A Kingdom of Dreams (5 page)

A flame of hope ignited in Jenny's eyes, then wavered. "I don't think we were actually on the grounds of the abbey."

"Father won't know that, so he'll assume we were. So will everyone else, I think."

 

 

His brow furrowed in puzzlement, Royce stood outside his tent, his gaze turned on the smaller tent at the edge of the camp where his two female hostages were being kept. Eustace had just relieved Lionel and was standing guard.

The faint glow of candlelight seeping between the canvas and ground told Royce both women were still awake. Now in the relative peace of the moonlit night, he admitted to himself that part of the reason he'd gone to their tent earlier today was curiosity. As soon as he learned Jennifer's face was clean, he'd felt an undeniable curiosity to have a look at it. Now, he discovered he was ridiculously curious about the color of her hair. Judging by her winged brows, her hair was either auburn or brown, while her sister was definitely blond, but Brenna Merrick didn't interest him.

Jennifer did.

She was like a puzzle whose pieces he had to wait to see one at a time, and each piece was more surprising than the last.

She'd obviously heard the usual stories about his alleged atrocities, yet she was not half so afraid of him as most men were. That was the first and most intriguing piece of the puzzle—the entire girl. Her courage and lack of fear.

Then, there were her eyes—enormous, captivating eyes of a deep, rich blue that made him think of velvet. Amazing eyes. Candid and expressive with long russet eyelashes. Her eyes had made him want to see her face, and today when he had, he could scarce believe rumor called her plain.

She wasn't beautiful precisely, and "pretty" didn't quite suit her either, but when she'd looked up at him in the tent today he'd felt stunned. Her cheekbones were high and delicately molded, her skin was as smooth as alabaster, tinted with pale rose, her nose small. In contrast to these delicate features, her small chin had a decidedly stubborn bluntness to it, and yet when she smiled, he could have sworn he saw two tiny dimples.

Altogether it was an intriguing, alluring face, he decided. Definitely alluring. And that was
before
he allowed himself to remember her soft, generous lips.

Dragging his thoughts from Jennifer Merrick's lips, he lifted his head and looked inquiringly at Eustace. Understanding the unspoken question, Eustace turned slightly so the campfire would illuminate his features, and held up his right hand as if a needle was delicately poised between his two fingers, then he moved his arm, letting it rise and fall in the steady, undulating motion of sewing.

The girls were sewing. Royce found that notion rather difficult to comprehend, given the lateness of the hour. His own experience with wealthy women was that they sewed special items for their families and their homes, but they left mending for servants to do. He supposed, as he tried unsuccessfully to make out Jennifer's shadowed form against the canvas of the tent, that wealthy women might also sew to keep busy when they were bored. But not this late and by candlelight.

How very industrious the Merrick girls were, he thought with a tinge of sarcasm and disbelief. How nice of them to want to aid their captors by keeping their clothes in good repair. How generous.

How utterly unlikely.

Particularly in the case of Lady Jennifer Merrick, whose hostility he'd already experienced firsthand.

Shoving away from his tent, Royce strolled forward, wending his way past his exhausted, battle-scarred men sleeping on the ground, rolled up in their cloaks. As he neared the women's tent, the obvious answer to their sudden compulsion to have needles and shears suddenly struck him, and he stifled a curse as he quickened his pace. They were undoubtedly destroying the clothing they'd been given, he realized angrily!

Brenna stifled a scream of terrified surprise when the Wolf yanked the tent flap back and ducked inside, but Jenny merely started and then slowly rose to her feet, a suspiciously polite expression on her features.

"Let's see what you've been doing," Royce snapped, his gaze slashing from Brenna, whose hand rose protectively to her throat, to Jenny. "Show me!"

"Very well," Jenny said with sham innocence. "I was only now beginning to work on this shirt," she prevaricated as she carefully laid aside his shirt with the armholes she'd just sewn closed. Reaching to the pile of clothing she intended to wear, she held up a pair of thick woolen hose for his inspection and pointed to the neatly mended, two-inch rent down the front.

Completely baffled, Royce stared at the nearly invisible, tight seam she'd sewn. Proud, haughty, undisciplined, and headstrong she was, he admitted to himself, but she was also a damned expert seamstress.

"Does it pass your inspection, milord?" she prompted with a tinge of amusement. "May we keep our jobs, sire?"

If she'd been anyone else but his captive and the haughty daughter of his enemy, Royce would have been sorely tempted to lift her in his arms and kiss her soundly for her badly needed help. "You do excellent work," he admitted fairly. He started to leave, then he turned back, his arm holding the tent flap back. "My men would have been cold, their clothing torn and inadequate for the coming harsh weather. They'll be happy to know that what they have is at least wearable until the winter clothing arrives here."

Jenny had foreseen that he might realize how dangerous she and Brenna could be with a pair of shears, and that he might also arrive to inspect their work, hence she'd had the hose readily available to put him off the track. She had not, however, expected him to pay her an honest compliment, and she felt somehow uneasy and betrayed now that he'd shown he had at least one drop of humanity in his body.

When he left, both girls sank back down upon the rugs. "Oh dear," Brenna said apprehensively, her eyes on the pile of blankets in the corner that they had slashed to ribbons. "Somehow, I haven't thought of the men here as—people."

Jenny refused to admit she'd been thinking the same way. "They are our enemy," she reminded them both. "Our enemy, and papa's enemy, and King James's enemy." Despite that stated belief, Jenny's hand recoiled from the scissors when she reached out to touch them, but then she made herself pick them up and stoically hacked away at another cloak while she tried to decide the very best plan for their escape tomorrow morning.

Long after Brenna had fallen into an exhausted slumber, Jenny lay awake, considering all the things that could go right—and wrong.

F
rost lay sparkling on the grass, lit by the first rays of the rising sun, and Jenny arose silently, careful not to awaken poor Brenna any sooner than was necessary. After systematically reviewing all the alternatives, she'd arrived at the best possible plan, and she felt almost optimistic about their chances to make good an escape.

"Is it time?" Brenna whispered, her voice choked with fright as she rolled onto her back and saw Jenny already wearing the thick woolen hose, man's shirt, and jerkin that they'd each be wearing beneath their habits when their guard escorted them into the woods where they were allowed a few minutes' privacy to tend to their personal needs each morning.

"It's time," Jenny said with an encouraging smile.

Brenna paled, but she arose and with shaking hands, she began to dress. "I wish I weren't such a coward," Brenna whispered, her hand clutched over her pounding heart as she reached with her free hand for the leather jerkin.

"You're not a coward," Jenny assured her, keeping her voice low, "you simply worry to great excess—and well in advance—about the possible consequences of anything you do. In fact," she added, as she helpfully tied the strings at the throat of Brenna's borrowed shirt, "you're actually braver than I. For if I was as frightened of consequences as you are, I'd never have the courage to dare the slightest thing."

Brenna's wavery smile was silent appreciation for the compliment, but she said nothing.

"Do you have your cap?"

When Brenna nodded, Jenny picked up the black cap she herself would soon put on to hide her long hair, and she lifted up her gray habit, tucking the cap in the waist of her hose. The sun rose a little higher, turning the sky a watery gray as the girls waited for the moment when the giant would appear to escort them to the woods, their loose convent robes hiding the men's clothes they wore beneath.

The moment drew near, and Jenny lowered her voice to a hush as she reiterated their plan for the last time, afraid lest Brenna forget what she must do in the fright of the moment. "Remember," she said, "every second will count, but we must not appear to move too quickly or we'll draw notice. When you remove your habit, hide it well beneath the brush. Our best hope for escape lies in their looking for two nuns, not two boys. If they spot our habits, they'll catch us before we can leave the camp."

Brenna nodded and swallowed, and Jenny went on. "Once we're free of our habits, keep your eyes on me and move quietly through the brush. Don't listen to anything else or look at anything else. When they realize we're gone, they'll raise a shout, but it means nothing to us, Brenna. Don't be frightened of the uproar."

"I won't," Brenna said, her eyes already huge with fright.

"We'll stay in the woods and move around the south border of the camp to the pen where the horses are kept. The searchers won't expect us to head back toward the camp, they'll be looking for us in the opposite direction—moving into the woods.

"When we near the pen, you stay just inside the woods, and I'll bring the horses. With luck, whoever watches the mounts will be more interested in the search for us than he is the horses."

Brenna nodded silently and Jenny considered how best to phrase the rest of what she must say. She knew that if they were seen, it would be up to her to try to create a diversion so that Brenna could make good her own escape, but convincing Brenna to go on without her was not going to be easy. In a low, urgent voice, Jenny said finally, "Now then, in case we become separated—"

"Nay!" Brenna burst out. "We won't. We can't."

"Listen to me!" Jenny whispered so sternly that Brenna swallowed the rest of her protest. "If we become separated, you must know the rest of the plan so that I can—catch up with you later." When Brenna nodded reluctantly, Jenny took both her sister's clammy hands in her own and squeezed them tightly, trying to infuse some of her own courage into Brenna. "North is toward that high hill—the one behind the pen where the horses are kept. Do you know which one I mean?"

"Yes."

"Good. Once I've gotten the horses and we're mounted, we're going to stay in the woods, working our way to the north, till we've topped the hill. Once there, we'll angle west as we head down the hill, but we must remain in the woods. When we're in sight of a road, we'll ride parallel to it, but we'll need to stay in the woods. Claymore will probably send someone to watch the roads, but they'll be looking for two nuns from Belkirk Abbey, not two young men. If we're lucky, we'll meet up with some travelers and join their group, which will add to our disguise and increase our chances of success.

"Brenna, there's one thing more. If they recognize us and give chase, you head as fast as you can in the direction I just told you, and I'll veer off in another direction and lead them away from you. If that happens, stay under cover as much as you can. It's no more than five or six hours to the abbey, but if I am caught, you must go on without me. I don't know where we are now. I assume we're across the border in England. Ride north by northwest and when you come to a village, ask for direction to Belkirk."

"I can't just leave you," Brenna cried softly.

"You must—so that you can bring father and our kinsmen to my rescue."

Brenna's face cleared slightly as she understood she'd be ultimately helping Jenny, not abandoning her, and Jenny gave her a bright smile. "I feel certain we'll be at Merrick keep together by Saturday."

"Merrick keep?" Brenna blurted. "Should we not remain at the abbey and send someone else to inform father of what has happened?"

"You can stay at the abbey if you wish, and I'll ask Mother Ambrose for an escort so I can continue on home sometime today or tonight. Father will surely think we're hostages here, so I must reach him at once, before he accepts their terms. Besides, he'll have questions to ask about how many men there are here, what arms they bear—things like that, which only we can answer."

Brenna nodded, but that was not the entire reason Jenny wished to go in person to Merrick keep, and they both knew it. More than anything, Jenny wanted to do something to make her father and her clan proud of her, and this was her golden opportunity. When and if she succeeded, she wanted to be there to see it in their eyes.

The guard's footsteps sounded outside, and Jenny stood up, a polite, even conciliatory, smile fixed on her face. Brenna stood up, looking like she was about to face certain death.

"Good morning," Jenny said as Sir Godfrey escorted them toward the woods. "I feel as if I haven't yet slept."

Sir Godfrey, a man of perhaps thirty, cast an odd look at her—undoubtedly, Jenny thought, because she'd never spoken a civil word to him; then she stiffened as his frowning gaze seemed to drift down her habit, padded now with men's clothes beneath it.

"You slept little," he said, evidently aware of their late-night efforts with a needle.

Their footsteps were muffled by damp grass, as Jenny walked on his left with Brenna stumbling along on her other side.

Feigning a yawn, she cast a sidelong glance at him. "My sister is feeling rather peaked this morn from our late hours. 'Twould be very nice for us if we were permitted a few extra minutes to refresh ourselves at the stream?"

His deeply creased, sun-bronzed face, turned to her, watching her with a mixture of suspicion and uncertainty, then he nodded agreeably.

"Fifteen minutes," he said and Jenny's spirits soared, "but I want to be able to see the head of at least one of you."

He stood sentinel at the edge of the woods, his profile turned to them, his eyes, Jenny knew, dropping no lower than the top of their heads. So far, none of their guards had exhibited a lustful desire to glimpse them in any state of partial undress, for which she was particularly grateful today. "Stay calm," Jenny urged, leading Brenna directly toward the stream. Once there, she walked along the bank of the stream, moving as far into the woods as she dared without giving Sir Godfrey cause to barge into the woods in pursuit, then she stopped beneath the low limb of a tree that hung above a stand of brush.

"The water looks cold, Brenna," Jenny called, raising her voice so the guard could hear and would hopefully feel no need to watch them too closely. As she spoke, Jenny stood beneath the branch of the tree and carefully loosened her veil and wimple, nodding to Brenna to do the same. When both short veils had been removed, Jenny carefully ducked down, holding the veil above her head as if her head were still in it, and gingerly hung it on the limb just above her. Satisfied, she crouched and moved swiftly to Brenna who was likewise holding her headpiece above her head, and took it from Brenna's shaking fingers, attaching it as best she could to the bush.

Two minutes later, both girls had shed their habits and were stuffing them beneath the brush, heaping leaves and twigs over the gray cloth to hide it from view. In a moment of inspiration, Jenny reached into the pile of clothing and twigs and snatched out her handkerchief. Pressing her finger to her lips, she winked at Brenna and bent low, scurrying in a crouch until she was about fifteen yards downstream, in the opposite direction they intended to go. Pausing only long enough to attach the white handkerchief to a thorny branch, as if she'd lost it in flight, she turned back and raced toward Brenna.

"That ought to mislead them and get us much more time," she said. Brenna nodded, looking doubtful and hopeful at the same time, and the two women looked at one another for a moment, each checking the other's appearance. Brenna reached up and pulled Jenny's cap lower over her ears and tucked in a stray wisp of red gold hair and nodded.

With a smile of appreciation and encouragement, Jenny grabbed Brenna's hand and led her swiftly into the woods, moving north, keeping to the perimeter of the camp, praying that Godfrey would give them the full fifteen minutes he promised, and perhaps more.

A few minutes later they had worked their way around behind the pen where the horses were cordoned off, and they were crouched low in the brush, catching their breath. "Stay here and don't move!" Jenny said, her gaze scanning the immediate vicinity for the guard she felt certain would have been stationed near the warhorses. She saw him then, fast asleep on the ground on the far side of the pen. "The guard's asleep at his post," she whispered jubilantly, turning to Brenna, then she added quietly, "If he awakens and catches me trying to take the horses, follow our plan on foot. Do you understand? Stay in the woods and head for that high hill behind us."

Without waiting for an answer, Jenny crawled forward. At the edge of the woods, she paused to look around. The camp was still partially asleep, lulled by the overcast gray morning into believing it was earlier than it was. The horses were nearly within arm's reach.

The guard stirred only once in his sleep as Jenny quietly caught two restive horses by their halters and led them toward the rope that formed the pen. Standing awkwardly on tiptoe, she lifted the rope high enough for the horses to walk beneath it, and in two short minutes, she had handed one of the animals to Brenna and they were quickly leading them deeper into the woods, their hooves silenced by the thick mulch of damp leaves provided by the dewy morning.

Jenny could scarcely suppress her smile of jubilation as they led the horses to a fallen tree and, using that for height, they climbed upon the huge steeds' backs. They were well on their way toward the high ridge when the dim sounds of an alarm being sounded went up behind them.

The din created by that negated the need for quiet, and at the sounds of the men's shouts, both girls simultaneously dug their heels into their steeds' flanks and sent them bounding forward, flying through the woods.

They were both expert horsewomen, and they both adapted easily to riding astride. The lack of a saddle was something of a hindrance, however, because without one it was necessary to grip tightly with the knees, which the destriers took as a signal for speed, which necessitated hanging onto the horse's halter for dear life. Ahead of them was the high ridge, and then eventually, on the other side, a road, the abbey, and, finally, Merrick keep. They stopped briefly so that Jennifer could try to get her bearings, but the forest obscured what little sunlight there was, and Jenny gave up, forced to go on instincts. "Brenna," she said, grinning as she patted the satiny, thick neck of the enormous black warhorse she rode. "Think back on the legends about the Wolf—about his horse. Is it not said his name is Thor and that he's the fastest destrier in the land? As well as the most agile?"

"Aye," Brenna answered, shivering a little in the cool dawn as the horses began picking their way through the dense forest.

"And," Jenny continued, "is it not said he's as black as sin with only a white star on his forehead for a marking?"

"Aye."

"And does this horse have such a star?"

Brenna looked round and then nodded.

"Brenna," Jenny said, laughing softly, "I've stolen the black Wolf's mighty Thor!"

The animal's ears flickered at the sound of his name, and Brenna forgot her worries and burst out laughing.

"That's undoubtedly why he was tied and kept separate from the others," Jenny added gaily, her gaze roaming appreciatively over the magnificent animal. "That also explains why, when we first rode away from camp, he was ever so much faster than the horse you're riding, and I kept having to hold him back." Leaning forward, she patted his neck again. "What a beauty you are," she whispered, harboring no ill will for the horse—only for his former owner.

 

 

"Royce—" Godfrey stood in Royce's tent, his deep voice gruff with chagrin, an embarrassed flush creeping up his thick, tanned neck. "The women have… er… escaped, about three-quarters of an hour ago—Arik, Eustace, and Lionel are searching the woods."

Royce paused in the act of reaching for a shirt, his face almost comical in its expression of disbelief as he stared at the most wily and fiercest of his knights. "They've
what
?" he said, an incredulous smile mixed with dawning annoyance sweeping across his face. "Do you mean to tell me," he jibed, angrily snatching the shirt from the pile of clothing the girls had mended last night, "that you let two naive girls outwit—" He rammed his arm into the sleeve, then stared in furious disbelief at a wrist opening that refused to part so his fist could pass through it. Swearing savagely under his breath, he snatched up another, checked the wrist to ascertain it was all right, and shoved his arm into it. The entire sleeve parted from the body of the shirt and fell away as if by magic. "I
swear to God
, "he bit out between his teeth, "when I get my hands on that blue-eyed witch, I'll—" Flinging that shirt aside, he stalked over to a chest and pulled out a fresh one, jerked it on, too infuriated to finish his sentence. Reaching automatically for his short sword, he buckled it on and stalked past Godfrey. "Show me where you last saw them," he snapped.