Defy Not the Heart

  "Because I gave him something to make him sleep, as I gave to Sir Searle. Tis the best way for a man to get his strength back after losing a little blood. But neither of them is so sorely wounded that he will not be full of complaints at the long bed rest I will insist on."

  She was not sure her husband would swallow that, but after a moment he nodded curtly and left the chamber. Reina sighed in relief that was short-lived as she glanced down at Walter. He was still terribly pale. No wonder Ranulf had thought him dying.

  "Best you hear me, de Breaute." She bent over him to whisper sharply by his ear. "You make me a liar by dying now, and I will spend the rest of my life praying you spend the rest of your life rotting in pur­gatory. For whatever misbegotten reason you are dear to him, for his sake you will recover right quickly."

  Whether he somehow heard her or not, she felt better for having said it.

  Florette was still hovering anxiously outside the chamber, so Reina sent her back in, instructing her to watch for fever and send for her at the first sign. A glance about the hall found Ranulf in conversation with Eric again, but Reina only heard the last of it as she approached them.

  "Send a messenger you can trust to the castellan at Warhurst. Tell him does he send a large force after the outlaws on the morrow at first light, he will at last have them."

  "Will he?"

  "Aye. After he chases them into our hands, he can have whatever is left of them to do with as he pleases."

  Reina turned away ere Ranulf noticed her, not that he would call her to him if he did, when he had only bloodshedding on his mind. She had never heard him speak in quite that tone before, but knew that what­ever it was he planned for the morrow, 'twas not something she wanted to know about. She could al­most pity the outlaws, if they had not long needed getting rid of.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The overcast sky kept the heat at bay, but did naught to alleviate Ranulf s impatience as the morning pro­gressed. They had left Clydon under cover of dark­ness in the middle of the night, and at intervals in small groups. Riding south first before turning back to circle the woods had been another caution, enough to satisfy him the trap would not be suspected.

  There had been a total of sixty-eight horses at Cly­don, and Ranulf took every one, including his wife's dainty palfrey. Still, the smaller men had had to ride two to a horse to accommodate the full hundred men he was utilizing and get them where he wanted before first light.

  Eric and Sir Meyer had taken half the men east, Ranulf riding along the western edge of the woods. Being unfamiliar with the terrain had not been a det­riment to the plan, at least on the western boundary. The stream that paralleled the woods here for about a league had a low enough bank to conceal the horses, even spread out as they were to allow for whichever point the outlaws chose to exit the woods. They needed that concealment for surprise, and he could only hope Eric had found a like concealment.

  The wide field of oats running between the woods and the stream was newly planted, low enough not to give the outlaws any cover once they were caught in the middle of it. According to one of the Clydon men, the field belonged to the widow de Burgh, so Ranulf did not feel the least hesitant in littering it with dead bodies and trampling the crop to do so. He had even considered sending a man to her manor to enlist what men she could spare, but decided against it for such easy sport. If and when Lord Rothwell came to see what had happened to his bride, or if there was any more trouble from Falkes de Rochefort, would be soon enough to call on his vassals for aid.

  "Think you something has gone awry, Ranulf?" Kenric asked beside him. "Mayhap the men from Warhurst got lucky this time and caught them for us."

  Ranulf did no more than grunt, for the thought had crossed his mind, too. The woods were only several leagues wide, so how long could it take a man run­ning for his life to exit them? True, these outlaws were wily. They might be even now on the edge of the woods, cautiously watching for a trap ere they decided to make a run for the next stand of trees farther west.

  And then he saw movement, though it took a mo­ment for him to be certain. No wonder these men had eluded capture for so many years. Without horses, and dressed in the same colors of the woods, they could easily blend into the foliage around them, even get up a tree to become almost invisible. If their pur­suers were not many, they really had no reason to leave the woods entirely. So Warhurst must have sent forth a large enough patrol to make them nervous enough to risk it.

  There were now two men, now three. They were in no hurry. The first man turned about to say some­thing to the others, while still more emerged from the woods. If they had scattered to run from the Warhurst soldiers, then they obviously had met up again before risking the open field, which was more than Ranulf could have hoped for. He had been half afraid they would come out singly and he would get only a hand­ful or so, for stragglers would either see his men or hear something, and blend back into the woods.

  Ranulf passed the word down the line to make ready, though the band of outlaws crossing the field was hard to miss now. Their numbers had increased until they were nearly fifty, odds more to Ranulfs liking. Thirty-four of his men would ride out to meet them. The rest were positioned with crossbows to take down any within range. He did not intend to lose a single one, and so being, he had to first cut them off from escaping back into the woods.

  What ensued was a farce like to sicken a seasoned warrior. The element of surprise worked. To see a line of horsemen charging over an embankment right in front of them had the outlaws gaping for long, sus­pended moments ere they spurred their feet to turn about and run. They were reached just past the mid­dle of the field, which undoubtedly made them lose heart, seeing the woods and escape such a long dis­tance away. A goodly number were struck down in the pass to cut them off, but when Ranulf turned about, it was to find the entire band prostrated on the ground, what weapons they carried thrown away, and the whole lot of them screaming for mercy, as if they had long practiced this ploy.

  Ranulf was disgusted, but short of outright slaugh­ter, there was naught to do but accept their surrender. Yet he was not to be denied the retribution he was here for. Eric had said five of the group that had at­tacked them on the road had given up and run back into the woods when they saw they were losing the fight. He would have those five for hanging, as well as the leader of this bunch. The rest could be sent to Warhurst.

  Ranulf dismounted and signaled Master Scot to tell him what he wanted. He did not have long to wait, but the brawny master-at-arms returned with only one man. Square jaw smooth, mustache neatly trimmed, brown hair even shorter than Ranulf's, he was not what one might imagine an outlaw to look like. There was nothing even to indicate he lived out-of-doors. He was not filthy. His clothes were in decent repair. And if he had moments before been crying for mercy with the rest of them, there was no fear in his gaze now, which was entirely too direct.

  "Claims to be their leader," Master Scot said, though Ranulf had already come to that conclusion.

  "Know you who I am?" he asked the outlaw.

  "I make it my business to know all my neighbors and what they are about, Lord Fitz Hugh, new and old."

  "That would indicate you have some intelligence, yet if that were so, you would have watched and waited until you learned my mettle ere you attacked me or mine," Ranulf replied harshly.

  "So I did. I had men watching Clydon and both roads to its gates. The men who attacked those wear­ing your colors were not mine. They had followed your men whence they came and waited until they were well inside the wood to set upon them."

  "Followed with horses, but attacked without?" Ranulf scoffed, then added in a lower, more menac­ing tone: "Do not think you can weave fanciful tales to color yourself guiltless. You know not where my men come from or you would not try to place the blame there."

  "They came from the narrow track that allows any­one from Keigh Manor to reach either Warhurst or Clydon without going leagues out of the way taking the western roa
d, both your men and those who fol­lowed them. I know that much, for one of my men was hunting in that area and saw them coming out of the track. Whether your men had been to Keigh Manor or beyond that, as you say, I do not know. But the woods road does not travel a straight line, Lord Fitz Hugh. It turns this way and that to avoid the older trees in its path. According to my man, those who followed kept well inside the tree line, and when the sharpest curve in the road was reached, they cut a straight path through it to come out ahead of your men, left their horses concealed in the bush, and ran to intercept them. Tis unreasonable, as you be­thought, to attack without horses, especially against mounted riders, unless you want someone else blamed for the deed, someone known not to possess horses."

  "Yourselves?"

  "I see you are still doubtful, but common sense would have arranged a better ambush. There are sev­eral points along the road where trees overhang and the foliage is thick. I would have placed my men there, on both sides of the road, even along the tree limbs above, to come at my target from all sides for a quick end to it, and assured success. But ask your men and they will tell you it happened much differ­ently. They could have easily turned about and ridden away instead of fighting."

  "John!" Ranulf bellowed.

  The man-at-arms who had ridden with Walter yesterday was near enough that Ranulf did not have to ask the question. " Tis true, my lord. They came all at once at a run and from only one side of the road, giving enough warning that we could indeed have rid­den on in either direction to avoid them. Now that I think on it, 'twas not well done for men supposedly adept at robbery."

  "Where is the Clydon man?" Ranulf called out.

  "Here, my lord."

  "Algar, is it not?" At a nod, Ranulf asked, "What think you of this brigand's story?"

  " 'Tis true enough, what he says of his methods. All the robberies we have heard tell of, the victims claim the outlaws surrounded them in moments, even falling from the sky. They rarely have time to draw a weapon, yet we had time and plenty to do so."

  "Could you have been followed from Keigh Manor and not know it?"

  "Aye," Algar admitted, if a bit reluctantly. "Truth is, we were none of us paying overmuch attention to the road. We were laughing so much we were not like to have heard anyone following behind either."

  '' Explain yourself.''

  "Sir Searle had seemed well and truly taken by the widow, and your other two knights were wont to rib him about it, especially since she did not return his interest."

  Ranulf had not thought to ask ere this how they had been received at Keigh Manor. Their reason for going there had been forgotten in light of the outlaws' attack—if it had been the outlaws who had attacked.

  "How was Lady de Burgh otherwise?"

  "Now you mention it, my lord, I remarked to Wat,

  God assoil him, that the lady seemed different from when last we saw her at Clydon."

  "How so?"

  "She was courteous enough, but her manner was right chilly. Her being a woman in need of a husband, you would think she would welcome three handsome knights with gladness, but she was more glad to see them depart."

  "Was she told why you were there?"

  "Sir Searle might have told her. As I said, he was fast smitten."

  "Did he insult the lady?"

  "With declarations of undying love?"

  "So he was a bit tactless," Ranulf snorted. "What had the lady against Eric and Walter, or were they likewise offensive?"

  "Not at all, which is why her manner was so strange."

  "Can you think of a reason why she might behave so?"

  "I might." This from the outlaw, not the least hes­itant in gaining Ranulf s attention again. "Rumor has it Louise de Burgh has set her affections on William Lionel, one of her household knights. With a husband firmly in mind, would she welcome other pros­pects?"

  "How would you know this?" Ranulf demanded.

  The man shrugged. "We have our ways of learning things, just as we knew of your first coming, just as we knew who it was you sent fleeing from Clydon that morn."

  "We already know who attacked Clydon."

  "Do you, my lord?"

  It was said in such a way as to leave no doubt that the outlaw knew something that Ranulf did not, and Ranulf had never been one to enjoy being toyed with. In a trice, he had the man lifted by the front of his leather jerkin to bring them eye to eye.

  "Best you spit it out right quickly, ere I recall why I had you summoned to me."

  "They fled to Warhurst!"

  "You lie," Ranulf hissed. "I have it on good au­thority the castellan there is an imbecile. Did he not prove it by accepting a message last eventide and act­ing on it without knowing from whom it came? The proof is that you are here."

  "He is as you say, but his lord is not, and Lord Richard was in Warhurst all that week, as well as on the road that morn with a large troop of men, none of whom wore his colors, nor did he. I saw him my­self returning to Warhurst with a wound on his right shoulder. I am not like to mistake the man who had me outlawed for the simple reason that he coveted my wife."

  Ranulf slowly set the man down. Then to the baf­flement of his men and their prisoners, he burst into laughter. Could his little general have erred that badly about the man she had hoped to wed? Could the lord-ling have erred that badly, wanting her, unaware that she wanted him, too, deciding to take her by force? Christ's toes, that was rich!—if it was true. He so­bered, eyes narrowing on the outlaw.

  "You are a veritable font of information, Master Brigand."

  The man drew himself up stiffly now that color was returning to his cheeks. "What I know of the de Burgh widow is merely rumor and speculation. She is young and still a child in many ways. I would be the first to doubt she sent her men after yours. Yet I do know my men were not involved, and those who were came from the direction of Keigh Manor. The answer is no doubt simple—I just do not myself see it, or pretend to know it. What I know of Richard of Warhurst, however, is truth."

  "So you say, but you have yourself admitted to having good reason for blackening his name," Ranulf pointed out.

  "So I have—so does every man with me. He is a man with a powerful father, and so he thinks he is above the law. In Warhurst he is, for there are none to gainsay him. If anyone tries, they quickly find themselves joining our band."

  "You are saying you are all of Warhurst?"

  "Aye, banished without fair hearing and denied our families. If not by Lord Richard, then by his castellan or those fat merchants in his favor, who all liken their ways to his, charging a man falsely because they want something of his or simply do not like him. And all that I have said can be proved by questioning anyone at Warhurst."

  "If that is so, then why did you never seek redress in the shire court?"

  "Against a lord, and one who still holds our fam­ilies within the walls of his town, subject to his whims?"

  Ranulf grunted. He knew the power of petty ty­rants firsthand. Montfort was one.

  "You are no villein. What were you in Warhurst?"

  "Lord Richard's clerk," he replied in disgust. "Not even my knowledge of his ill-gotten gains pre­vented him from getting rid of me."

  Ranulfs brow rose. "Ill-gotten gains, as in stolen cattle and sheep?"

  "Aye, that, too, among other things."

  "As in Clydon's stolen cattle and sheep?" Ranulf clarified.

  ' 'I know not where the stock came from, only that 'twas taken north for sale."

  "Tell me one thing more," Ranulf demanded. "Why has no one in Clydon suspected this lordling's tyranny, when they are such close neighbors?"

  "Why should they? The lady herself has no need to frequent the Warhurst markets; her own merchants at Birkenham supply all her needs, so she would not hear any complaints. But Lord Richard would oft-times visit Clydon, and he is a different man when he leaves his little kingdom, a man adept at fooling any­one who does not truly know him into believing there could not be a nefarious bone in his body.
He is young, clever, and has been Lord of Warhurst only these four years past. If the lady or her father had ever heard rumors about him, they would be quick to de­fend him, not believe them. You will yourself doubt all I have said do you meet him, for he has that effect on people, appearing trustworthy and virtuous when he is anything but."

  "I do not have to meet him to doubt you, sirrah. All you have said is in doubt, or did you assume I would blindly accept the word of an outlaw as truth? But your tale has put off your hanging for the while, at least until I hear what Lady de Burgh has to say of this. Do I find you have done me no harm, I will then look to the rest of your tale."

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Louise de Burgh stood in the open doorway of her hall, staring in horror as man after man rode through her gate to crowd into the bailey. She had been told Lord Fitz Hugh had come, but told too late to close the gate against him. Not that that would have kept him out, she realized now as his men continued com­ing, fifty, sixty, still more, and she saw the giant among them, sitting his huge destrier that refused to stand still, staring directly at her.

  She saw one man she recognized, Sir Eric Fitzste-phen. At least he was not dead. But what of the other two who had come with him yesterday? Did their ab­sence mean they had not survived the ambush?

  God help her, she must have been mad. She had known it not long after she had sent her men to attack those knights. She had sent another to call them back, but it had been too late. And now her overlord had come for retribution, and 'twas all Searle of Totnes' fault, that wretched cur. If he had not told her Lord Ranulf would give her to him did he but ask, and that he would ask, she would not have been driven by anger to do something so stupid.

  Of course, she could blame William, too, for prov­ing so difficult and refusing to marry her. Had she been wed already, Searle of Totnes could not have upset her. But she could not blame William. She loved him. In time she could have convinced him that they were right for each other. Now it was too late.