even altered as it had been by Blackmour’s smith. At least she had no fear of her brother recognizing his filched sword. That had been melted down to fashion the saints only knew what. Cleaning tools for Blackmour’s cesspit, if there was any justice at all in the world.

  She mounted her horse and followed Colin from the courtyard, listening with half an ear to the vociferous complaints Sir Etienne couldn’t seem to keep to himself. Colin ignored the man, and she followed his example zealously. She could feel Sir Etienne glaring at her, even in the dark, but Colin seemed determined to keep himself between the two of them, so perhaps she would make out all right in the end.

  She thought back on the attack of the day before and knew it for what it was. Somehow beyond reason and beyond belief, Sir Etienne had arranged the entire thing. Hadn’t the ruffians gone only for Jason? Colin had been assaulted by a token pair of men, and Sir Etienne by the same number, but Jason had been assailed by the bulk of the force. Of course, she might have had her doubts, but one thing had told her beyond doubt that it had been no accident: the pointed look Sir Etienne had given her as soon as the bushes had discharged their hidden members.

  And now Jason lay in the priory, wounded. At least he wasn’t dead. She supposed he had Colin to thank for that. Watching him had been a revelation. She’d believed the rumors of his skill, of course, seen for herself his displeasure with others, even watched him parry mercilessly with Jason. But to see him actually protecting those he cared for was something else entirely.

  He had chortled. He had fought with grace and ease, making those who came at him look as if they’d never held swords before. He had either slain or maimed eleven men, fighting many of them en masse, and he’d made it seem as if it were nothing more than an easy morning’s exercise.

  But as enlightening as that had been, it hadn’t compared to what she’d discovered as she stole a look at Sir Etienne during that little bit of fighting. She supposed what she’d seen on his face was something he would have concealed if he’d known she’d been watching.

  Envy.

  Naked, hungry envy.

  She considered that as she rode alongside Colin in the darkness. Sir Etienne was jealous? She could understand that well enough. But to kill Colin because of it? Or mayhap he only used that as a threat to her, to get her to do what he wanted. That he might actually accomplish the deed was something she just couldn’t believe.

  And that likely galled him to the depths of his soul.

  Perhaps he would have his recompense after all.

  She found, a goodly while later, that she had been dozing in her saddle. The sky was growing light and the forest around her was beginning to take on familiar shapes.

  She realized, with a start, that she was nearing the place where she’d buried her clothes and her hair.

  And she thought she just might be ill.

  “Henri?”

  She looked at Colin. “I am well, my lord.”

  He turned to Sir Etienne. “Take the lead. Through the forest path, then on to the keep.”

  “Aye, just as I told you,” Sir Etienne said, but he didn’t sound pleased. “And ’tis a road far better traveled at midday.”

  “So you said. I prefer to travel under cover of darkness.”

  Sir Etienne huffed in irritation, and spurred his mount ahead. Colin looked at Ali and motioned for her to go before him. He put his hand meaningfully on his sword hilt. Ali took a deep breath, loosened her sword in its scabbard, and moved in front of him.

  And she prayed she would be able to avoid notice once she reached her home.

  Soon, though, she was no longer praying but merely wishing desperately that she were anywhere else, that she had confessed to Colin weeks ago, that she was safely in her grave where she did not have to face what awaited her but a half hour ahead. She wished most of all that she didn’t recognize her surroundings. Unfortunately, she could number every tree, recognize most all the bushes, and list in her mind the dips and swells of earth that would eventually spew her out before her father’s gates.

  She wished, absently, that she might have vomited up all her fear. A pity she couldn’t seem to manage it. Perhaps she’d passed too much of the sea voyage doing the like. She would have stopped to ponder that, but worrying was her current, all-consuming passion. She found herself powerless to resist entertaining in her mind all the possibilities that might await her.

  Death.

  Torture.

  A long, slow, painful death after a goodly bit of torture.

  By the time she’d reached Solonge’s gates, she was trembling with fear and merely praying that she could avoid drawing attention to herself by not falling off her horse.

  Colin made no move to take the lead through the barbican gate. Ali kept her eyes down and her hood pulled close around her face. All she needed was for one of the guards—and she couldn’t be fortunate enough to have it be the one she’d bribed to let her from the keep—recognize her and alert her father.

  Who would, no doubt, immediately take the happy tidings to his beloved wife.

  They rode into the courtyard. Ali forced herself to look at the ground. There was no point in looking about her anyway. She knew what her home looked like. Indeed, the very smell of the place hadn’t changed. She felt for a moment as if she hadn’t left at all.

  Only now she was on the Butcher of Berkhamshire’s right hand, something she never would have imagined in her foulest nightmares.

  Colin dismounted and she followed, standing close to him. She suddenly found Sir Etienne’s hand on the hood of her cloak. He likely would have pulled it back had Colin’s fingers not wrapped themselves around his wrist so quickly.

  Sir Etienne cursed. “What do you?”

  “Release Henri’s cloak.”

  “We should uncover our heads, out of respect for the lord here.”

  “You great horse’s arse,” Colin said impatiently. “Leave the lad be. Can you not sense his unease? He may keep his head covered the length of our visit, should he wish to. See to your own head and leave his alone.”

>   Sir Etienne spluttered, and continued to splutter as Ali suddenly found herself deposited on Colin’s other side, the side comfortably far from Sir Etienne and his busy hands. Apparently Colin wasn’t satisfied with that, for he gave Sir Etienne a mighty shove that placed him several feet away from them.

  More spluttering ensued.

  Ali wished desperately that she had remained behind, safely ensconced in the priory with Jason. But it was too late for anything like that. She bowed her head and fixed her gaze to the ground.

  The door opened and a man stepped out into the overcast morning light. Ali only had to see the boots to know it was her father. The boots took a few steps down toward the courtyard, then came to an abrupt halt.

  “Um,” her father said, sounding very unsure.

  “Colin of Berkhamshire,” Colin said, sounding not the least bit unsure. “Sir Etienne of Maignelay. My man-at-arms, Sir Henri.”

  “Ah...”

  “You once begged me to seek your daughter out. I refused then. I’ve come now to take up the task.”

  Ali felt her jaw begin to slide south and she hurriedly retrieved it. Her father had begged Colin for his aid? That Colin had refused didn’t surprise her. His pride had likely been mightily wounded. She did, after all, have the distinction of being the only one who hadn’t found a plausible excuse for not standing before a priest with him. She suspected he had been less than impressed with her tactic.

  “You have?” her sire asked, sounding stunned.

  “He only intends to kill her once he finds her,” Sir Etienne put in.

  Ali just couldn’t believe Colin would do the like, even if he laid hands on the missing Aliénore of Solonge. Shout at her? Aye. Glare, complain, and make her life a misery for quite some time? Very likely. But slay her?

  Ali suspected he just didn’t have it in him.

  Which was enough to make her think all sorts of thoughts of truth and confession that she likely shouldn’t have.

  Her father, however, didn’t have the benefit of two months in Colin’s company. She looked at him from the shadows of her hood and saw that he had gone quite gray in the face.

  “Is that true?” he asked. He raised a trembling finger and pointed it at Colin. “Do you seek her merely to kill her?”

  “Words spoken in anger,” Colin said dismissively.

  “But—” Sir Etienne protested.

  “Words spoken in anger,” Colin repeated, throwing Sir Etienne a glare that Ali herself felt the heat of. “Sir Etienne, as you can see, has a rather loose tongue.”

  “Aye,” her father said absently, his eyes still fixed on Colin, “he’s been here before. I know his kind.”

  Sir Etienne, predictably, began to splutter.

  “Retire to the garrison hall,” Colin ordered him. “Remain there until I send for you.”

  “I will not—”

  “Garrison hall or dungeon. You choose.”

  Ali listened to her father throw that at Sir Etienne and was surprised by the sudden bite to his tone. She looked away, that she might not see whatever expression Sir Etienne wore and the look he would no doubt give her.

  “I will go,” Sir Etienne said stiffly, “only because I might have a decent meal there. But I will return.”

  “When we send for you,” Colin said briskly.

  Sir Etienne cursed as he walked away, and his words were hardly complimentary to either of the men standing near her.

  “My lord Denis,” Colin said quietly to her father, “I do not trust him and I would have you watch him just as if he were an enemy.”

  “Done,” Denis said.

  “And might we have speech together? Alone?”

  “Of course. I’ll send for my wife.”

  Ali thought she might faint. Indeed, she suspected that doing so was the only sensible course of action. That way, she wouldn’t have to feel Marie’s blade sliding between her ribs once she discovered who had come home.

  She swayed. Colin grasped her shoulder and held her upright.

  “I think this is a tale better left between men. Not that I don’t have a great esteem for women,” he added quickly, “but I think I would be more comfortable...”

  Ali stole a look at her father and saw him nod in understanding. “Aye,” he said, “I know. No sense in doing anything to upset their delicate constitutions.”

  Delicate constitutions? Ali barely stifled her snort before it burst forth from her. Marie’s constitution was hardly delicate. Indeed, Ali suspected the woman could either bed or fight the entire French army and merely yawn when she was finished.

  “Now,” Denis continued, “your lad there can see to the horses—”

  “Nay, he stays with me. Sir Etienne bears him ill will and I’ll not have him harmed.”

  Denis shrugged. “As you will. Come then, and we will have refreshment in my solar.”

  Colin looked at her briefly, then inclined his head toward the hall. Ali followed, because the alternative was remaining outside where Sir Etienne would no doubt come to lurk the moment he thought Colin and her father were safely inside.

  She walked across the great hall, shivering. If she did but survive this part of her adventure, then she would surely confess to Colin and face his wrath. It could be no worse than being back in her own home and wondering who would be the first one to see beneath the dirt and shorn hair.

  She found herself soon in her father’s solar, sitting on a stool in the darkest comer of the chamber, clutching a cup of wine and the plate of foodstuffs Colin had shoved into her hands. She drank and ate only because she thought it might serve her later. When she was finished, she had no memory of the meal.

  But she did remember every word her father said. She leaned back against the wall and watched him as he opened his heart to Colin.

  A heart full of grief.

  So, it was as Berengaria had once said—that her father’s grief was consuming him. Ali listened to him speak of her mother and realized how much he had loved her. Indeed, that love had been so strong, he’d hardly been himself after she’d died. Marie had been at the keep already as one of Ali’s mother’s ladies, so when she had wormed her way into his affections, he’d been almost powerless to deny her whatever she wanted.

  Which had included, oddly enough, betrothing Ali to Colin of Berkhamshire.

  Ali listened with a growing sense of amazement and distress. A pity she’d been too young then, too cowed, to have seen beyond her own misery to her sire’s. But what could she have done? There was no denying that he had been so far under Marie’s sway, likely nothing she could have done would have changed that.

  Yet now to listen to his grief over having lost her was enough to have her continually wiping the tears from her cheeks.

  “Can you not find her?” he asked Colin. “The cost means nothing to me.”

  “I will search for her as diligently as may be,” Colin assured him. “And I am an excellent tracker.”

  “But,” Denis said, after a goodly bit of silence, “what will you do when you find her? Surely you wouldn’t slay her in truth.”

  Colin was silent for a very long time. Ali found herself torn between wanting to quake in fear and wanting to wallop him strongly over the head with the bottle of wine at her feet. The man had no intentions of slaying any woman. Why was he tormenting her father so?

  “My lord?” Denis prompted. “What will you do with her? If you intend to slay her, then I will give you no aid.”

  “She is my betrothed,” Colin said heavily. “When I find her, if I find her, then we will decide what is to be done.”

  “I wonder if you have any mercy in your soul,” Denis said quietly.

  “Many people wonder that,” Colin agreed. “I often wonder the same thing.”

  Ali pursed her lips. She knew him better than that. He had mercy enough, he simply didn’t like to show it overmuch. Might ruin his precious reputation.

  “What else am I to do?” Denis asked, sounding quite pained. “I must trust you
with my daughter’s life whilst fearing you will end that life if you find her.” He rose and looked down at Colin. “You’re no doubt in need of more sustenance, and then my wife will see you settled in our finest chamber. I can only hope,” he added sternly, “that when you find my girl, you will consider how you would feel in my place, were you forced to trust another with your girl’s safety.”

  Colin nodded. “Aye, my lord. I will consider that.”

  Denis grunted, then led the way from the solar. Ali found herself pulled to her feet by Colin, and then she followed him from the chamber, keeping her head down.

  “Stay close to me,” Colin whispered over his shoulder. “I’ve no liking for this place. We’ll leave as soon as possible.”

  “The saints be praised,” she muttered. That moment couldn’t come soon enough, to her mind.

  But for the duration, she was certainly content to keep herself one pace behind Colin down the passageway. It occurred to her, as she watched him continually peek over his shoulder to make certain she was still behind him, that it was passing odd that she should be in her own home, the home she’d fled to avoid this man, and now she found herself being protected by him.

  A pity Sir Etienne was still lurking about.

  She might have been tempted to tell Colin the truth otherwise.

  Chapter 27

  Sir Etienne cursed as he paced in the garrison hall, a completely unsuitable, completely inadequate, fully filled, and foul-smelling place where only a lowly garrison knight should have found himself. Not him, though. Not Sir Etienne, who would find himself lord of a keep someday with men attending him. And women as well. He would stock himself a bloody harem when the time came if he so pleased.

  But first he would have to have Solonge’s gold. A pity he couldn’t have the daughter of Solonge whilst he was about it. That was certainly the quickest way to find himself lord of something. No doubt her father would amply reward the man who could slay Colin of Berkhamshire, just as the butcher was preparing to slay the lady Aliénore.

  Sir Etienne considered that idea, then tossed it aside. If he rescued her, he would have to wed with her and he wasn’t sure that would be worth her dowry. If she’d been betrothed to Berkhamshire, perhaps her dowry wasn’t as massive as he’d hoped. After all, Lord Colin had to have been desperate enough for a bride to take whatever he could get. Hadn’t he accepted Sybil of Maignelay? ’Twas a certainty she had brought nothing with her.