King's Decree

by Kate

AKA

Cath of Covington

This story is straight fanfic, written solely for entertainment purposes.  No profit is being made by the author and no infringement is intended to the copyrights held by ABC Television, Gil Grant Productions, or any other holder of Covington Cross Copyrights.  Lots of romantic tension for Richard (who else??) and a fairly plausible reason why John Mullens is such an ogre¾at least in the World of Covington Cross According to Kate. 

With a grunt, Armus Grey shifted in the large bed, using one hand to guide his injured leg to a comfortable position on the pillows stacked beneath his knee.  He could feel the pull of torn skin and lacerated muscle.  Although the sword had cut cleanly, it had also cut deep, severing sinews that would be long in healing.  “There’s no sense fretting over it,” he said aside to his younger brother, Richard.  “We’ll know the answer soon enough when Father returns.”

Sparing only a distracted glance, Richard turned his attention outside the narrow window.  Gnawing on his thumbnail, he appeared preoccupied as he considered the grounds below. “He’s been gone almost two weeks.  He could have sent a herald with news, t’were it something unfavorable.”  Disgusted, he turned from the autumn-dressed view and paced restlessly to the foot of the bed.  Though his face was composed, tension constricted the muscles across his shoulders.  Wrapping one hand around the wooden post of the footrest, Richard sat on the edge of the mattress.  “This is my fault.  If I’d just controlled my temper¾”

“Mullens’ men were determined to provoke you,” Armus inserted reasonably.  “Are you forgetting I was there?”

“How could I¾you’ve got a butchered leg to prove it.”  Sighing, Richard stretched his legs over the mattress, crossing booted feet at the ankles.  Considering his brother from the opposite end of the bed, he laced his hands over his stomach.  “Hopefully the King isn’t so angry, he’ll allow wrath to cloud his judgement.”

Armus shrugged.  He had a slightly more optimistic view of the sovereign monarch’s curt summons to Sir Thomas and John Mullens.  Still¾the entanglement he and Richard had had with four of Mullens’ men-at-arms was not without cost.  “We did all but obliterate the Magpie’s Nest,” he reminded his brother, thinking of the village tavern.  “And damn near killed two of Mullens’ best men.”

Richard closed his eyes, not wanting to remember.  “¾And wounded the wheelwright,” he admitted, recalling the villager who had inadvertently got caught in the melee.  Initially, a visit to the Magpie’s Nest had seemed the ideal way to end a day spent overseeing autumn harvest.  Neither he nor Armus had counted on four of John Mullens’ men arriving at the same conclusion.  The youngest¾cocky and brash, strutting like a peacock¾was clearly eager for an opponent to test his mettle.  Almost immediately, he marked short-tempered Richard as his quarry.  Though tempted to engage the braggart, Richard successfully contained his anger through a string of taunting.  It was only when the man leaned close and whispered a slur about Eleanor directly into his ear that his patience snapped. 

Richard groaned, recalling the damage he’d done once he’d drawn his sword.  Almost reluctantly, he glanced at Armus.  “Sometimes I wish I had your patience.”

Armus smiled tightly.  “It has nothing to do with patience, Brother.  It’s called wisdom, and it’s not something one acquires overnight.  If it’s any consolation, I was ready to draw on them myself.  You simply have a knack for bad timing.”

“You’re too kind.”

Armus had long grown accustomed to the tart edge of Richard’s words, and grinned at hearing the familiar bristle.  Relaxing into the brace of pillows at his back, he watched as Richard pushed from the bed, restless once again.  His brother roamed the confines of the room, agitated tension stoked to new heights with each clipped stride.  Beyond the walls of Covington Cross an autumn wind moaned over the heath, chasing dry leaves and long shadows into the setting sun.  Armus thought the sound oddly mournful, as though the day wept for its own demise.  He wondered at Richard’s restlessness, his brother seemingly unaffected by the eerie song without. 

The abrupt approaching rattle of hoofbeats drew Richard to an immediate halt.  With a quick glance at Armus, the younger man darted for the window, pausing to look on the courtyard below.  Almost nervously he wet his lips.  “Father’s returned,” he told Armus without turning.

Armus exhaled loudly.  His father had been in a wretched frame of mind when summoned before the King over his sons’ antics.  Depending on the outcome of that audience, he was likely to be congenial or greatly incensed.  Chancing a glance at his brother, Armus watched as Richard scrubbed a nervous hand over his chin.

“I’m not looking forward to this,” the younger man mumbled.

Armus rubbed his injured leg.  “How bad can it be, Richard?”  Though the tone of his voice conveyed lightness, the set of his shoulders contradicted that ease.  A short time later, the door banged inward, and Sir Thomas Grey strode into the room.

Silver hair snarled; blue eyes flashing carefully controlled rage, the Lord of Covington Cross glowered at his expectant sons.  For a moment no one spoke.  The silence in the room thickened like fog on the moors.

“Father¾?”  Richard queried when the abnormal hush grew strained.

Slowly, Thomas drew a breath as though attempting to gather resolve.  He sent the door arcing backward with an absent push of his hand.  “I have spent an inordinate amount of time listening to His Majesty’s council regarding the constant feuding between this family and those loyal to John Mullens,” he announced as way of greeting.  Striding into the room, he hesitated at Armus’s bedside.  Briefly his eyes touched on his injured son then shifted to Richard.  “Hostility is no longer an acceptable solution in the King’s eyes.”

“Father¾” Richard attempted.

“Not another word!”  Thomas snapped with a belligerent glare.  “I’ve just been chastised before the King’s court, Richard.  I have no patience for¾nor want of¾your explanation.”

Properly chastised, Richard lowered his head.  Thomas’s gaze returned to Armus.  “It saddens me this effects you most of all, Armus.  King Edward has decided the only way to bring unity between the House of Grey and the House of Mullens, is for you to marry the Baron’s daughter.”

“Alexandra?”  Armus cried, appalled.

Thomas shook his head.  “No.  The older daughter¾I believe she is Richard’s age.”

Unable to stop himself, Richard crossed to the opposite side of the bed.  “Gwendolyn?  That black-haired, she-devil who lives with her aunt?”

Thomas’s glance was baleful.  “I suggest you find a more complimentary form of address, Richard, as you and Cedric are to escort her here, along with John Mullens and a contingent of our men.  A courier has already been sent to Lady Gwendolyn from the King, commanding she make herself ready.”

“Marry Gwendolyn?”  Appalled, Armus sat straighter.  “But that’s preposterous!  Why me?”

“Because you are the eldest son,” Thomas supplied miserably, “And thus the strongest bond between our families.  It’s unfortunate this incident has wrought such dire circumstances.”  As he voiced the words, Thomas’s eyes flecked to Richard as though imparting blame.  Beneath his father’s dark stare, Richard squirmed uncomfortably.  “Mullens will be here in two days time, to finalize preparations for departure.  Richard, you and Cedric shall accompany him¾and you will do it congenially, with the proper respect due a man soon to be related by marriage.”  With a final glance for Armus, Thomas shook his head.  “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.  Clearly miserable, he turned and strode from the room.

Richard glanced at his brother, unable to speak.  They had always known the day would come when Armus, as eldest, would be forced to take a wife for political gain, but neither had envisioned the daughter of an enemy.  Richard had not seen Gwendolyn Mullens since she was thirteen and had been sent to live with an aunt, in hopes a female influence would temper a natural inclination for reckless behavior.  She had been taller than him in childhood and shared the same driven bent as her brother Henry for provocation.  On numerous occasions, involved in an altercation with Henry, Richard had been forced to fend off Gwendolyn as well.  Even now he recalled a fracas which had ended with he and Gwendolyn tumbling into a mud bog.  The thought of his brother forced into marriage with his childhood tormentor made his throat constrict. 

"Armus, I¾”  The words stuck.  It’s my fault, he thought again.  If I’d just held my bloody temper.  “I don’t know what to say,” he managed.

Armus looked at him bleakly.  “There’s nothing to say.  We both knew this day would come.  I just didn’t expect¾I’m not ready¾”  Exasperated, Armus sloughed down against the pillows.  “Richard, do I look like a man who wants to get married¾and to a woman who has every reason to despise me no less?  Be thankful you’re second-born, little brother.  The mantle of eldest bears as many curses as it does blessings.”

Richard wet his lips.  “Armus¾”

“Leave me alone,” Armus said dismally.  Rolling onto his side, he turned his broad back to his brother.  Richard hesitated, wanting to say something to right the wrong he’d created.  But there were no words.  Worse, there was no means to alter the King’s decree.  Once ordered, the marriage was set in stone.

Wordlessly, Richard left the room.

++++

John Mullens was a guest at Covington Cross.

Though he made every effort to conceal his aversion, Richard deemed it best he steer clear of the man altogether.  Though there was little liking between Mullens and any member of the Grey household, Richard’s relationship with the Baron was particularly antagonistic.  A quarrelsome temper and sharp tongue made him an exceptionally easy target for the nobleman’s deliberate goading.  Though he had managed a curt greeting at Mullens arrival and had somehow survived a mockery of dinner, Richard could stomach the forced association no longer.  He disappeared shortly after the evening meal, collecting his horse from the stable and leaving his father, Cedric and Eleanor to entertain their unwelcome guest.  Confined to his bed, Armus was able to forgo the pleasure of greeting his future father-in-law.

Hours later, when blackest night drew the autumn day to a close, Richard returned to Covington Cross.   He stabled his horse by the glow of a single brazier, then made his way up the footpath toward the castle.  The grounds were deserted, almost eerily so¾yawning bleak and barren under the expansive bowl of a cloud-laced sky.  Obscured by that heavy veiling, the moon was a black orb, ringed with a fraction of light at the outermost edge.  Richard blew on his hands, flexing cold fingers beneath his brown leather gloves.  He could feel the sting of cold air on his cheeks, his complexion heightened to ruddy color by the bite of brisk wind.  Quickening his pace, he strode past the gardens¾now brown and desolate with the arrival of fall¾and veered toward the inner courtyard.  As he neared the rear portcullis of the castle, Richard heard voices.  It was only when he recognized the unmistakable edge of John Mullens’ sardonic rumble that he slowed his pace, moving to the edge of the castle wall.

A short distance away, Mullens spoke with another man.  The natural gloaming of shadow made it impossible to identify the stranger, while distance muffled their words.  Richard caught only a few, as the wind carried them in his direction:  “ . . .  as planned shortly after Gwendolyn . . . no mistakes . . . an unforgiving man . . .”

Though he strained to hear more, the conversation was lost to Richard.  Overhead the cloud cover thinned momentarily and an opalescent cascade of moonlight illuminated the grounds.  In that fleeting moment, snagged between daylight and shadow, the stranger turned his head.   Richard caught a glimpse of his profile¾sharp features, ginger hair and a spade beard.  A crescent-shaped scar marred the tallow skin of his right cheek.  Though there were currently a number of Mullens’ men in residence at Covington Cross, waiting to act as escort for Gwendolyn, Richard did not recognize this particular retainer.

As quickly as the moon appeared, rain-swollen clouds consumed it, plunging the grounds into deepest shadow.  With a final nod for John Mullens the stranger departed, his manner oddly secretive as he vanished amid the gloaming.  Disturbed, Richard waited until Mullens left, then followed the path the stranger had taken. 

By the time he rounded the corner of the castle, the man was gone.

+++++

Richard paced restlessly outside his brother’s bedroom.  He was dressed for departure¾mud-brown boots, breeches and jerkin contrasted by an olive tunic and multi-hued neckscarf.  His black cape swirled against his ankles as he roamed impatiently in the hallway.  Below in the courtyard, Mullens, Cedric and a escort of guards¾most of them wearing the colors of Covington Cross¾readied for the journey to Lady Gwendolyn’s home, in the province of Derry.  

Gathering the feeble shreds of his courage, Richard pushed down on the latch of Armus’s door and stepped within the chamber. 

The light was warm and golden, much like the autumn sun outside, but Armus’s expression lacked for similar sentiment.  Propped up by pillows, he glanced at his brother indifferently. “Shouldn’t you be leaving?” he queried stiffly.

Richard hesitated on the threshold, hand hovering on the latch.  Almost nervously, he wet his lips.  “I-I wanted to say goodbye.  See how you were¾”

“Incapacitated,” Armus supplied shortly.  Folding his hands on his lap, he puffed out his cheeks and glanced away.  “Listen, Richard¾I might be ill-mannered over this marriage, but I don’t fault you for its conception.”  Slowly his gaze returned, the edge in his eyes less frigid.  “Quit looking so damn guilty and fearful.  If I were whole, I’d likely throttle you for that quarrelsome temper you rarely control, but you needn’t worry about it now.”

Richard stepped closer to the bed.  “Then you do fault me,” he said quickly, only now realizing the extent of that blame himself.  “If I’d walked away from the man in the tavern¾”

Armus shrugged off the possibility.  “¾you’d have delayed the confrontation, nothing more.  You irritate the hell out of me, little brother, but you’re truly not to blame.  I worry more for Father and the difficulty this marriage will place on him.  He’s told me dowry arrangements have been made.  Gwendolyn brings us much wealth in land and coin, and in exchange Mullens gains the Barbican and Riverford.”

Richard cocked his head.  “That seems a bit one-sided¾Mullens offering so much and claiming so little.  The Barbican’s practically worthless and Riverford carries as much hardship as it does wealth.  Most of the province is wilderness.”

Again Armus shrugged.  “So perhaps he intends to harvest trees¾bid against us for the King’s ship-building contract.  It doesn’t matter his intention, because once Gwendolyn and I are wed, the House of Grey and the House of Mullens are bound in partnership.”

With a sigh Richard sank to the edge of the bed.   “You’re too bloody logical, Armus.  Where’s your emotion¾your anger?”

“Safely tucked away, where it will remain for the sake of Father.  I suggest you do the same.”  The edge returned to his words, the frost to his eyes.  Armus folded his arms across his chest.  “You’d better leave, Brother.  I wouldn’t want to become agitated.”

Stung by the dismissal, Richard kept silent.  He hesitated only briefly, then pushed from the bed, striding quickly from the room.  Armus’s rebuff lingered in his ears as he strode down the long corridor.  Surely there was something he could do to rectify matters for his brother; to right the wrong he’d unintentionally created.

Gnawing on his bottom lip, he tugged on his gloves.  He was still contemplating the matter when he entered the outer courtyard and encountered John Mullens rounding the gatehouse.  The Baron appeared ill disposed, his expression surly.  Behind him in the distance, Richard glimpsed the party that had been selected as escort for Lady Gwendolyn.  He knew most of the men¾saw the familiar green and white banners of Covington Cross fluttering from mounted standards.  Elsewhere, a few sported gray and black¾the somber hues of Torsun-Narr, John Mullens’ ancestral home.

 

“You’re late,” the older man said curtly. His gaze raked over Richard, noting the precise fit of his well-cut clothing. Fishing for a rise, he sneered.  “If you’re to be my daughter’s escort, I suggest you start paying more attention to your duty than your appearance.  The next time you want to preen¾”

Richard flushed, struggling to hold his temper.  “Baron Mullens,” he snapped.  “I was visiting my brother.  I wonder if you’ve made a similar effort, considering he’s soon to be your son-in-law.”

Mullens’ lips curled contemptuously, his gaze as oily as the polishing grease Richard applied to his sword. “I’ve more pressing concerns then prattling with the injured,” he returned smoothly.  Half turning, he glanced back over his shoulder.  “The company is ready to depart.  Unless you wish to delay your sainted brother’s nuptials, I suggest you develop similar motivation, boy.”

Stifling an impulsive surge of anger, Richard watched as the older man stalked away.  The long journey to Gwendolyn’s home in Derry would be trying under normal circumstances.  Coupled with the presence of John Mullens and his men, Richard deemed it nothing short of unbearable.  Drawing a breath to temper his quicksilver emotions, Richard followed in the Baron’s wake.

As he drew abreast of the horses he could feel the eyes of Mullens’ men upon him¾each near-tangible gaze narrowed in marked perusal.  The din of voices dropped to a muted garble, as he strode towards his black charger.  Nearby, as though awaiting his arrival, stood Cedric and his father.  The latter looked almost angry while the former appeared clearly ill at ease.

“Father.  Cedric.”  Richard addressed both crisply as he double-checked the straps on his saddle.  His movements were clipped and brusque.  Sensing his agitation the horse tried to shy away.  Frowning, Thomas caught his arm and drew him aside.

“There’s no room for anger on this journey, Richard.”

“I know that,” the younger man returned tightly, though it was clear he was having a hard time embracing the sentiment.  With a disgusted sigh he scraped gloved fingers through his long hair.  “It’s bloody unjust,” he muttered, thinking of Armus.

"Perhaps next time, you’ll consider that before drawing your sword,” Thomas chastised sharply.  Stung, Richard winced and glanced away.  Exhaling, Thomas relented slightly.  When he spoke again, his words were less severe.  “Richard I’m counting on you to be level-headed.  You and your brother have no easy task ahead of you, travelling with John Mullens and his men.  You are the eldest son on this journey, and thus the representative for the House of Grey.  I expect you to behave accordingly.”

 Richard averted his gaze.  “Yes, Father.”

Thomas glanced aside to Cedric.  His youngest son had stood mute through the entire exchange, his blue eyes inordinately wide.  Though he frequently wrought more mischief then Armus and Richard put together, Thomas knew Cedric undertook this latest task with grave misgivings.  He had the unenviable role of striding neutral ground, between two potentially hostile parties.  On one side was John Mullens and his men.  On the other¾his temperamental older brother, whose very presence shrieked of instability.

Thomas smiled wanly and clapped a hand on his youngest son’s shoulder.  “We shall all look back on this one day with humor,” he said mildly.  Cedric managed a half shrug and a fleeting smile, but Richard’s gaze was annoyingly sharp when it slid in his direction.  Agitated, Thomas nodded toward the horses.  “You’d better go.  ‘Tis a long journey and tempers are already short.”

“Goodbye, Father,” Cedric said sincerely.  Richard merely turned away and swung up into the saddle.  Watching as the column of men rode from the courtyard, Thomas had the sinking sensation the journey was doomed to failure.  Though he trusted Mullens not at all, he hoped the King’s decree counted for something when it came to keeping the man in line.  With Cedric as intercessor, perhaps¾just perhaps, Richard would curb his tongue where the Baron was concerned and the unlikely escort would complete its duty¾conveying Gwendolyn Mullens to Covington Cross.

With any luck the girl would be nothing like her father.

+++++

“ . . . she was a pig-headed, foul-mouthed little ruffian who made Henry seem angelic by comparison,” Richard muttered bitterly.  Drawing his cloak tightly about his shoulders he settled against a fallen tree, its uprooted trunk providing the perfect backrest for the road-weary. 

Across from him, Cedric blew on his hands and huddled closer to the fire.

The group of horsemen had traveled most of the day, halting only when the descent of night made further progress impossible.  A quick camp was established deep within the sheltering ring of Tiner Forest.  After a brief meal, Richard and Cedric retreated from the others, intent on burying the day with the heady toxin of sleep.  Settling near the fire they’d kindled against the brisk autumn wind, Richard found himself compelled to expound on Cedric’s casual query about Gwendolyn.  “Trust me, little brother.  It’s better you don’t remember her.  The girl is an irascible shrew, intent on the annihilation of anyone bold enough to cross paths with her.”

Cedric arched a brow in direct counterpoint.  “Including you?” he queried a trifle too smugly.

Richard frowned.  “Laugh now.  You won’t when you meet her.”

“It sounds like she’s made a marked impression on you.”

“Go to sleep, Cedric.”  This time the edge slipped through in Richard’s voice.  Shifting, he rolled onto his side, turning his back on his brother.  Cold air blew across his face, creeping beneath his collar.  He felt the chill touch trickle over his spine like a ghost awakening a string of gooseflesh.  The ground was hard and lumpy; the tree pressed against his cheek with the bite of gnarled bark.  Sighing, Richard thought of Armus lying in bed with a butchered leg.

Cedric didn’t understand the complications.  Didn’t understand that Gwendolyn was the sister of the man Eleanor had killed¾didn’t understand that once when he was fourteen, Richard had kissed Gwendolyn and found himself wanting more. 

That of course was childhood fancy.  And if he remembered correctly, the damn she-demon had punched him in the face for the affront.

+++++

“Get up!” 

Richard grunted at the sharp strike of a boot against his leg.  Jerking abruptly awake, he found Baron Mullens standing over him, aristocratic features narrowed in sly challenge.  “Time’s wasting, boy.  We should have been moving hours ago.”

As he strode away, Richard sat forward drawing his cloak around him.  The ground was dew-sodden and cold, and a gray mist hung in the bleak morning air.  Richard glanced aside at Cedric, who was already fastening his bedroll.  “Why doesn’t he do that to you?” he asked somewhat irritably, suppressing a yawn.  His mind was still too fogged with sleep to take more than passing affront at Mullens sniping.

“Because he knows I’m not likely to bite his head off, so where’s the fun in it?”  Abandoning the bedroll, Cedric squatted by the fire¾flames now dwindled to a few remaining embers.  Spreading his hands before the feeble heat, he attempted to warm the chill from his fingers.  His eyes slid sideways, and he grinned indulgently.  “I think I should surprise him one of these days¾just to see what he’d do.”

Richard shrugged his blanket aside and stood.  He shook out his cloak, then scraped a hand through his tangled hair.  “Just don’t do it when I’m around.  Father will skin me alive if I’m involved in even a hint of trouble with the Baron.”  Reaching for his bedroll, he cast a skeptical glance at the horizon.  The morning had dawned gray and bleak, sunlight obscured by the heavy mist of impending rain.  The cloud cover was low and swollen, bloated at the edges with harsh scrawls of charcoal.  Tattered beams of sunlight pierced the trees, but the light was waxy and fleeting, lacking the welcome infusion of heat.  “Lovely day,” he muttered.  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Baron Mullens standing a short distance away, watching expectantly.  Richard’s mouth thinned perceptively.  “Come on, Cedric,” he said sharply.  “Let’s get moving.”

The camp broke shortly after a quick breakfast of bread, cheese and cider.  Riding at the middle of the column with Cedric, Richard listened to the snap of the banners in the brisk morning air.

The green field of Covington Cross on the raised standards, was muted in the hazy light, but the white markings appeared almost celestial¾floating disembodied among the trees.  The sounds of Tiner came alive as the forest awakened to dawn¾the rustle of small creatures through the underbrush; the crackling song of crows; the spectral hiss of wind sighing through brittle branches.  All were sounds Richard knew by heart.  They blended into subtle harmony, meshing with the methodic clop of shod  hooves striking packed earth. 

Shortly before noon the rain began¾a cool drizzle which quickly became a torrential downpour.  The bite of wind and rain developed fanged teeth, slashing beneath Richard’s cloak and jerkin.  The ground grew muddy and treacherous, carpeted with fallen leaves and slick beds of moss.  Still the party pressed on, sheltering only briefly when the rain reduced visibility to near-blindness.  By midday the downpour had dwindled to a steady, annoying drizzle.  Thankful for the respite, the party drew reign on the banks of a swollen river.

Richard raised a hand, pawing rain-drenched bangs from his eyes.  Beside him Cedric fidgeted in the saddle, his black hair trickling water across the high planes of his cheeks. On either side of them, the company fanned out along the riverbed, watching the heightened swell of water as it funneled through channels of rock, creating eddies and angry pockets of rapids.  The passage was not wide, only thirty feet across, but the rain had engorged the water enough for concern.

The man on Richard’s left¾a retainer by the name of Raulf¾glanced downstream through the trees.  “The passage might be easier yonder, My Lords,” he observed.

Richard followed his gaze.  Though the man was new to his father’s service, Richard thought the judgement sound.  He didn’t like the way the water moved so rapidly here, swirling angrily around jutting obstacles of rock, creating dragon-teeth of white foam.  He could feel the spray of mist against his face¾not as cold as the rain, but worse in its own ominous way.  Experience had taught him water needn’t be deep to be dangerous.  “Another few yards down the bank won’t hurt,” he agreed. 

“We’re wasting time,” Mullens snapped.  “If you’re too cowardly to cross here, perhaps we should just leave you behind.”  Before Richard could bite off a reply, Mullens wheeled his horse around and plunged into the water.  “Men of Torsun-Narr follow me!”

Perturbed, Richard cursed softly.  Cedric glanced at his brother.  “I don’t think we have a choice,” he said.

“Apparently,” Richard responded tightly.  Gathering the reins of his horse he urged the steed into the river.  One by one the men of Covington Cross followed, led by Cedric.  The rush of water over rock grew loud in Richard’s ears, creating a crescendo not unlike a waterfall.  His horse shied as it struggled for footing on the rocky bottom.  With an expert tug of the reins, Richard brought the panicky stallion under control.  Ahead of him he could see Baron Mullens emerging on the opposite bank, five of his men close behind. 

Halfway across the river, Richard encountered the deepest point.  The cold embrace of the water rose against his thighs, pushing with insistent force, attempting to unseat him.  Once again the horse shied and Richard struggled to bring it under control.  Behind him to the right, he saw Cedric fighting his own mount.  “Hang tight, little brother,” he yelled.  His long hair was plastered to his face with rain and mist; the bone-chilling spray of the river.  Blinded by the clinging strands, Richard raked it from his eyes.  He had almost reached the opposite shore when he heard a strangled cry behind him.  Twisting in the saddle, Richard saw Raulf’s horse rear on its hind legs.  The retainer struggled for control, grappling for the mist-slick reins. Chilled fingers slipped free, and with a squawk of disbelief, Raulf tumbled from the saddle.

“Damn it!”  Richard wheeled his horse around, bolting for the retainer.  Cedric did the same, snagging the reins of Raulf’s horse, even as his head dipped beneath the surface of rushing water. 

A moment later, a snarled blonde mane reappeared, bobbing downstream like a disembodied cork.  Richard fought the staggering force of the water; the panicky resistance of his own mount.  “Damn it, man, grab something!” he yelled.  The loud roar of the water made his voice sound hoarse.  Overhanging branches scraped across his cheek as he plunged frantically after the retainer. 

Raulf’s head disappeared again, sucked below the water.  He emerged coughing and sputtering, but this time managed to snag an outcropping of rock.  With effort Richard plunged through the water¾waist high to his black charger¾his own hands slick on the water-soaked reins.  Knotting one hand in his horse’s mane, Richard extended his arm, hooking the other man below the elbow.  The steed shuddered, wanting to bolt, but Richard held firm until he was able to swing Raulf behind him. 

Moments later, cold and exhausted, they emerged on shore.  Further upstream Richard could see the remaining retainers.  All had made it safely across¾including Cedric, who had snared Raulf’s frightened mount.  Already, most of the men had dismounted, fatigued from the difficult crossing.

“I’m sorry, My Lord,” the blonde-haired man said.  “The confounded animal got the best of me.”

“It’s the river got the best of you,” Richard returned sharply.  His anger wasn’t for Raulf but the man who had goaded them into crossing.  Riding into the throng of men, Richard dismounted and stalked straight for John Mullens.  Not slowing his stride, he jabbed a finger against the other’s chest.  “You damn impertinent fool.  You could have gotten us all killed.”

Mullens feigned surprise.  “I can’t help it your man doesn’t know how to sit a saddle.  Perhaps next time you should insist on a skilled retinue rather than playmates.”

Richard’s temper snapped.  “You arrogant bastard.”  Drawing his fist back to strike, he found himself abruptly restrained by Cedric.

His brother appeared at his shoulder, looking as waterlogged and exhausted as he did.  “Richard, let it go,” the younger-man cautioned, gripping his wrist.  “Are you forgetting what Father told you?”

Delighted that he had finally provoked his nemesis to hostility, Mullens chuckled snidely.  “There, there, Richard¾you’re causing a scene, and your hair’s all mussed.  Go make yourself pretty again.”

Before he could so much as sputter a reply, Cedric wrenched his brother from the throng.  He could feel the heated gaze of Mullens on his back, baiting and amused.  Tugging Richard away from the group, he tried to calm his quarrelsome older sibling.  “You’re doing exactly what he wants¾you know that don’t you?  What was it Father said¾you’re the representative of the House of Grey on this journey.”

Richard groaned.  “Cedric, why must you remind me?”

“Because one of us needs to be level-headed, and as there’s no pretty maids to chase, I’ve got nothing better to do.”  Halting by the bank, Cedric grinned impishly.  “Besides¾” he elaborated, blue eyes twinkling with devilish intent.  “If anyone’s going to rattle you, it’s going to be me, not that stick-up-his-ass-arrogant-as-snot-Mullens.”

Despite himself, Richard grinned.  “You have a way with words, Brother¾positively exemplary for the clergy.”

Cedric snorted his disdain.  “Cleric’s do saintly deeds.  I’m going to be a knight.”

The last of his anger diminishing, Richard drew a breath.  Raising both hands he scrubbed them over his face, pushing the wet hair from his eyes.  “Cleric or not, you can count your intervention between myself and Mullens your saintly deed for the day.”  Glancing over his shoulder, he realized the rest of the group was readying to mount, a shame-faced Raulf among them.  “Let’s go,” Richard said to Cedric.  As they rejoined the group, he walked past Raulf.  “I’ll expect you to do the same for me someday,” he called with a reassuring grin.

Immediately, the retainer’s face brightened.  “A promise, My Lord.”

+++++

The rain continued throughout the day and into the night.  It was a cold, bedraggled group who huddled beneath the trees with the onslaught of darkness.  Tired and miserable, each man kept to himself¾even Mullens, who took lone solace in a flask of wine.  Weak sunlight arrived with the dawn, brightening to a marigold haze by midday.  The clouds thinned and vanished, bowing before the unfurling banner of a clear, azure sky.  Though the twining paths of the forest grew more difficult, the warmer weather improved dispositions tremendously.  Occasional clearings afforded easy passage over autumn-browned grass, many strewn with wind-carved stones known as tors. 

On the third night the party camped near a ring of standing-stones.  Though some of the men grew nervous in the shadow of the monolithic boulders, Richard lay awake, watching the glint of moonlight turn pitted rock to pure silver.  The wind sighed¾scrolling across the heath with a voice like amber¾fluid and molten as the scattered radiance pouring from the sky. 

Rising before dawn, Richard woke with the distinct feeling he was being watched.  The night thinned substantially, still cloaked in sooty discharge, but graying at the edges as dawn crept ever nearer.  Startled by the presence he felt, Richard turned.  Framed in the ring of standing stones was the ghostly image of a doe¾the silhouette as pale and ivory as the bodiless orb of the moon.

A cool breeze caressed his face, scattering the long bangs on his forehead.  For a moment he remained frozen, startled by the apparition.  The animal too remained rooted to the spot¾motionless, as the wind rippled the grass at its feet.  And then it bolted¾darting from the protective ring of stones, into the vaporous mist of the heath.

Richard exhaled slowly.  A man more superstitious then he might view the apparition an omen, rather than a trick of morning light.  The rational part of him dismissed the vision with casual logic, but a buried inner voice warned he shouldn’t be so hasty.  If memory served correctly, a doe bode good fortune, but the wraith-like quality of the animal disturbed him.  Deciding to keep the vision to himself, Richard rose and began the daily tasks necessary for breaking camp.

By midmorning, the heath fell behind them and the intertwining trees of Tiner Forest embraced them yet again.  Dry leaves created a crinkling rustle beneath the steady trod of their horses’ hooves.  More glittered among ponderous branches overhead, rippling in gem-bright veils of claret, russet and gold.  The following days unfolded without event, and by weeks’ end they found themselves within the province of Derry.  

Passing through a succession of villages the company made it’s way to a stately castle nestled amid rolling hills and fields of wildflowers¾the latter sporting a tangle of browned autumn grasses.  Though the retainers remained outside, helping the grooms unburden the horses, Richard and Cedric followed John Mullens within.  Escorted to the solar, they waited while Mullens disappeared, presumably to locate his daughter.

A short time later a gray-haired, regal looking woman appeared.  Richard guessed she was Gwendolyn’s aunt.  Marked by the same aristocratic features as the Baron, she had a decidedly haughty curve to her lips.  After a cool visual appraisal that rankled Richard to the bone, she introduced herself as Edrea Yardley, John Mullens’ sister.

Richard kissed her hand, averting his eyes to conceal his instinctive loathing.  “My Lady,” he said evenly, then released her fingers.  “We are at your service.  I am Richard Grey of Covington Cross, and this is my brother Cedric.”

As he spoke, Cedric performed the same obligatory courtesy, but with greater ease than his brother had displayed.  For all his seeming youth, there were times Cedric exhibited elegance well beyond his years. 

Edrea nodded to the younger man’s courtly gesture, then turned a dagger-toothed smile on Richard.  “Such service would of course be rendered by gentlemen knights who do not appear out of place in a lady’s solar.”

Richard stiffened.  Travel through rain, mud and raging river, had left both he and Cedric unkempt.  Richard’s clothing was torn and mud-streaked.  His long hair hung in dirt-encrusted strands about his face, curling limply over his collar.  Only now did he become aware of the mud caked on his boots and breeches, dried bits of which had flaked away on the floor.  Straightening, he cleared his throat.  “Forgive our appearance, My Lady.  The journey was somewhat . . . difficult.”

 

“Pray the return trek is not similarly fraught,” a new voice announced. 

 

Richard flinched as the unexpected coursed through him.  Lifting his head he gazed across the room, startled by the appearance of the woman in the doorway.  Gwendolyn Mullens had matured from the whippet-thin straggly-haired child he remembered.  The black hair had darkened and thickened, tinted with gold where it rested against her comely face.  There was a hard edge to her mouth that might easily be given to arrogance, but Richard could envision that same mouth melting in a smile. 

 

Startled by the thought, he blinked, coming to his senses.  “Lady Gwendolyn,” he said tightly.  Unbidden, he felt his throat constrict as she moved into the room, her step graceful and sure.  Her thick hair was bound into a single braid, draped over one shoulder, the gilt-tasseled end brushing her hip. As she stepped nearer, he realized that her body had ripened in all the right places, evidenced by the snug fit of her bodice and the sway of soft material over her shapely hips.  Surprised, he found himself gazing down at her¾this girl who had always been taller in childhood.

 

She appeared momentarily amused.  “Your name eludes me, Sir.”

 

Richard’s jaw tightened.  She knew damn well what his name was.  “We had a passing acquaintance in childhood,” he reminded her.  “I’m Richard Grey.”

 

“Oh yes¾the boy with the ragged curls.”

 

Unable to contain himself, Cedric chuckled.  Richard retaliated with a sharp, baleful glare. 

“May I present my brother, Lady Gwendolyn¾Cedric Grey.”

 

Gwendolyn offered her hand, which she had not to Richard.  “How utterly charming,” she cooed at Cedric.  With a showy bow, Cedric brought her slim fingers to his lips.  Richard glanced away, narrowly avoiding rolling his eyes. He could feel himself growing irritated but wasn’t certain if that agitation was directed at Gwendolyn, Cedric or himself.  Flexing his hands, he tried to maintain proper decorum.

 

“I do not see your father, Lady Gwendolyn,” he observed flatly.

 

Her eyes returned to his face¾irises drenched with the coldfire of blue flame.  “He should be here presently.  He informs me we are to depart in the morning.”

 

Richard inclined his head stiffly.  He felt as though she was baiting him¾engaging a dance of subtlety, where once she had antagonized him with childish taunts.  He thought again of the mud bog and the girl who had wrestled with him when he was just ten, and she nine.  “My brother Armus would have come himself, had circumstance allowed.  He sends his well-wishes Lady, and hopes your journey will not prove too taxing.”

 

“How pleasant,” Gwendolyn returned, and Richard heard the sardonic sting of John Mullens in her voice.  With a disapproving glance, she considered the soiled state of his clothing; the dirt-encrusted strands of his hair.  “The company itself is presently taxing,” she returned, not bothering to conceal her contempt.  “You will, Sir, kindly find a washtub, before continuing in the role of escort.”

 

Richard’s green eyes flashed dangerously.  “Lady Gwendolyn, if my presence so offends you, perhaps you should¾”

 

At his side Cedric uttered a sudden strangled snort, nudging him in the ribs and cutting him short.  Pushing in front of his brother, the younger man offered a placating smile. “I fear my brother’s a little edgy from the journey, Lady Gwendolyn.  We won’t trouble you further except to have a servant show us our chambers.”

 

Appeased by the diplomacy, Gwendolyn nodded.  Much later after a bath had been prepared and the servants departed, Richard stripped off his clothing and climbed into the wooden tub.  Sinking below the water line, he relished the infusion of liquid warmth as it eased the knotted cramps from his muscles.  Rising, he swept the hair from his eyes, then leaned back against the stout boards of the tub.  The servants had left a pitcher of mulled wine, and Richard helped himself to a brimming goblet.  Like the surrounding warmth of the water, the touch of heat in his belly was a welcome salve to combat the after-effects of the journey.

 

He heard the door to the outer room scrape open.  A moment later Cedric appeared in the bathing chamber, looking clean and refreshed in a loose gray tunic and brown breeches.  Grinning, he slouched in a nearby chair, stretching his legs out against the stone floor.  “A pig-headed ruffian, was it?  Seems to me you and Lady Gwendolyn haven’t forgotten how to spar.”

 

Scowling, Richard tilted the goblet to his lips.  The steam from the water drew a flush over his face, inducing heightened color in his cheeks.  “She’s a harridan,” he muttered.  Then, as though irritated:  “Cedric, what are you doing, here?  Can’t I bathe in peace?”

 

“That depends.  They’re serving dinner in the Great Hall, and it would be unseemly for us not to attend.  As much as you’d like to stay here and drink yourself silly, you are Father’s emissary on this trek.”

 

“Don’t remind me,” Richard mumbled.  Sighing, he set the goblet aside.  “Very well.  Let’s get this charade of civility over with, so we can all go back to being disagreeable again.”

 

+++++

 

Dinner was not as bad as expected.  John Mullens and Gwendolyn remained at one end of the table, conversing cordially with Lady Edrea, while Richard and Cedric sat at the other, surrounded by Raulf and three other men.  From time to time, Richard glanced in Gwendolyn’s direction, wondering again at the transformation from girl-child to woman.  The feathering of gold in her hair was as striking as it was unusual, confined to the strands surrounding her face. 

In the light from the hearth, her skin was fawn-colored, dusted with the palest touch of rose.  There was no questioning she was beautiful.  The thought of her sharing Armus’s bed made him oddly jealous and for a moment he struggled with the incomprehensible turmoil of his emotions.

 

A she-witch, he reminded himself, and jabbed at the food on his plate.  Like everything else about Derry, it had lost its appeal.

 

+++++

 

Gwendolyn sat on the edge of the bed drawing a brush through her unbound hair.  The castle had grown quiet, wrapped in the thick mantle of night.  Though she knew she should be sleeping, conflicting emotions kept her awake.  When she had first received the missive from the King, decreeing her marriage to Armus Grey she had reacted with histrionics.  It was not so much the man he chose¾just that any man had been chosen.  Like most women, Gwendolyn preferred to think of herself as an individual, while the men around her viewed her as chattel.  As difficult as it was to admit, her father fell within that scope as well.  Though he had bristled over the Grey alliance, Gwendolyn knew he would readily marry her to the right man for political gain.  As much as she wanted to despise him for that coldness, she loved him, as a daughter should.  Accepting her duty, she had resigned herself to the marriage long before her father and the escort arrived.

 

And then she had seen Richard.

 

His appearance had taken her utterly by surprise.  Granted, he was unkempt after the journey, but even then his presence had exuded autocratic elegance¾a purely physical bearing that had caught her unaware.  Likewise, his height had surprised her, for she’d still envisioned him as a child¾the scruffy-haired tormentor of she and Henry.

 

The thought of her brother made her hand still on the brush.  She knew she should fault the Greys for his death¾should feel the black animosity that her father did¾but she knew Henry’s passing was the result of his own deceit.  She had heard the tale from numerous witnesses at the time, and they all said Sir Thomas had spared him.  Eleanor had acted justly in saving her father’s life.  Surely Gwendolyn herself would have done no differently had their roles been reversed.

 

Sighing, she set the brush aside.  She did not wish to marry Armus.  Worse, she did not wish to journey to Covington Cross under the escort of Richard Grey.  A man who looked like that, was far too dangerous¾someone who could easily invoke a foolish woman’s desire. 

 

Gwendolyn bit her lip.  The journey promised to be grueling in more ways than one. 

 

+++++

 

The following morning the escort departed Derry, their numbers grown by the inclusion of Gwendolyn, two lady maids and a contingent of servants.  While the maids rode in a carriage, Gwendolyn opted to sit horseback.  Unlike Eleanor who wore breeches when riding, Gwendolyn wore a gown, slitted with underskirts.  Her hair was pinned with ivory combs, looping curls drawn close to her slim shoulders.  A heavy cloak trimmed with a collar of wolfskin held the autumn breeze at bay.

 

As though wanting to place as much distance between them as possible, Richard rode to the head of the column.  As he passed, Gwendolyn spared a sidelong glance.  He was attired mostly in black this morning.  A navy jerkin and white undertunic accented the jet-black hue of his breeches, boots and cloak. The predominance of somber colors made him appear older than his twenty-one years.  It was only when the wind laced his ragged curls to life¾lifting the strands away from his face, that she glimpsed the youthfulness of his features.  Leaning forward, he said something to Cedric, smiling briefly.  The impish curl of his lips had not changed in the seven years they’d been apart, and the sight easily resurrected the memory of the boy she knew from childhood. 

 

Annoyed, Gwendolyn dismissed the thought.  It was foolish and imprudent to spend so much time dwelling on a man she adamantly disliked.  He’d likely laugh if he knew the truth.  Gathering her reins, Gwendolyn urged her horse to a clipped canter.  She was thankful when her father joined her and distracted her with conversation.

 

As the day lengthened and progressed, and the sun climbed to its noonday nest, Gwendolyn found herself growing restless.  They were deep within the forest now, the villages of Derry lost somewhere in the distance.  The path was narrow, bordered by an embankment to the left, and a thick stand of trees to the right.  The density was such, Gwendolyn could barely see scant feet in into the foliage.  A few paces ahead Richard rode with his brother, while her father had meandered to the front of the column.  Gwendolyn herself was almost at the rear, only a handful of retainers behind her.  Lost in thought, she jerked at the abrupt clamor of noise that rose from the thicket.  Before her retainers could react, a party of armed men erupted from the trees, descending on the column with drawn swords.  More surprised then frightened, Gwendolyn wrenched on her reins, drawing her horse to a halt.  Immediately, the retainers surrounded her, forming a protective circle.

 

“Lady Gwendolyn!”  She heard Richard call her name, and then suddenly a masked man broke through the circle.  A rough arm grabbed her around the waist, wrenching her roughly from her horse.  Hoisted into the air, Gwendolyn shrieked.  She pummeled her captor, cursing and spitting like a harpy from Hell, but the effort was for naught.  Laughing, he dumped her unceremoniously across his saddle. 

 

“Gwendolyn!”  Witnessing the abduction, Richard tried to win past the man who blocked his advance.  Raising his sword, he battered his opponent aside, startled momentarily when the man’s hood slipped and he caught a glimpse of his face.  Ginger hair and a spade beard offset the crescent-shaped scar on his cheek.  Shocked into inaction, Richard recalled the mysterious stranger he’d seen John Mullens conversing with at Covington Cross. As quickly as his hesitation arose, it fled.  Richard leaned low over his horse and raced in pursuit of Gwendolyn’s abductor.

 

The column of men fell behind him as he urged the stallion to greater speed.  At first the road ahead was empty, but as he rounded a bend, he caught a glimpse of the rider disappearing among the trees.  With drawn sword, Richard continued the pursuit.  Mile blended into mile until he was able to draw even with the hooded man.  Sheathing his sword, Richard launched himself from the saddle, bearing the man, himself and Gwendolyn to the ground. 

 

Gwendolyn shrieked.  Together the three rolled down the embankment in a tangle of arms and legs.  Richard’s back struck a tree and the breath left his lungs in a harsh whuff.  Something soft slammed up against him, and for a moment brittle granules of light danced before his eyes.  He heard the sound of retreating footsteps¾the slap-slap-slap of someone hastily running away.  Only then did he try to move.

 

“Get your hands off me!”  Gwendolyn snapped. 

 

Richard blinked, becoming aware of soft flesh beneath his gloved fingers.  Before he could ponder the fit of that delicious round orb in his hand, an elbow jabbed sharply into his ribs.  He grunted beneath the impact, and Gwendolyn wrenched away. 

 

“You insufferable¾”  She was standing now, bits of leaves and bracken snagged in her hair.  The ivory combs had worked free, spilling raven tresses over her shoulders and back.  A single comb clung to the end of one curling strand, teeth tangled amid snarled curls.  Annoyed, she snatched it from her hair and shook it in front of his face.  “You might have killed me with a stunt like that.”

 

Wincing slightly, Richard sat up.  A glance up the embankment revealed Gwendolyn’s abductor and their horses had vanished.  “I think I just saved your life.”  Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck to ease a sudden crick, Richard stood.  “You could show a little gratitude, you know.”

 

“For what?  For tumbling me down a hillside, and then-then . . .” She glanced about, sputtering for words, “ . . . stranding me here with no horse!”

 

“Perhaps you’d rather I let the man carry you off?”

 

“He at least, may have been a gentleman.”

 

Scowling, Richard stalked forward and caught her arm.  “Come on¾”

 

Gwendolyn took only two steps before drawing to an immediate halt.  Angrily, she tugged her arm free.  Defiance heightened the color on her face, imbuing her blue eyes with witch-light.  “And where would you have me go?” she snapped.

 

Striving for patience, Richard exhaled.  He couldn’t tell her the man who’d led her abductors, was same man her father had parlayed with at Covington Cross.  It was unlikely she’d believe him.  What’s more, he wasn’t certain what the revelation implied.  He only knew he didn’t want her anywhere near John Mullens or her escort, until he figured the matter through.  “Since we’ve lost the horses, we’d better start walking.”  His lips curled thinly.  Not the impish grin she remembered, but a sly challenging smile that infuriated her.  “Can you manage such a hardship, Gwendolyn?”

 

“Lady Gwendolyn,” she said sharply.

 

Richard cocked a brow but refrained from comment.  The look of smug superiority on his face made her want to strike him.  Instead she gathered the folds of her cloak¾as regally as she could¾and stalked toward the embankment.  Richard caught her beneath the elbow, and drew back sharply until she bumped up against his chest.  Haughty demeanor shattered, Gwendolyn gave a startled squawk¾as much from the abruptness of his movement, as the feel of his body against hers.  “Not the road,” Richard said, and started to pull her into the trees.

 

He’d no sooner voiced the words then the sound of hoofbeats rattled down the hillside.  A rider appeared near the bend.  The silver-gilt trappings on his horse and the cut of his dark hair, easily identified him as John Mullens.  Relieved, Gwendolyn moved to hail her father¾

 

¾and found herself abruptly restrained, a hand cupped forcefully over her mouth.  “No!”  Richard hissed near her ear. 

 

Enraged she pushed against him, jabbing viciously with her elbow.  Though he uttered a short grunt at the impact, Richard held tight.  Above on the road Gwendolyn saw her father hesitate, his eyes scanning the beaten earth of the passageway.  The tracks left by her abductor’s horse and Richard’s continued away from the bank, into the distance.  Realizing her father would follow the path, Gwendolyn screamed.  Despite her struggles, the sound was muffled and subdued, effectively blocked by Richard’s hand.  Infuriated, she bit down on his fingers¾inflicting enough damage to make him curse and jerk his hand away.   

 

“Damn you.”  Before she could so much as draw breath, Richard grabbed her about the waist and bore them both to the ground.  He clamped his hand over her mouth, pinning her body beneath his.  She struggled, writhing furiously, until she realized with a belated sense of shock, there were parts of his body that fit much too perfectly with hers.  She could feel the hard, muscular line of his thigh; the startling swell of his manhood nestled between her legs.  Sensing the contact at precisely the same moment, Richard stilled, eyes widening at the arousing sensation.

 

Above on the road, John Mullens rounded the bend and disappeared from view.  Recovering, Richard lowered his hand.

 

“Get off me!”  Gwendolyn snapped.  She was trembling¾as furious with herself as she was with him.  He at least had the decency to look chagrined, but he lingered longer than necessary. Mortified, Gwendolyn raised a hand to strike him.

 

Catching her wrist, Richard twisted her arm aside.  “Is that how you repay kindness? You’ll thank me for this one day.”

 

“I’ll thank you for nothing.  Why would you keep me from my father?”

 

Rising, Richard held her wrist secure and pulled her to her feet.  Standing so near, Gwendolyn found herself overshadowed by his height.  Swallowing, she lifted her chin and gazed at him defiantly.  She’d forgotten how green his eyes were¾not the dark jade of deep forest, but the lighter celery of spring grasslands.  As angry as she was, she felt unbalanced by his nearness.

 

“I don’t expect you to understand this,” Richard said evenly, “But the men who attacked us, were most likely employed by your father.”

 

“That’s ludicrous!”  Gwendolyn snapped.  “I can see now, you’ll say whatever’s necessary to cast my father in an unflattering light.  He was right about you and your family.”

 

“I’m not going to argue with you,” Richard warned.  His fingers were still curled about her wrist, his grip possessive and harsh.  He gave a sharp tug as though trying to shake sense into her.  “Believe what you will, but until I deem otherwise, we’ll keep to the trees and avoid the road.  It’s a long walk to Covington Cross, My Lady, and like to be overly trying if you continue to fight me tooth and nail.  Pray sheath your claws¾at least temporarily.”

 

“Gladly, My Lord¾in your throat.”

 

Richard chuckled.  Amused, he released her.  “You’re still a she-demon, Gwen.  If you didn’t hiss and spit so prettily, I’d turn you over my knee.”

 

Enraged, Gwendolyn flushed to the roots of her hair.  Clenching her hands, she fought for control of her temper.  He was baiting her now¾engaging her in a battle of wills she was ill equipped to win.  Here in the forest, stranded as she was, the game was his. He had already proven he could out power her, and held no qualms about using his greater strength to advantage. 

Stifling her rage, she stiff-armed him across the stomach, brusquely pushing past.  Back straight, head held high, she stalked into the tangle of brush and trees.

 

Richard frowned.  He wondered how long it would be before he strangled her.

 

+++++

 

“We need to keep looking,” Cedric said firmly.  Squatting by the roadside, he brushed two fingers over the beaten earth.  Richard’s horse had left its distinctive print in the soft soil, as clearly as marking a trail.  Rising, Cedric dusted the mud from his hands and glanced at John Mullens.

 

The older man sat rigidly on his horse, his face drawn in belligerent lines.  “Your brother’s absconded with her.  Either that or this is a Grey plot to make my daughter appear unfavorable before the King. I should have expected no less than an underhanded attempt to thwart the marriage”

 

“We were attacked,” Cedric said sharply.  “Only an idiot would fault Richard for attempting to save your daughter’s life.”

 

Mullens hissed.  Unaccustomed to sparring with Sir Thomas’s youngest son, he was momentarily flustered by Cedric’s bluntness.  Richard routinely fenced with subtlety and finesse¾a trait Mullens could admire even if he thought the young man an egotistical cockscomb.  Cedric’s crassness was vulgar by comparison, making Mullens realize how much he enjoyed the veiled nuance of Richard’s gibes.  “I’m not going to waste valuable time tracking that fool brother of yours, when my daughter’s life is in danger.”  Gathering the reins, Mullens wheeled his horse around.  “Do what you will¾chase after the knave for all I care.  The outcome is on your head.” 

 

Urging his horse forward, Mullens disappeared into the distance.  The men of Torsun-Narr followed behind, strung like beads on a thread. 

 

Cedric exhaled.  “Damn the lot of them,” he said to no one in particular.  The wind scuttled through the brown grass at his feet, stirring dry, crinkled leaves to life.  It was how he felt¾agitated and restless¾uncertain what path to take.  In the past it had always been his father or Richard who told him what to do.  When Armus returned, his brother assumed the same mantle, and Cedric fell into the easy role of follower.  This decision was his alone¾follow after Richard, or ride with John Mullens in search of Gwendolyn.  Though the tracks clearly indicated Gwendolyn was likely with Richard to the east, Mullens persisted in riding west.

 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Raulf said at his elbow.  Startled, Cedric gave an involuntary jerk.  “If the man’s so bloody worried about his daughter, why ride in the opposite direction?  In one breath he says he fears for her life, and in the next he accuses Master Richard of kidnapping her.”

 

“He’s a shit-sucking fool,” Cedric said bluntly.   Puffing out his cheeks, he exhaled loudly.  “He’s more like to return to Covington Cross and accuse Richard of abducting his daughter.”

 

“So the marriage can’t proceed?”  Raulf guessed.  “But we all saw the attackers.  We’d all vouch Richard had nothing to do with it.”

 

With a resigned shake of his head, Cedric pursued his lips.  “Until Lady Gwendolyn and Richard are found, Mullens is certain to make my brother the culprit in this.  Gather the men, Raulf.  We need to find my brother quickly.”

 

As the retainer moved away, Cedric cast a glance at the sky.  He calculated the hour, wincing at the precious time already wasted in debate.  Mullens would head straight for Covington Cross, intent on denouncing his brother and the House of Grey.  If Cedric hoped to prevent catastrophe, he had to find Richard and deliver Armus’s bride, before the Baron arrived at the castle.

 

Simple problem solving for a novice cleric with the heart of a knight.

 

+++++

 

Stubborn! 

 

It was the first word that came to mind when Richard thought of Gwendolyn Mullens.  The day had lengthened with the bloated passage of hours, swelling to late afternoon.  Likewise the air had grown crisper, scuttling through the trees with cold, grasping fingers.  The terrain alternated between obstacle-fraught paths and cumbersome beds of rock.  Five paces ahead of Richard Gwendolyn walked determinedly, her face set in a stone mask.  Once, shortly after noon, Richard had offered to stop for a brief respite, but she’d steadfastly denied the need to rest.  If they were to halt any time soon, it wasn’t going to be by her admission.  Knowing she had to be tired, Richard debated letting her stubbornness override her strength.  It would serve her right if she stumbled over a root, banging hands and knees, or twisted her ankle between jutting knobs of rock. 

 

As soon as he’d entertained the thought, Richard regretted it.  She was stubborn, yes, and foolhardy, but he could hardly blame her for her black mood.  Forced marriage, abduction and his own curt insistence they avoid her father surely had to be more than most women would abide.  To make matters worse, she was forced to share company with a man she loathed.

 

Richard scowled, realizing his own animosity was born from frustration rather then true dislike.  Upon examination, he realized there was a part of him that enjoyed having her near.  Indeed, that had responded to the feel of her body pinned beneath his.  Animal urges aside, there was something about her scathing demeanor that attracted him more than he wanted to admit.

 

Dismissing the thought, he glanced aside, wishing for distraction.  A small stream meandered through the trees on his left, twining among the leaf-blanketed ground and diminishing beds of rock.  With a glance to the sky, Richard noted the slumbering path of the sun, now on steady decline.  If he hoped to find them food for dinner, he needed what little light remained.  As though on cue his stomach rumbled, reminding him his companion had to be hungry as well.

 

“Gwendolyn.” He’d walked behind her most of the day, letting her clamber ahead in self-enveloping anger.  Paces ahead, she came to an abrupt halt at the use of her name without its courtesy title.  Turning, she pressed her lips together and waited as he walked to her side. 

 

“I see the forest has taught you to forsake manners and civility,” she snapped tartly.

 

Richard ignored the icy tone of her voice.  His eyes flecked over her face and into the tees.  “We should stop here,” he commented indifferently, ignoring the remark altogether.  “There’s a stream for water, and I might be able to manage some fish.”  Striding past her, he walked between the trees, stooping to examine broken branches on the forest floor.  His cloak puddled behind him like a black cloud, brightly-colored leaves snagged in the hem.

 

Irritated that he’d dismissed her observation so casually, Gwendolyn stalked after him.  “Now what are you doing?”

 

“Looking for something I can use as a gaffing pole.”  Lifting a narrow branch, Richard inspected it carefully then tossed it aside.  “I need something straight, with as little flexibility as possible.  It’s got to be strong and stiff.”

 

Intrigued despite efforts to remain hostile, Gwendolyn narrowed her eyes in bewilderment.  “Whatever for?”

 

Richard tapped the knife sheathed against his hip.  “I’ll sharpen the end to a point, then hopefully find some fish in that stream¾” A nod of his head indicated the creek behind him “¾which are either full-bellied and slow, or stupidly accommodating.”  A crooked smile lifted the corner of his lips.  “I seem to remember a time when you went fishing with a pointed stick and a your mother’s favorite scarf for a net.”

 

Gwendolyn flinched.  Though the light in his eyes was teasing, the memory was something she didn’t wish to consider.  Examining their childhood relationship might make her recall the girlish crush she’d once held for him¾a crush she’d effectively disguised with antagonistic battles.  Refusing to yield to his ribbing, she turned away, retrieving the first branch she could find.  “How’s this?”

 

If Richard was disappointed at her coldness, it didn’t show in his eyes.  “That just might do,” he returned, claiming the branch.  It was a little over five feet in length, mostly straight, with only a crooked elbow or two to affect handling.  Hefting it at waist-level, Richard spun it for balance, then moved away.  Drawing his knife, he turned the blade against the gnarled wood and began stripping off the bark.  “You might gather some wood for kindling,” he called without turning.  “If I’m lucky enough to spear something, we’ll need a fire to cook it over.”

 

Glad for the distraction, Gwendolyn turned her attention to the forest floor.  As she rooted through the strewn leaves for twigs, her thoughts eventually rambled back to Richard.  She hadn’t thought about him much since leaving Torsun-Narr those many years ago.  Deeming it best her childhood fancy remain buried in childhood, she’d embraced her father’s hatred of the Greys.  Once or twice she’d wondered what kind of a man Richard had become, but she’d never envisioned him quite so handsome, and certainly not so tall.   

 

A heated flush crept over her cheeks as she recalled the delicious feel of his body pressed to hers.  The delightful shock she’d felt still lingered in her mind.  Perhaps it was nothing more than her body’s treasonous reaction, which made her dislike him so intently. 

 

Wrapped in her thoughts, Gwendolyn reached blindly into the bed of dry leaves, absently searching broken twigs.  Something cold and wet slithered past her hand.  With a startled jolt, she glimpsed a dark serpentine form, gliding with liquid ease through the autumn-browned leaves.

 

“Oh!”  The cry of dismay slipped from her lips before she could retract it.  Wrenching backward, she became entangled in the folds of her cloak and plummeted rear-end first against the ground. The breath left her lungs in a startled whuff of air, but she felt the bruise to her dignity more than her body.  Struggling to recover, she was unprepared when Richard approached from behind and drew her to her feet. Balanced precariously on a bulging knob of rock, Gwendolyn stumbled clumsily into his embrace. 

 

“How forward of you,” he chided lightly.

 

Horrified, she started to pull away, a scathing retort on her lips.  The words died abruptly in her throat, when she lifted her head and caught him gazing down at her.  The teasing light had returned to his eyes, joined by something she didn’t wish to examine.  Unbidden, heat rose to her face.  He’d yet to release her, his arms looped loosely about her waist.  Disturbed by his nearness, Gwendolyn’s thoughts scattered in a myriad of directions:  she was to marry his brother . . . she loathed him . . . he secretly mocked her . . . his sister had killed her brother . . . oh, dear heavens, he has the face of an angel, and must surely kiss with the rakish charm of a devil.

 

Frightened, Gwendolyn flattened her palms against his chest and shoved as hard as she could.  “Let go of me!” she demanded angrily.  Richard released her just as the momentum of her thrust carried her backward.  Unprepared for sudden freedom, Gwendolyn reeled clumsily and fell butt-first to the ground.

 

Richard raised one perfectly shaped brow.  “I think I’ll leave you as I found you.  The seat becomes you, Lady.”

 

“Ohhhhh! You obnoxious, overbearing¾”

 

But Richard turned his back before she could finish the tirade. Grinning extravagantly, he headed for the stream.  He knew his casual dismissal irritated her more than her own clumsiness.

 

Somehow, he found the thought extremely satisfying.  

 

+++++  

 

Gwendolyn wrapped her cloak tighter, inching unobtrusively nearer the fire.  The cold night air made her long for the security of home and the comforting warmth of her bed.  Hours past, Richard had managed to spear three fish with his makeshift gaffing pole, while she had rummaged a handful of edible roots from the soft forest soil.  They’d shared a passable dinner, washed down with handfuls of clear water from the nearby stream.  Now, wrapped in the folds of night’s shadows, there remained little to do to pass the hours until dawn.

 

Extending her hands to the fire, Gwendolyn warmed cold-stiffened fingers. Beyond the flickering dance of jeweled flame, she could feel the near-tangible touch of Richard’s eyes.  Clearing her throat, she raised her head.  “Tell me about your brother,” she said abruptly, wishing a distraction¾any distraction¾from the sharp sting of cold night air.  “If Armus is to be my husband, I’d like to know something about him.  I remember so little.”

 

Surprised by her even tone, Richard shifted.  His glance grew guarded, oddly annoyed.  For the past few moments he’d been watching her¾noting the way the highlights in her hair glittered like gold foil in the rippling firelight.  Her irises¾normally the hue of ocean waves¾appeared raven-black in the darkness.  The contrast was startling and wholly seductive against her cold-reddened skin.  The last thing Richard wanted to do was discuss his brother.

 

“Armus is fair-dispositioned and kind.  You couldn’t want for a more honorable man.”

 

“He left for the crusades right before Father sent me to Aunt Edrea,” Gwendolyn commented.  Drawing her legs up, she huddled deeper into her cloak, hoping to trap elusive warmth.  Gathering the wolfskin collar close to her throat, she smiled wanly.  “I remember he always seemed to be fetching you from trouble.”

 

Richard smiled sourly.  “He still does.”

 

They fell silent for a time, wrapped in the awkward reality that Gwendolyn was to be Armus’s wife.  Richard wondered how day-to-day life would transpire when she became his sister-in-law.  Would they continue with the same wearisome, antagonistic dance, or would they grow comfortably bored, as the awkward became the mundane?  Somehow Richard couldn’t imagine ever being bored when Gwendolyn was around.  Not for the first time, he experienced a disquieting twinge of jealousy as he thought of her in his brother’s arms.

 

“Why do you feel my father was behind today’s attack?”  Gwendolyn asked suddenly, shaking him from his reverie. 

 

Richard met the barbed challenge in her eyes.  “I saw him with a man at Covington Cross,” he explained with little hesitation.  “A man with a crescent-shaped scar on his right cheek.  That same man attacked us earlier today.”

 

“That’s preposterous!”  Annoyed, she shook out the hem of her cloak, rearranging it over her legs.  “Why would my father send men to attack me?”

 

“Not to attack,” Richard corrected.  “To abduct.  Your father’s men only feigned resistance, thus enabling him to plead injustice before the king.  It will look as though my escort was unable to protect you. As a result, the House of Grey loses favor in His Majesty’s eyes.  Baron Mullens keeps you safely hidden, the marriage never proceeds, and he’s awarded Grey lands and monetary compensation for the loss of his daughter.  Eventually, when the furor subsides, you magically reappear, having escaped your abductors.”

 

Gwendolyn bristled.  “You have a truly cynical view of life, Richard.”

 

“On acquaintance of your father,” he countered. 

 

Stung by the rebuttal, Gwendolyn turned away.  Lying down, she huddled into her cloak, closing her eyes against the darkness.  She was foolish to think she could ever be anything but a captive bride to Armus Grey.  Far too much animosity existed between her father, and the house of her intended.  The path ahead seemed fraught with misery and deceit. 

 

Sickened by the thought of such a bleak existence, Gwendolyn held back tears.  Eventually, sleep silenced the turmoil in her mind, and even the cold whisked into nothingness.

 

+++++

 

The following day Richard roused Gwendolyn shortly after dawn.  He allowed her privacy to attend her personal needs and refresh herself at the stream, then proceeded to do the same. A scant breakfast followed¾near-tasteless roots left from the night before, and a few late-blooming berries Richard found on an age-wizened bush.  With the repast behind them, they started the trek once again, climbing over rock beds, and trudging through thickets dense with trees.  Though Gwendolyn walked without complaint, a few hours into the journey, Richard knew her feet troubled her.  Though his boots were heavy, not wholly ideal for extensive hikes, they were comfortable nonetheless.  He doubted her shoes were the same.

 

“Let’s halt here,” he said.  As she started past a large fallen tree, he caught her hand and pulled her to a seat on the trunk.  Dropping to the ground on one knee, he reached forward and cupped her ankle.

 

“What are you doing?”  Appalled, she tried to pull away.

 

“Gwen, hold still,” Richard said curtly.  He didn’t know if it was the tone of his voice or the pressure of his hand, but surprisingly she obeyed. Gently, he traced his fingers over her ankle, then raised his other hand and slipped off her shoe.

 

Gwendolyn drew a sharp breath.  It was unseemly for a man to touch her so¾to even glimpse her ankle, let alone rub his hands over her flesh.  Caught between embarrassment and delight, Gwendolyn remained frozen, her eyes wide as Richard massaged her foot.  His touch sent shivers cascading to the base of her spine, the touch of his fingers blissfully enjoyable on the bruised soles of her feet.  He worked each delicate bone, then skimmed his fingers over the top.   Cupping her ankle, he kneaded her flesh with his thumbs.  “I’m sorry, Gwendolyn, I wasn’t thinking.  Of course you’re not dressed to hike through the forest.”

 

His voice startled her, making her feel suddenly guilty for the pleasure of his touch.  She flushed, but his head was bowed, and he never saw the heightened color in her cheeks.  Gazing down on the tousled snarl of his long hair, Gwendolyn marveled at the number of sun-touched red highlights in the curling strands.  She’d forgotten how the trick of sunlight could turn his hair from brown to red, filtering it further with gold. 

 

Drawing a breath, she concentrated again on the exquisite feel of his hands upon her leg.  His fingers were long and supple, perfect for the task of massaging tired flesh.  Her aunt would surely thrash her for allowing a man to touch her like this¾especially this man, but Gwendolyn was unwilling to draw away.  Replacing her shoe, Richard continued the same ministrations on her opposite foot.  The more he touched her, the more erotic the sensation became.  Fearing she lost perspective, Gwendolyn cleared her throat and pulled her foot back.  “Thank you,” she croaked. 

 

Grinning, Richard stood.  He wasn’t immune to the quavering uncertainty in her voice. He rather liked having her unbalanced.  Admittedly, he liked touching her even more.  “We’ll rest here for awhile,” he said. 

 

Not trusting her voice, Gwendolyn nodded.  When he sat beside her she stiffened, disturbed at the way his nearness effected her.  Fortunately the respite wasn’t long.  Lingering briefly, they started walking again.  By afternoon Gwendolyn was feeling the toll.  By evening, she teetered on exhaustion. 

 

Richard gathered kindling and built a small fire while she rested.  Their meal was brief and bland¾more roots and a smattering of nuts gathered from a nearby walnut tree.  Afterwards Gwendolyn huddled into her cloak, more mindful of the cold as her body wearied from the toil.  

When it began to drizzle, she moaned softly, wishing again for the warm security of her own bed. 

 

“Gwendolyn, come here.”  Richard squatted beside her and gripped her arm.  When she raised her head, he opened his cloak, drawing her within the folds.  Resisting at first, she soon felt the enveloping heat of his body¾delicious, blissful and inviting.  Melting against him, she made no protest as he leaned back against a tree, drawing her with him. 

 

“This is only because I’m cold,” she mumbled. 

 

“Yes, I know it is.  Otherwise you’d likely punch me.”  His voice was amused and teasingly soft.   She liked the lilt of his words¾the precise inflection he placed on every syllable.  She could well recall that same inflection from childhood¾not as precise, but just as musical.  Only now did she realize she had missed it.

 

“I seem to recall punching you before,” she observed sleepily.  The heat of his body and the enveloping warmth made her drowsy.  She could feel the soft pelt of rain against her legs, but the touch was disassociated, as though it happened to someone else.  All that mattered was the feel of his arms around her; the heady sense of security his embrace awakened.

 

“I tried to kiss you,” Richard reminded her.

 

She chuckled.  “You did kiss me.  That’s why I punched you.”

 

Raising a finger, he traced it across her cheek.  “What if I tried to kiss you now?”

 

Surprised, Gwendolyn lifted her head.  She had only to shift marginally to bring her lips within inches of his.  Head pillowed against his shoulder she gazed up at him, her eyes liquid pools of starlight.  Hesitating, she wet her lips. 

 

Richard construed her silence as invitation.  Bending his head, he pressed his mouth to hers.  At the first gentle touch of his lips, she yielded to the kiss, arching her body into his embrace.  He hadn’t expected to find her so willing and was momentarily taken aback by her eagerness.  Gripping her chin, he moved his mouth over hers, letting his tongue explore the velvet interior of her mouth.  Her fingers tangled in the curling ends of his hair, then twined behind his neck.  Whimpering softly, she pressed against him, crushing her breasts to his chest.

 

Never breaking the kiss, Richard gripped her behind the knees and drew her onto his lap. One hand cupped her breast, gently stroking the soft globe until she trembled beneath the skilled touch of his fingers.  Abandoning himself to passion, Richard grew dangerously aroused.  Shuddering at the sensation, he trailed moist, open-mouthed kisses across her cheek.  Startled by the prominent feel of his arousal against her bottom, Gwendolyn gasped.

 

It was the sound that brought him to his senses¾the virginal innocence of her shock, which made him realize he dallied with his brother’s intended wife.  If he’d inadvertently claimed her maidenhood, she’d never be welcomed in Armus’s bed.  His own passions readily got the best of him, and she had grown far too dear to his heart to trust his sensibility now.  Gripping her by the shoulders, he pushed her back.  “Gwendolyn, I’m sorry¾I shouldn’t have.  I¾”

 

“Richard¾”  Pressing her fingers to his lips, she smiled sadly.  “I know what you’re going to say, and you’re right.  But it doesn’t change how I feel.”

 

He swallowed hard.  “Nor I.”  For a moment neither spoke.   Bowing his head, he pressed his forehead to hers.  “I promise to be a gentleman.  Stay with me tonight and I’ll keep you warm.  Nothing else¾I swear it on my honor.”

 

Mutely, she nodded.  He sensed sadness about her, but was uncertain if it was born from what lay ahead, or what had recently transpired.  Wrapping her in his cloak, he held her tightly.  He was comforted by the feel of her head against his shoulder; the warm trickle of her breath on his neck.

 

When he fell asleep, Richard dreamed of the white doe.

 

+++++

 

Armus walked stiffly into the Great Hall, favoring his injured leg.  Though the pain was minimal, mobility was still an issue.  Easing into a seat at the table, he joined Eleanor and his father for breakfast.

 

“You’re walking better today,” Thomas noted.

 

Armus grunted.  He didn’t think he was walking better at all.  Maybe it was just his sour disposition over his impending nuptials that made him so churlish.  The closer the day became, the more agitated he grew.  Ignoring his father’s comment, he poured a brimming goblet of cider.  “I suppose Richard and Cedric should be back in a few days,” he observed bleakly.

 

And Gwendolyn.

 

Though the words remained unvoiced, they hung foremost in everyone’s mind.  Eleanor shifted uncomfortably and smiled with marked effort.  “If you’re feeling better maybe you’d like to go riding with me today,” she offered, only too eager to have him contented again.

 

Armus shook his head.  “As tempting as it sounds, I don’t think my leg is healed enough to sit a horse.  Besides¾I should be thinking about the wedding.  My bride’s needs and her comfort.”

 

Thomas frowned, for the words carried the marked sting of sarcasm.  “Armus, you do understand the importance of this union?” he queried forcefully.

 

Armus retrieved a plate and began loading it with pastry and fruit.  “I prefer to think of it as a ‘sentence’ not a ‘union’,” he mumbled.  Glancing sharply at his father, he nodded.  “Assuming Richard manages to fetch my bride in one piece, I’m ready to do my part.”

 

Still unconvinced, Thomas leaned back in his chair.  Eleanor smiled nervously and ducked her head, wishing she could sink beneath the table.  The tension in the room was palpable.  She suddenly wished she was with Cedric and Richard¾anywhere but between a father and son who veiled their hostility in genteel conversation.

 

Clearing her throat, she glanced at Thomas.  “Perhaps you’d like to go riding?” she offered.

 

+++++

 

Cedric lost the track somewhere outside of Derry.  Exhaling loudly, he wheeled his horse around, facing the string of men behind him.  Judging from the last set of prints he’d examined, Richard’s horse was currently riderless. Of Richard and Gwendolyn, Cedric had no clue.

 

“We’ve no choice now, but to go back to Covington Cross,” he told Raulf.  “Perhaps Richard has found Gwendolyn and is headed there himself.  If nothing else, we can organize more men and institute a better search.”

 

Grimly, the other nodded. Falling in behind Cedric, he followed the black-haired man at a clipped pace down the roadway.

 

+++++

 

Another day of walking brought Richard and Gwendolyn to the edge of the heath.  This time the rain came in earnest and they were able to locate a cave while still hours from nightfall.  Tucked into a hillside where the brittle line of Tiner bordered the grassland, a small opening funneled into sharply angled beds of rock and sloping earth.  At one time it had likely been the den of an animal, but it was deserted now¾empty of all save dry leaves and scattered grass.  They built a fire and the interior warmed quickly with the trapped heat.

 

Giddy at the prospect of a night spent free of the wind, Gwendolyn laughed aloud and hugged Richard tightly.  “Fortune surely smiles on us now.”

 

Grinning just as foolishly, he kissed the top of her head.  “I don’t suppose you can conjure up a meal as well?”

 

“Certainly, My Lord,” she returned, blue eyes twinkling with laughter. “I hope you have a fondness for roots.”

 

Richard groaned.  “You are a cruel woman, Gwen.”  Taking her in his arms, he turned her to face him.  Though he’d restrained himself last night, they’d engaged in playful banter all day, and he was feeling the effects of that closeness.  Lifting his hand, he brushed the gold-streaked hair from her eyes.  “A few more days and we’ll be at Covington Cross¾where you’ll have fine food to eat, and a comfortable bed to sleep in.”

 

Gwendolyn bit her lip.  “Your brother’s?” she asked somberly, shattering the mood.

 

Closing his eyes, Richard pulled her against him.  “I wish it could be different,” he said softly.  Turning his lips against her hair he kissed her temple.  He had only meant to hold her briefly¾to revel in the delicious closeness his brother would soon enjoy.  But the scent of her hair¾perfumed with the sweet redolence of autumn wind and the dusky breath of forest made him linger. Gently, he stroked her back, trailing one finger with sensual slowness down her spine. Before he knew what he was doing, Richard claimed her mouth in a heated kiss, rounding his hand over the tight curve of her bottom. 

 

Moaning, Gwendolyn melted into his embrace.  Once again, her willingness proved his undoing.  Sliding his hands onto her shoulders, he pushed her cloak to the ground.  He could feel the heat of her body radiating through his leather gauntlets.  Looping his arms behind her back, Richard tugged off the intervening gloves, all the while trailing kisses over her lips and neck.  Unfastening his own cloak, he spread it on the ground.  Claiming her hand, he drew her down onto the makeshift bedding. 

 

Willingly she complied, linking her arms behind his neck, snuggling beneath him.  The tantalizing fit of her body pressed so intimately to his caused Richard’s head to spin.  His kiss grew hungry and demanding as he probed her mouth with his tongue.  Slipping his fingers beneath the embroidered edge of her bodice, he caressed the soft mound of her breast.  Gwendolyn arched her back, silently begging more.  His breath quickening, Richard unlaced the restrictive binding of her gown.  Enraptured, he stared down at her. 

 

Black hair spilled over her bare shoulders like a cloud of ebon-drenched silk.  Her eyes were lidded, conveying stark innocence and smoldering passion.  The sight of her fire-bronzed flesh¾full breasts and flat stomach accentuated with clinging shadow left Richard struggling for restraint. His breath grew languorous and deep.  “You are truly heavenly, Lady,” he murmured.  Bending his head, he kissed her gently.  Her hip was wedged solidly between his legs, causing an increasing tightness in his pants.  Groaning deep in his throat, he moved against her.

 

She’s to be Armus’s wife.  The thought came again, but still he kissed her.  Slipping his hand inside her open gown, he smoothed his palm over her stomach.  Beneath his roving touch, he could feel her quiver.  Don’t be a fool, Richard, she’s surely a virgin.  His fingers dipped lower, stroking the moist, liquid heat at the center of her being.  Shuddering, she cried aloud.  The tortured pleasure in the sound made him question his honor.  A virgin, he thought again.  Chagrined by his own passion, he tried to withdraw.

 

Gwendolyn snared his wrist, desperation in her eyes.  “Don’t stop,” she entreated. 

 

There was something almost childlike in the plea that made his stomach twist.  Bowing his head to her hair, he raised his hand, twining his fingers with hers.  “Gwendolyn.  My brother¾” he croaked.

 

“I don’t care about Armus, Richard.  Don’t deny me what I feel.”

 

What did she feel, he wondered?  Love?  Was that the horrible tightness in his chest?  The wretched blackness that devoured his heart with the cold mockery of predestined fate?  Was he to lie with her, only to lose her to his brother’s bed?  To never know the supple yielding of her flesh again? 

 

She pulled her hand away and he felt somehow empty for the departure.  A moment later he sensed the hesitant trace of her fingers over his belt.  Emboldened, Gwendolyn tugged on the wide leather band, clumsily working it through the buckle, until it fell free.  Awkward and shy in the role of aggressor, she pushed aside his jerkin, slipping her hands beneath his linen undertunic. 

 

“Oh!”  Gwendolyn gave a soft gasp at the shocking sensation of his bare flesh against her fingertips.  Heat seared through her, sending a shockwave into the bed of warmth she ached for Richard to touch again. Before she knew what she was doing, she skimmed her hand over the flat muscles of his stomach and boldly touched him where he desired it most.

 

“God, Gwen¾”  She felt him shudder¾a deep tremor that made him draw a quickening breath.  Abandoning her awkwardness, she caressed him openly, thrilled that she could effect him so.  Clumsily, she tugged at the laces of his breeches. 

 

Richard caught her hand.  She could feel his lips near her ear, his breath a warm trickle on her skin.  “Gwendolyn, this is wrong,” he whispered.  “I would not take what is not mine to have.”

 

“Even if I yield it willingly?” she whispered in reply.  Turning her head, she invited his kiss.  Her hands twined in the long snarled strands of his hair, holding him captive.

 

The last of Richard’s restraint melted away as she moved beneath him.  Surrendering logic to passion, he kissed her with lingering intensity.  “Do not rush it, my love.  We have all night, and I would teach you slowly.”

 

Beyond the pitted stone walls of the cave, a cold autumn wind moaned over the heath.  A lone animal lifted its head as though listening to the funeral-like dirge.  As the last rays of the setting sun dappled its coat with mock blood, the white doe darted into the forest, vanishing among the trees.

 

+++++

 

Huddled beneath the enveloping warmth of their cloaks, Gwendolyn nestled closer to Richard.  She pillowed her head on his shoulder, delighting in the feel of his bare flesh against her own.  Days prior she might have blushed at the discarded clothing scattered haphazardly in the shrinking halo of firelight.  Days prior, she would just as likely have struck this man as look at him.  It occurred to her that she’d fallen in love with someone she’d once loathed.  How was that possible?

 

With a contented sigh she drew a finger down his chest, marveling at the hard lines of his body.  Beyond the walls of the cave, the sky lightened with the impending arrival of dawn.  Richard slept, his breath soft and even; hair tumbled carelessly across his brow.  Shifting to gaze up at him, Gwendolyn raised a hand and brushed curling hair from his eyes.  A warm flush stole over her cheeks as she thought of their lovemaking.  He’d been gentle with her, restraining himself until she took pleasure in the act and their release was mutual.  Her initial pain seemed fleeting by comparison. 

 

Stirring, he blinked groggily, then gazed down at her.  Immediately a smile turned his lips, crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes.  “Dearest love, I would gladly awaken to such a visage for a hundred eternitys,” he said gently.  He kissed the tip of her nose.  “And to think you are the same girl who wrestled me in a mud bog.”

 

Rolling onto her stomach, Gwendolyn folded her arms on his chest.  Her lips curved teasingly as she watched him.  “I would rather wrestle you now, My Lord, unclothed as you are.”

 

Richard chuckled.  “The harpy has become a vixen.  So now you will not claw my throat, but tempt my body.”

 

Pushing forward, she kissed him.  “I should like to do more than tempt,” she countered.  Smiling, Richard wrapped his arms around her and rolled her beneath him. The edge of his passion returned, awakened by the supple feel of her body pressed to his.  Lost in the throes of affection, he didn’t hear the scuffling arrival of hooves beyond the cave.  He kissed her hair; her neck; all the while stroking her bare, sensitized flesh.  Though she responded willingly at first, caution followed shortly thereafter.

 

“Richard, I hear something,” Gwendolyn said.

 

He didn’t bother to raise his head.  “It’s just the wind.”  His kisses continued, growing subtlety demanding as his body responded to hers. 

 

“No, Richard, it’s¾”  Gwendolyn gasped.

 

Alarmed, Richard pulled away, half turning as he did so.  Silhouetted at the front of the cave, was a single, slender form.  Throwing the cloak quickly over Gwendolyn, Richard groped for his sword.

 

“Don’t bother, Brother,” the intruder announced.  Moving forward, Cedric stepped into the light.

 

“Oh, bloody hell,” Richard grumbled.  Falling back against his cloak, he exhaled loudly.  “I’ll skin you alive if you breathe a word of this to anyone.”

 

+++++

 

Chewing worriedly on the inside of his lip, Cedric cast a sideways glance at his brother.  Two of the men from the escort had surrendered their horses, riding double with other retainers so Richard and Gwendolyn would have mounts, befitting their station.  Richard rode astride a tall chestnut, the cantering gait of the animal in direct counterpoint to the uncharacteristic stiffness of his limbs.  Normally fluid on a horse, Richard was undeniably tense.  As the day lengthened to afternoon and the heath bowed before the confining embrace of Tiner Forest, he grew increasingly restless.  Moving into the shadow of the trees, Cedric fell to the rear of the column with his brother.  Up ahead, he could see Gwendolyn¾her dark hair creating an inky veil over her slim back.  She too had been tense and quiet all day, her very demeanor strained with the effort of remaining aloof.

 

“You’re never going to convince anyone you’re anything but lovers,” Cedric commented sourly.  Though his tone was low, voiced so only Richard could hear, his words carried acid.  “I’m not sure what’s worse¾your irritation or her melancholy.”

 

Annoyed, Richard glanced sideways.  “She’s to be Armus’s wife,” he said pointedly.

 

“Oh that’s rich.”  Cedric rolled his eyes.  “And what happens when he takes her to bed and discovers she’s not as innocent as he thought?”

 

Richard flushed.  His hands tightened, causing an involuntary jerk on the reins.  The horse snorted, breaking stride, then fell into pace as Richard brought it under control.  The corner of his mouth folded in a downward scrawl.  “I’ve made a mess of things.  What am I to do Cedric?  I fear I’ve fallen in love with her.”

 

Unaccustomed to his older brother seeking advice, Cedric fell momentarily silent.  Richard was often arrogant and cavalier, but the shorn quality of his voice convinced Cedric of his sincerity. It was an odd role to find himself in, for it was normally Armus who acted as Richard’s confessor.  The gentle knight was usually the only one who Richard trusted with vulnerable emotion.  Uncertain what advice he could offer, Cedric rolled his shoulders.  He was ill equipped to play sage.

 

“Why does it have to be Armus she marries?  As long as it’s someone within the House of Grey, the King should be satisfied.”

 

The spark of hope in Richard’s eyes was all too fleeting.  After a pause, he shook his head.  “No¾Mullens would never stand for it.  Sometimes I think he hates me most of all.”

 

“All the more reason to agree to the match,” Cedric countered.  “As his son-in-law he could control you.  Well . . .” The younger man’s mouth curled in a crooked grin.  “ . . . at the very least he’d think he controlled you. A man in love does whatever it takes to keep his wife happy.”

 

Richard shook his head.  “It doesn’t matter.  I’m not the first born.  Baron Mullens will never settle for anyone other than Father’s heir.”

 

Cedric felt his own frustration level rise.  “You can’t go back and pretend she’s innocent¾that there’s nothing between you.”

 

“I know.”  Richard’s eyes dropped to his hands.  Perhaps if they’d never been separated from the group; never been left alone.  If only Armus had married her before he’d realized how he’d truly felt.  He’d never impose on his brother’s wife, no matter the wretched turmoil of his emotions.  Swearing softly, he nudged his horse ahead¾

 

¾away from Cedric, and his brother’s annoying questions.

 

+++++

 

“Richard!”  Eleanor’s eyes grew wide as she watched her brother and the escort arrive in the inner courtyard.  Rushing to his side, she gripped his arm as he dismounted.  “Thank heavens!  Do you realize John Mullens has accused you of failing to protect his daughter?”  As she spoke, Eleanor’s eyes slid nervously to the side, watching as Cedric helped Gwendolyn dismount.  She was anxious for more reasons than one.  It was her arrow that had killed Henry of Gault, thus Eleanor didn’t expect a warm reception from his sister.  Compounding that anxiety was the fact John Mullens had arrived two days ago, casting slanderous accusations against her brothers.  Even now a contingent of men readied themselves to ride in search of Richard and the escort, hoping to find Gwendolyn with one or the other. 

 

As though preoccupied, Richard straightened his cloak and glanced past his sister toward the castle.  “Is Mullens still here?”

 

Eleanor nodded.  “Richard, you’d better hurry.  He’s in the solar with Father and Armus, and the mood was rather ugly when I left.”

 

Turning formally to his charge, Richard extended his hand.  “Lady Gwendolyn, may I escort you inside?” 

 

As the two moved away, movements rigid with protocol, Cedric stepped to Eleanor’s side.  Puffing out his cheeks, he exhaled noisily.  “If you think the mood was ugly before, it’s like to become downright nasty over the next few days.”

 

Eleanor glanced at him suspiciously.  “Why?”

 

But Cedric shook his head.  With a hand on her shoulder, he pushed her forward.  “Trust me.  We’d better go inside.”

 

+++++

 

As they stepped into the empty corridor leading to the solar, Richard tugged Gwendolyn into an alcove.  Glancing over his shoulder, he swept the hallway with a final look. Finding it deserted, he refocused on the dark-haired woman watching him expectantly.  

 

Richard sighed.  “Gwen, I’m not sure what’s going to happen now.”  Raising his hand, he cupped her face, gently tracking his thumb over her cheek.  Immediately she caught his wrist, turning her face to better feel the caress. Richard swallowed the lump in his throat.  “I promise I’ll find a way to make this work,” he vowed. “But for now we must pretend all is as it was, when I first arrived in Derry.”  

 

“I can hardly forget last night,” Gwendolyn replied softly.

 

“Nor I.”  Richard kissed her temple.  “Lady, you wound me with the memory.  If I am to watch my brother welcome you, I cannot have my thoughts consumed by such aching desire.”  He kissed her gently¾a soft fleeting brush of the lips that left them both wanting more.  Steeling himself, he took her hand and led her down the hallway.  Neither spoke until they reached the closed door at the end.  Though stout oak barred their entry, they heard the clamor of angry voices within¾John Mullens condemning Richard’s actions and Thomas hotly refuting the allegations. “I would marry you,” Richard said to Gwendolyn, simply and sincerely.  Before she could ponder the enormity of the declaration, he shoved the door aside and pulled her within.

 

Conversation in the room came to an immediate halt.  The flood of dark color on John Mullens face drained slowly, etching his features with the stark veil of shock.  “Gwendolyn!”

 

Richard wasn’t certain if it was surprise, relief or outrage he heard in the older man’s voice.  At the sound of her name Gwendolyn ran to her father, willingly folding into his embrace.  Richard’s eyes shifted to Thomas, who stood with one hand braced on the spine of a high-backed chair. Like Mullens, his face reflected disbelief.  At his side, Armus stepped forward, unspoken questions on his lips. 

 

Clearing his throat, Richard laced a hand through his unkempt hair.  “I’m sorry to have caused you concern, Baron Mullens, but as you can see your daughter is well.  The man who abducted her fled readily enough.”

 

Recovering, Mullens moved Gwendolyn aside.  “There never should have been an abduction,” he snapped.  The customary glower returned to his face as he stalked toward Richard.  One accusing finger jabbed toward his chest.  “You and your men failed to protect her.  You were in charge of the escort¾”

 

“I seem to recall you thought differently at the river,” Richard said flatly.

 

Fearing the worse, Gwendolyn moved to intervene.  “Father, this is unnecessary.  Whatever the circumstances, the result is what matters.”  Catching his arm, she tugged imploringly at his sleeve.  

 

Suspicious of her defense for a man she professed to loathe, Mullens glanced sharply aside.  Snagged on the cusp of silence the door yawned inward, admitting Cedric and Eleanor.  Thankful for the distraction, Thomas smiled benignly.  “It appears the nuptials can proceed as planned,” he announced to Mullens. “How fortunate you didn’t trouble the King with an unfavorable missive.”

 

His expression churlish, Mullens took his daughter’s hand.  “So it would seem.  Come, Gwendolyn¾you should greet the man you’re going to marry.”

 

Richard watched as Armus stepped forward.  Though imposing of stature, the gentle knight smiled hesitantly.  Richard didn’t doubt Armus’s feelings remained unchanged.  His brother would sooner roll in manure than marry against his wishes, but he couldn’t be blind to Gwendolyn’s bewitching beauty.  Watching as Armus kissed her hand, Richard experienced a violent stab of jealousy. He didn’t realize he was staring, mouth pressed into a tight line, until Cedric jabbed him in the ribs.

 

“You might try to appear indifferent,” his younger brother hissed in a strained whisper.

 

Richard gave a start, senses tumbling back with jarring alacrity.  He caught his father watching him oddly, and realized his expression must have been murderous.  Fortunately Mullens was too busy sneering at Armus’s clumsy attempts at small talk to take notice.

 

“ . . . converse more privately elsewhere,” Richard heard Armus say to Gwendolyn.  She nodded uncomfortably, slim fingers still clutched in his large hand. Together they left the room¾presumably to become better acquainted without the curious eyes of onlookers.  Mullens remained only a moment longer, glowering darkly, then he too departed. 

 

Richard wet his lips.  “When will the marriage take place?” he asked his father.

 

“Friday at chapel,” Thomas replied distractedly.  With a frustrated sigh he sank into the chair.  “I don’t know where you found that girl, Richard, but¾”

 

“Friday!” Richard cried appalled.  “That’s only two days.” Three pairs of startled eyes turned in his direction.  Swallowing hard, he attempted to cover the blunder.  “I-I mean, Armus will barely have time to get to know her.”

 

“He’ll know her well enough Friday eve,” Thomas retorted with uncustomary candor.  Clearly he was in a black mood.  Richard tried not to bristle at the off-color jibe, but the thought left him biting back anger.  Suddenly all he could think of was Armus with the woman he loved.  Even now his brother courted her fancy¾perhaps turning her head with his powerful physique and tales of his time in the Holy Land.

 

“Well, I must say she appears far more congenial than I was led to believe,” Eleanor commented casually.   Perhaps the marriage will not be so dreadful for Armus, after all.”

 

“And why should it be dreadful for him?” Richard snapped, rounding on her in anger.  “Have you given no thought to Gwen, and the fact she’s being forced into a union against her will?”

 

“Gwen?”  Thomas echoed, rising slowly from his chair. 

 

Richard blanched.  Realizing he’d said too much, he lowered his eyes and studied the joints in the stone floor. 

 

“You did it now,” Cedric mumbled. 

 

Shoving past his brother, Richard stalked from the room.   Behind him he could hear his father’s voice raised in anger, demanding he return at once.  Angry over the slip, Richard vanished into the lower bowels of the castle where he could berate his stupidity in private.  He’d never been good with emotion¾either bottling it inside, or spitting it with quarrelsome intensity.  This was no different.  He loved the daughter of his enemy and he saw no way to win free of the torment.

 

Only one thing was certain¾he had to speak with Armus.

 

+++++

 

As they walked down the long corridor, Armus glanced to the girl at his side.  Her head was lowered, black hair spilling forward to conceal her face.  It suddenly occurred to Armus that she’d had a difficult journey and hadn’t been granted the luxury of rest, or time with her maids to banish the stain of travel.   “My Lady if you wish, I shall escort you to your chambers.”

 

“That would be most kind,” she returned, raising her head and offering a wan smile.

 

Armus nodded.  “This way.” Limping slightly, he guided her toward the rear staircase.  Though his leg had mostly healed, it still troubled him from time to time.  Continuing in silence, Armus led Gwendolyn to the upper level of the castle.  The tension was awkward and stifling, but not at all what he’d expected.  Swayed by Richard’s earlier descriptions of the girl, he had envisioned John Mullens daughter a sharp-tongued shrew. Perhaps her quiet demeanor was merely the tasking strain of the journey¾or perhaps Richard had let his temper get the better of him when they’d been separated from the escort.  Sensing that was the cause of her restraint, Armus frowned.  He knew his headstrong younger brother could behave monstrously when inclined.

 

“Lady Gwendolyn, I apologize for the difficulties you’ve suffered in reaching Covington Cross.  Had it not been for a wounded leg, I would have escorted you myself.  I trust Richard behaved properly.”

 

Startled, Gwendolyn looked at him aghast.  “My Lord, your brother is the perfect gentleman.  A lady could not want for a more chivalrous knight as escort.”

 

“Chivalrous?”  Armus’s lips curled in amusement.  Over the years, he’d heard his brother called many things, but chivalrous was not among them.   Still¾with a slight stretch of the imagination it wasn’t difficult to see how a woman could easily romanticize his angelic-looking younger brother.  The surprise lay in the fact that Gwendolyn Mullens had allowed herself to be swayed by Richard’s charm.  “Then there was no hostility between you?” he persisted.

 

Annoyed, Gwendolyn came to a halt.  Fire flashed dangerously in her dark blue eyes.  As she stared up at him, face flushed with barely concealed ire, Armus realized she was strikingly beautiful. The sudden awareness sent a belated sense of shock skittering down his spine.  “My Lord, the only hostility that exists is born from the premise that women should be bartered like chattel.  This union is not of my choosing.”

 

“Nor mine,” Armus said quickly, “But I see no way free of the entanglement.”

 

“Then you would not marry me if you had your druthers?” Gwendolyn persisted.

 

Armus grinned a trifle too boldly.  “I’d be lying if I said the union didn’t have certain appeal,” he countered, a brazen spark in his blue eyes.  Gwendolyn flushed and glanced quickly away.  Chuckling, Armus took her hand.  “It was not my intent to make you uncomfortable, Lady Gwendolyn.  Only to point out that you are hardly a woman to make a man long for freedom.”  Eyes wide, she glanced at him speculatively.  Warming to her now, Armus continued:  “I confess only that I am not ready for marriage, and would hope to choose my own wife when the time arrives.  Unfortunately the King insists there be a marriage between our Houses, and there is no countering that decree.”

 

Taking a chance, Gwendolyn wet her lips.  “Perhaps there is another way,” she said quickly.  There was something about this man¾the inborn kindness of his eyes; the smooth gentleness of his face.  Though he did not have Richard’s elegant features, he possessed an earthy ruggedness that would easily make any foolhardy maid weak in the knees.  She had an innate feeling he was close to his siblings, Richard in particular. If she guessed his character correctly, he was a potential ally. Richard had named him honorable.  “My Lord, I would talk with you privately and at length.”  Though Richard had asked her to pretend indifference to him, she couldn’t¾ especially after the final words he’d said to her: I would marry you. 

 

Armus gazed at her thoughtfully.  “Your chambers are right down the hall, My Lady.  If you’d rather talk elsewhere¾”

 

“No, that will be fine,” she interrupted.  Drawing an uneven breath, Gwendolyn met his eyes.  “What I have to say concerns your brother Richard.”

 

Armus smiled tightly.  Somehow, that didn’t surprise him.

 

+++++

 

Richard jerked at the intruding knock on his bedroom door.  “Come,” he said, not bothering to move from his place by the window.  With one shoulder propped against the wall, he gazed down on the courtyard below.  John Mullens was conversing with one of the retainers from Torsun-Narr.  Most had already departed, returning to the Baron’s hilltop castle.  Richard steeled himself for confrontation, thinking it was his father who entered.

 

“You look like three days worth of forest grunge,” Armus announced evenly.  “There’s no lack of bathtubs in this castle, Richard.”

 

Relieved it was Armus and not Thomas, Richard smiled lazily.  “I didn’t realize I was so offensive.”

 

“Malodorous might be a better word,” Armus said lightly.  Closing the door, he crossed the room and joined his brother at the window.  A glance through the multi-paned glass revealed Mullens and his retainer parting company.  “An interesting thought,” Armus mused aloud.  “¾John Mullens as a father-in-law.”

 

“Yes,” Richard agreed, but he appeared preoccupied.  Eyes lowered, he stared blankly at the empty courtyard.  Clothing mud-stained, long hair disheveled and dirty, he hardly looked the part of young aristocrat.  It was only his features¾elegant despite the smudge of dirt on his cheek¾that lent him an air of noble superiority.  With his shoulder propped against the wall, arms folded over his chest, he looked wholly disinterested.  Armus knew his feelings had to lie in direct opposition of the skillfully orchestrated façade.  

 

“I spoke with Lady Gwendolyn at length,” he announced evenly. Though he watched carefully for any outward sign of interest from his brother, Richard continued with the façade.

 

“Oh?”

 

Armus snorted.  “You are detestable when you feign apathy, little brother.”

 

“And what does that mean?”  Richard snapped, lowering his arms and straightening to his full height.  Clearly the strained ploy had finally gotten the better of him.

 

“It means the woman you once called a black-haired she-devil has confessed her love for you.”  Armus paused, allowing the revelation¾complete with its myriad complications¾to sink in.  He pressed his lips together.  “And yours for her.”

 

Shocked into silence, Richard stared.  Apprehensively, he wet his lips.  “Do you despise me?” he asked tentatively.

 

Armus’s steady expression broke with laughter.  “Despise you?  Richard¾you’re my means free of this wretched entanglement¾no offense to your lady love,” he added hastily.  “All we have to do is convince Father and Mullens you’re the man to marry Gwendolyn.”

 

“You might as well ask for the moon,” Richard said despondently.  Crossing to the bed, he sat on the edge.  “Mullens hates me, and birth has cursed me with the unfavorable position of second son.”  Exhaling loudly, he flopped back on the mattress.  “The Baron will never grant me his daughter’s hand.”

 

“A father/daughter bond is stronger than that of father and son,” Armus insisted, walking to the edge of the bed.  Gripping the trundled footpost, he stared down on his gloomy younger brother.  “Just look how Father dotes on Eleanor.  I think Mullens might concede to whatever makes his daughter happy.”

 

“That’s a fantasy,” Richard returned, harsher than intended.  “We’re talking about John Mullens.  The thought of his daughter in my bed would be enough to make him imprison her in a dungeon¾or worse yet a convent.”

 

“Richard, I do not wish to be married,” Armus said tightly.  “We’ll talk to Father, win him over to our way of thinking, then the three of us¾perhaps with Gwendolyn¾can approach Mullens.  Certainly it isn’t going to make any difference to the King which of us marries the Baron’s daughter.  Just don’t let Mullens know you and Gwendolyn were, um . . .”

 

Richard balked.  “She told you?”

 

“She didn’t have to.  It was written all over her face.”  Somewhat testily, Armus shook his head.  “I’ve known you not to be able to hold your temper, but I thought you had better restraint when it came to what’s in your breeches.”

 

“Damn you!”  Enraged, Richard started to rise.  Armus caught him by the tunic and shoved him back against the bed.  Leaning forward, he used his greater weight and size to advantage, bracing one thick arm over Richard’s chest and pinning him to the mattress.  His brother’s breath quickened with constrained rage.

 

Armus granted no leniency.  “If you can’t control that quarrelsome temper with me, how do you expect to do it with Mullens?  Do you think he’s going to respond with a simple ‘no’ when you ask for his daughter’s hand?”

 

“Your remark was uncalled for,” Richard snapped hotly.

 

“Perhaps.”  Relenting, Armus allowed him to stand. 

 

Rising, Richard glared¾green eyes sharp and cutting.  For a moment he looked as though he would snap a descriptive reply, but eventually gained control of his emotions.  In truth he deserved the callous remark, for he should have contained himself with Gwendolyn.  Despite her insistence that he yield, he should have had her welfare foremost in mind. With a weary sigh, Richard laced a hand through his curling hair.  “I need your help Armus,” he said in a subdued voice.  “This is too important for me to ruin in a fit of rage.”

 

Grinning, the larger man clapped him on the back.  “Very well, little brother.  I’ll see what I can do.”

 

+++++

 

Though Richard and Armus had every intention of conferring with their father, the visitation was delayed by unexpected commotion.  Cedric caught a thief breaking into the armory where Gwendolyn’s dowry had been set.  The man was imprisoned in the dungeon until the sheriff could be summoned, but the tumult generated by the event placed everything else on hold.  Even dinner was a haphazard affair, with only half of the participants in attendance.  Fearing he might betray himself in Gwendolyn’s presence, Richard skipped the meal, offering to take dinner to the prisoner instead.

 

He didn’t know why he bothered¾surely one of the servants could carry out the mundane task.  At the very least, it kept him free of his father’s path and Gwendolyn’s entreating gaze. 

 

“What’s this?  The Prince of the Castle, come to feed me gruel?” the prisoner taunted as Richard approached the barred cell door.  At Armus’s rather pointed insistence, Richard had bathed and changed and once again looked the part of young nobleman.  Though his clothing was plain¾black breeches and boots, with a walnut-colored tunic¾it was well made and fashionably cut.

 

Ignoring the jibe, Richard slid the wooden tray through an open grate in the door.  It balanced precariously on a lip of iron, held upright by his hand.  “I can just as soon drop it,” he said dispassionately.   As the man moved into the light to take the tray, Richard glimpsed his features. 

Surprised, he surrendered the platter.  “You’re John Mullens man.”

 

Dark eyes considered him through the grate.  Claiming a heel of bread from the tray, the man bit off the end.  In the flickering light of wall torches, the crescent-shaped scar on his cheek appeared gray and drawn.  “And how would you know that, young prince?”

 

“I saw you talking with him¾here at Covington Cross.  And later I saw you on the road, when you tried to abduct Lady Gwendolyn.”  Richard’s eyes narrowed in hostility.  “How much did he pay you for that, and how much is he paying you for stealing the dowry?”

 

The prisoner chortled.  Turning briefly, he deposited the tray on the floor.  Propping a shoulder against the door, he considered Richard through the grate.  His mouth continued to work around the dry hunk of bread.  “I ain’t never met the Baron.”

 

“That’s good,” Richard returned, “Because I’d hate to think he bribed you with some paltry amount which is hardly worth your life¾or at the very least your hand.”

 

“What does that mean?” the prisoner snapped.

 

Appearing suddenly bored, Richard flecked a piece of lint from his tunic.  “Assuming the sheriff lets you keep your head, you’ll certainly forfeit your hand.  It’s the price of theft.  Still¾” he studied his fingernails. “¾life as a beggar shouldn’t be that bad.  I hear the maimed do very well at Yuletide, collecting shillings dropped by the nobility.”

 

“Damn your eyes,” the man growled.  “If I weren’t trapped like an animal, I’d lob off your arrogant head.”

 

“I’m not the one who put you here,” Richard reminded him.  “Or the one who hired you.  The man who did those will walk away trouble free.  If there’s injustice to be had, you might want to reconsider your loyalty.”

 

Aggravated, the man shook his head.  “T’would do me no good to turn him in.”

 

Richard considered.  If Mullens really was trying to undermine the King’s decree, the prisoner’s confession would be enough to jeopardize royal favor.  Just what courtesies might Mullens be inclined to grant to keep the truth from reaching the king, Richard wondered?  A slight smile touched his lips.

 

With the prisoner’s cooperation he may well have solved his own dilemma.

 

+++++

 

Thomas paced before the hearth, hands clasped behind his back.  He could feel the eyes of his eldest son as Armus tried to gauge his mood.  Irritatingly, Thomas wasn’t certain where he stood regarding the matter.  Armus’s revelation about Richard and Gwendolyn came as no real surprise after Richard’s verbal slip in the solar, but it didn’t make the situation any less difficult.  In Armus's eyes the attraction between his brother and Lady Gwendolyn freed him of responsibility, but it opened an entire new scope of problems¾not the least of which was John Mullens.  

 

“They’ll be here momentarily,” Armus announced, shattering Thomas’s reverie.  They’d been discussing Richard and Gwendolyn in the seclusion of Thomas’s study.  Only moments before, Richard had informed them both of John Mullens’ plan to halt the marriage by having Gwendolyn’s dowry stolen.  When her staged abduction had failed, Mullens had been forced to resort to other measures.  His paid mercenary¾a man by the name of Polton¾had been hired to confiscate the dowry. Even now, Richard went in search of Gwendolyn with the intent of including her in the discussion.  “Father it’s the perfect solution to the entire dilemma,” Armus persisted when Thomas remained silent.  “The King wants a marriage to end the feud, and Richard and Gwendolyn love each other.

 

The older man stopped his pacing long enough to spare an annoyed glance.  “And Mullens?” he asked shortly.  “The last I heard, he had a dismal opinion of your brother.”  Scowling, he planted a hand against the stone face of the hearth and stared irritably into the flames.  “It’s little wonder.  What Richard lacks in manners, he more than makes up for in audacity.  As I recall, when he left for Derry he said he detested the girl.”

 

Armus arched a brow.  “Seven years goes a long way to altering an opinion,” he countered.  “Gwendolyn hardly looks like she did when she was thirteen.  I’ll warrant he couldn’t take his eyes off of her, and she him.  Matters most likely escalated from there.”

 

Thomas snorted.  He was about to make a retort when Richard and Gwendolyn entered the room, hand in hand.  Thomas glanced from their twined fingers to the hopeful expectation on their faces.  Clearly they thought he was going to rectify the problem with a magical solution.  “This is difficult,” he said as way of greeting.

 

Uncomfortable, Gwendolyn lowered her eyes.  Were it not for her father’s long standing feud with Sir Thomas Grey and his family, the matter might be easily corrected.  Had her brother not died tragically by a bolt from Eleanor’s crossbow, she might even plead the case herself.  She’d seen the misery induced from forced marriage.  Her own mother, while never complaining, had surely never loved her father.  There’d never been warmth between them¾not even a hint of the passion she felt for Richard.

 

Though her mother had died when she was nine, Gwendolyn had never lost her blind affection for the woman who raised her.  Sometimes she felt as though her mother still watched over her, guarding and guiding, even when she stumbled.  “Richard has told me of my father’s plan to thwart my marriage,” she announced quietly.  Uncertainly she glanced at Thomas.  “If he would go to such extent to stop me from marrying Armus, how much more is he likely to protest a union between myself and Richard?”

 

Thomas glanced at his younger son.  It was clear from Richard’s sober gaze, he thought his prospects slim.  Although Richard’s willful antics often exasperated him, Thomas found himself surprisingly empathetic.  “That depends on you, Gwendolyn,” he replied truthfully, “And whether or not you’re willing to force your father’s hand.  I think it highly unlikely he’ll condone your marriage to Richard.  The only thing that might convince him is fear of the King’s wrath.  If His Majesty finds out your father meddled¾”

 

“You want me to blackmail my own father?” Gwendolyn cried.  Appalled, she stepped forward, eyes flashing from Thomas to Armus, then back to her intended.  “You ask too much.”  Her breath quickened in her throat as the injustice of the situation overwhelmed her.  When Richard moved to her side, she raised an arm to ward off his touch.  Stepping hastily to the window, she pushed open the glass pane, needing the infusion of cold night air to quiet her anxiety.

 

Richard wet his lips.  “Gwen I don’t ask this lightly, but your father and I¾” he fumbled for words, each falling short of what he hoped to convey.  “¾if you saw us together for any length of time, you’d understand.  There’s something about me he truly detests.”

 

She tried to block out the words.  Richard didn’t understand of course, that there’d been another son.  A son her mother had fathered with a man she would not name.  A son¾who kept in secret¾was never allowed to set foot within Torsun-Narr, but whose very existence drove John Mullens insane with hatred.  Simon had been nineteen when their mother died.  It was the last Gwendolyn ever saw of him.  Even so, she knew Richard’s uncommonly elegant features reminded her father of Charlotte Mullens’ bastard child.   

 

“His dislike is not without foundation,” Gwendolyn returned quietly, her eyes lingering on the courtyard below.  “Yet it is not for any reason you would surmise, and certainly through no fault of your own.”  As she spoke, something moved in the darkness.  At first she mistook the shape for a trick of moonlight, but it gradually solidified in the gloaming. Ghostly white, almost niveous, the animal stood banked against the dark bulk of a retaining wall.  A chill raced up Gwendolyn’s spine as she beheld the mysterious doe.  For some untold reason she felt a sense of kinship with the animal¾an impression of shared spirit and time.

 

“Gwen.”  Softly Richard’s voice drew her back to the present.  She felt his hand upon her shoulder and blinked rapidly, gazing up at his face.  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

 

Mutely, Gwendolyn shook her head.  When she glanced at the courtyard, the animal was gone.  Confused, she attempted to gather her thoughts.  “I¾”

 

“Father!”  Cedric burst abruptly into the room, his face flushed with ruddy excitement.  Realizing he’d intruded, he came to an immediate halt. 

 

“What is it?”  Thomas asked annoyed.

 

Recovering, Cedric glanced in his direction.  “The prisoner.  He’s escaped.”

 

“What?”  Armus took a quick step forward.  “How is that possible?  He was locked securely in the dungeon.”

 

“Well the door is now unlocked,” Cedric returned.  “The steward was just there not more than ten minutes ago, so he’s only recently been set free.  Raulf and his men are scouting the castle grounds as we speak.”

 

“Come.” Thomas spoke crisply, motioning to his sons.  As he strode from the room¾Armus and Cedric on his heels¾Richard turned to Gwendolyn. 

 

“Wait here,” he said.

 

“Please be careful,” she whispered.

 

Richard smiled¾that contagious, impish, delightful grin she remembered so well from childhood. Gripping her shoulders, he kissed her¾a quick promising touch of his lips, more playful than passionate.  And then he was gone, sprinting from the room with easy agility.

 

Gwendolyn looked out the window.  A full moon rode the horizon, suspended like a lidless eye.  Shadow and light webbed the ground, but of Polton and the doe there was no trace.

 

+++++

 

Alone, Richard rounded the rear of the castle, veering down the footpath toward the secondary stables.  In the distance he could hear the shouts of Raulf’s retainers as they called to one another from various points on the shadow-draped grounds.  Armus and Cedric had branched toward the gardens while Thomas scouted the perimeter of the forest.  Sword drawn, his breath pluming in the cold night air, Richard sprinted easily over the sloping terrain.

 

As he drew near the stables and the shadowy bulk of buildings, he slowed to a cautious pace.  He hadn’t donned cloak or jerkin and the air felt unnaturally cold against his lightweight tunic.  Flexing his fingers beneath the stiff leather of his gloves, Richard tried to ignore the bite of chill air curling around his collar.  His boots crunched over the dry grass invoking a sound like crinkling parchment. Beneath the overhang of the stable, a patch of freshly trampled earth caught his eye.  Richard bent to examine the disturbed soil, leaving himself momentarily vulnerable.

 

A sudden rustling drew his head up.  Something dark hurtled from the shadows, the quickness of movement so fleet, Richard barely had time to react.  Rolling to the side, he tried to raise his sword.  Something blunt and hard slammed against his wrist, shattering his grip.  The blade tumbled from his numb fingers.  Blindly Richard groped for the sword, but Polton was quicker. 

 

“There, there, young prince,” the mercenary chided as Richard rose slowly to his feet.  Wrapped in shadow, there was little Richard could see of the older man.  The cold, glittering length of the blade lay between them, tip resting dangerously in the hollow of Richard’s throat.  “If you’re wondering, ‘twas the Baron who released me.”  Polton grinned snidely.  “And now I have a promise to keep¾to lob off your head.” 

 

Richard calculated the odds of making a play for the sword and decided they were against him.  He had little option given the circumstance however, and tensed to spring.  Polton’s hand twitched on the hilt of the sword.  Coupled with the grotesque curl of his lips, it was the only warning Richard had.  Before either could react, a shadow loomed behind Polton.  There followed a swishing displacement of air as a cudgel sliced unexpectedly through the darkness.  The blow landed squarely on the mercenary’s neck, crumbling him listlessly to the ground.

 

Stunned, Richard glanced from the unconscious mercenary to his benefactor.  Grinning broadly, Raulf stepped from the gloaming.  “I thought you could use a hand, My Lord.”

 

Releasing a pent-up breath, Richard smiled appreciatively.  “I couldn’t have timed it better.”  Stooping, he retrieved his blade.  “How about helping me get him back inside?”

 

As the two moved to hoist the unconscious man, a dark form eased from the rear of the stables and retreated toward the castle.  Cursing silently, John Mullens realized he had just exercised his last option.  Gwendolyn was going to marry Armus Grey and there was little he could do about it.

 

+++++

 

Gwendolyn watched as Richard paced restlessly.  She could feel the nervous energy radiating from him, tangled together in a web of heightened frustration.  The day had been unbearably long, each hour bringing new turmoil or greater complications to a situation already fraught with problems.  Sitting in a chair by the hearth, she twined her hands in her lap, trying not to dwell on the heated discussion ensuing in the Great Hall.  Sir Thomas had deemed it best that he talk to her father alone, and while she agreed that was wise, Richard was not so inclined.

 

“I should be there,” he said suddenly; vehemently.  His shadow leapt across the floor as he strode in front of her chair.  Gripping the arm, he squatted at her side, balancing on the balls of his feet.  “This wait is agonizing, Gwendolyn.  I don’t see what my father can say that I can’t express myself.”  His face was upturned, green eyes near luminous with the glow of hearthlight.  Golden threads laced his hair, tipping the ragged curls scattered over his neck and brow. 

 

The earnestness of his expression tugged at Gwendolyn’s heart.  Raising a hand, she brushed the long bangs from his eyes. “My father is in an unfavorable position, Richard.  His attempts at thwarting the marriage have failed.  By the King’s own decree he must surrender my hand.  The question remains as to whether he will demand the first-born heir.  Knowing Armus doesn’t wish to proceed with the marriage, he may insist, hoping your father will appeal to the king and bring dishonor on his house.”

 

“That would discount your feelings entirely,” Richard said evenly.

 

Gwendolyn glanced at her hands.  She knew her father hadn’t always been so disagreeable¾that once long past he’d loved a maid by the name of Charlotte Canter.  Though their union was contractual, arranged by their parents, he’d surrendered his heart completely.  Unfairly, his love was not returned, for Gwendolyn’s mother cherished another.  After her marriage, she betrayed him by giving birth to a bastard child.  Thenceforth John Mullens was changed¾a man who embraced bitterness like a lover, exacting cruel pleasure in the suffering of others.  Gwendolyn sometimes thought he was attempting to repay society for his own betrayal.  Worst of all was the knowledge he saw hints of Simon Canter in Richard Grey.  Though Simon was fair-haired and blue-eyed, he had the same wavy curls and refined features as Sir Thomas’s second son.  The only saving grace between them was Simon’s soft-spoken personality¾not at all like Richard’s fiery temperament.

 

“You’ve gone away from me, my love,” Richard said softly, causing Gwendolyn to flinch.  She smiled nervously as her thoughts tumbled back to the present.  Taking both her hands in his, Richard drew her to her feet.  Hesitantly he wet his lips.  “If . . . if your father refuses to grant me your hand, will you¾could you¾elope with me?”

 

Stunned, Gwendolyn met his eyes.

 

“Gwen, I could not live every day under this roof¾seeing you with my brother¾knowing you shared his bed.”  Long fingers tightened around her hands.  “The torment would be unbearable, and misery for us both, I fear.  If you are to marry Armus, I will leave tomorrow.  With or without you.”

 

“Richard, I¾” the words would not come; the emotions in her heart so snarled she felt strangled by conflict.  To betray her father, her name, her king.  Raising her hand, she touched his face.  Her fingers contoured the high plane of his cheek, then brushed fleetingly over his lips.  She felt him shudder.  Closing her eyes, she leaned against him.  “I will follow you anywhere,” she pledged.

 

Richard bowed his head against her hair.  For a moment he simply held her.  Then his raised her hands and cupped her face, tilting her mouth toward his.  Gently he kissed her, the touch of his lips ripe with the promise of a future together.  Enfolding her in his embrace, he deepened the kiss.  His hands moved over her back, molding her body to his.  Unabashedly, Gwendolyn clung to him.  She could feel the hard line of his thigh pressed to her hip; the rough edge of his sword belt wedged tightly against her midsection.  The feel of his body¾sculpted muscle and warm flesh¾kindled fluttery excitement deep in her belly.  Richard’s hand rounded her waist, then swept gently upward cupping her breast. 

 

Gasping, Gwendolyn broke the kiss.  Tilting her head back, she exposed the creamy arc of her neck.  His lips trailed over her flesh as he caressed her, the touch of his mouth like molten flame.  When his hand left her breast to brush the hair from her shoulders, she ached for the touch of his fingers.  Once again his hand swept over her back, dipping lower and rounding the curve of her buttocks.  Gently he squeezed, kneading her flesh through the heavy fabric of her gown. 

 

The grumbling creak of the door announced the intrusion of others.  Richard and Gwendolyn pulled quickly apart as Thomas and Mullens walked into the room.  Hastily straightening her dress, Gwendolyn offered a nervous smile.  Mullens stalked forward, his expression thunderous.  “Not yet wed and he paws her like a common tavern wench.”

 

“Father!”  Fearing the worse, Gwendolyn stepped in front of Richard.  Her father had come within inches of him, every taut line of his body indicating a bent toward physical violence.  Placing her palm flat against his chest she held him in place, eyes imploring as she gazed up at him.  “Coming to blows will not change the fact I love him, and he me.  The King has decreed a wedding take place.  It can either be one of heartache or joy.”  Eyes dropping, Gwendolyn lowered her voice.  “Please don’t subject me to the same sorrow that plagued your own marriage.”

 

Taken aback, Mullens glanced at her sharply.  His eyes narrowed as though calculating the sincerity of her words.  Though his expression remained cynical, constricted hostility melted from his muscles. “Sir Thomas and I have discussed the situation at length.  I should like you to leave the room with him, while I speak to¾” he hesitated, his mouth twisting in distaste.  “¾Richard.”

 

Uncertainly, Gwendolyn glanced between her father and her lover.  Even Thomas appeared mildly surprised.  Extending his hand, he motioned her forward.  Richard nodded toward his father.  “It’s all right, Gwen¾go with him.”

 

Still not convinced, Gwendolyn cast one backward glance at Richard, then followed Sir Thomas from the room.  Left alone with Mullens, Richard tensed for what he was certain would be an ugly confrontation.  “You really have no choice in this,” he said before the older man could speak.  “Polton remains in our prison, but will readily testify against you.”

 

Unfazed, Mullens smiled thinly.  “The word of a mercenary against a Baron?”

 

Richard shrugged indifferently.  “In this instance, I think the mercenary would carry credibility.  You cannot alter what the King has mandated.  At least let your daughter be happy and wed the son of her choice.”

 

Mullens snorted.  Stepping nearer, he circled Richard, raking him with a belittling gaze.  “I would sooner see my daughter marry that brute you call brother than surrender her hand to a effeminate cockscomb.”

 

Richard pressed his lips together.  Turning, he faced his antagonist.  “Baron Mullens, what is it about me you detest so?”

 

The other chuckled hollowly.  “I haven’t the time to list your faults.  Unfortunately, I’m not in a position to counter them either.  I’ve agreed to the marriage, boy, but it doesn’t mean anything will change between us.  I expect you to treat my daughter fairly.  For her sake I shall try to be civil, but if you cross her¾if you so much as look at another woman with lust, I’ll pin your backbone to your heels and sharpen my sword as I do it.”

 

Uncertain if he should be angry or grateful, Richard shook his head.  “I love your daughter,” he protested.

 

“Yes.  And you’ve loved every other maid from here to Brighton.  Do I make my point, Richard?”

 

Scowling, Richard managed to contain his composure.  “You do, Baron Mullens.  And now if I may make a similar point¾”  Stepping very near, he met the other eye-to-eye, their height almost identical.  “From this day forth your daughter is my concern.  Surrendering her hand means exactly that.  I shall be her lord and master, and you will be shut of our affairs.”

 

For a moment Mullens looked as though he would snap a scathing reply.  He’d tangled with Richard Grey through the years, enough to know the younger man was temperamental and hotheaded.  But he was also valiant and noble, and Mullens realized that.  Standing nearly chest-to-chest, the anger drained from his face. Though the curve of his lips was icy and mocking, his words lacked scorn when he spoke. 

 

“Women¾sometimes¾are the cruelest fate of all,” he said darkly.

 

+++++

 

Gwendolyn lay in the large bed, listening to the soft sound of her husband’s breathing.  Drowsy, warmed by the long hours of their lovemaking, she nestled against Richard’s chest.  Sometimes their marriage, not yet a day old, seemed the substance of dreams.  Her father had stayed for the nuptials, then promptly departed, claiming a need to return to Torsun-Narr.   Wedding guests lingered in the castle, many still gossiping over the unlikely union between two warring houses.

 

None of it mattered to Gwendolyn.  Even her father¾who would likely never see Richard as anything but an enemy¾was an obstacle she no longer struggled to surmount.  Her mother had once told her that time healed all wounds.  Unjustly, it had never healed the betrayal of John Mullens, but Gwendolyn prayed it would seal the rift between Torsun-Narr and Covington Cross.

 

Kissing Richard gently on the cheek, she slipped from the bed.  Restless, she roamed to the window where she gazed onto the moonlit courtyard below.  She knew the doe was there before she saw it¾knew it as surely as she felt the oneness of spirit she’d once thought strange. Now it was comforting and pleasant¾a presence she’d not felt in many years.

 

Hesitating on a sloping bank of autumn-browned grass, the gentle animal lifted its head as though sensing her gaze. A stark silhouette of moonlight and shadow, it flowed into the velvet gloaming¾as much a part of the night’s icy breath as the curling bowl of the sky.  For the briefest of moments its form altered and flowed, and Gwendolyn glimpsed a slender woman with flowing wheat-colored hair.

 

She smiled sadly.  “I’ll help him find peace, Mother.  I promise.”

 

****End*****

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