Love Above All (12 page)

ie, so could Fionna.

For one brief instant, Quentin wished he had
given way to impulse and strangled Fionna when he discovered her in
the hut, and had left her there. But he had never knowingly harmed
a woman, not even a lying nun, and he’d not begin with Fionna. He
vowed to set aside his unreasonable desire for her. Instead of
making love to Fionna, he’d conduct her to Wortham and hand her
over to Royce for interrogation. Then he’d forget about her. He’d
make himself forget.

They did, indeed, sleep under a tree that
night. Rather, Fionna slept while Quentin guarded her. It was
raining again, so they couldn’t start a fire. They ate half their
remaining bread and finished the wine. Fionna barely spoke to him.
Quentin knew he ought to use the time to draw information out of
her, but he had no heart for serious questioning. There would be
time enough for questions after they reached Wortham.

The sun reappeared during midafternoon of the
next day. A short time later they rode out of the forest and onto
the straight road they had left four days earlier. After looking
around, Quentin judged they were some distance farther south. He
was about to order Fionna to ride next to him so he could keep a
closer watch on her, when she exclaimed in surprise. At the same
moment Quentin heard the pounding of many hooves.

“A troop of horsemen is coming this way,”
Fionna said. “Shall we hide among the trees until they’re gone?”
she added in a sarcastic tone.

Quentin reached out to catch her horse’s
bridle, thus checking any attempt at flight. The ground was too
damp to throw up dust as the horsemen drew near, so Quentin could
easily distinguish the figures in the forefront – and he
immediately recognized the red and blue banner borne high on the
lance of a squire who rode next to the leader of the troop.

Quentin grinned and relaxed, sitting back in
his saddle.

“Do you know those men?” Fionna asked, eyeing
him with suspicion.

“If you really do have a sister in need of
rescue,” Quentin responded, “here come the knights who will save
her. Norman knights,” he added with a quick glance at her.

They waited, holding their horses in the
middle of the road while the oncoming men slowed and then
surrounded them. Never had Fionna seen so much chainmail, or so
many faces concealed by metal helmets. She did recognize Cadwallon,
who smiled at her and raised a hand in salute, and Braedon, who
frowned at her before turning away to speak to another squire. Then
Fionna’s full attention was captured by the leader of the troop as
he reined in beside Quentin.

“Well met, old friend!” exclaimed the
leader.

“I’m glad to see you, Royce.” Quentin clasped
the other man’s mailed hand. “How did you reach me so quickly?”

“When you failed to appear at Wortham on
schedule I gathered a band of men-at-arms and rode north to find
you, in case you stood in need of my aid,” said the baron of
Wortham. “Clearly, you have your problem under control,” he added,
his gaze moving from Quentin’s face to Fionna’s, and then on to
note Quentin’s hand at the bridle of Fionna’s horse.

“Royce met us along the way,” Cadwallon said,
coming close to shake Quentin’s hand. “When I told him what had
happened, he decided to join the search for Fionna. Though I see
there’s no need for further searching,” Cadwallon finished with a
wink for the erstwhile fugitive.

“I provided a horse for your man, Giles, who
is recovering rapidly from his injuries, and then I sent him and
your other men-at-arms on to Wortham,” Royce explained to Quentin.
“My daughter will see to their comfort until you arrive there. Now,
since it’s near to sundown, I suggest we locate a suitable place to
stop for the night. We can talk as we eat.”

“Cadwallon was carrying a report from me,”
Quentin said, falling into place next to Royce as they all began to
move again.

“I read it yesterday afternoon and ordered my
clerk to make a copy,” Royce said. “The original is on its way to
Windsor, though King Henry isn’t expected there for another few
weeks. At this time of year there are always delays caused by rough
seas between England and the continent. I expect the king will
arrive at Windsor Castle at about the same time as your report and
the notes I made on what Cadwallon and Braedon told me. What do you
think of that open space just ahead? Shall we stop there for the
night? I see a stream.

“Sir William,” Royce called to one of the
men-at-arms, “kindly inspect that field and tell me if it’s dry
enough for a camp.”

Fionna listened to Royce’s remarks with great
interest, taking comfort from his statement about delays in sea
travel. She hoped the rough seas he mentioned meant that Colum
would be prevented from returning to Scotland for a long time.

Sir William, who seemed to be the captain of
Royce’s men-at-arms, returned from his reconnaissance to report the
field Royce had selected was suitable for use.

Still mounted, Fionna watched in astonishment
as Royce’s men began with brisk efficiency to set up a camp in the
meadow. She could see how each man knew what to do without any
specific orders being given. Pack horses were brought from the rear
of the troop, the baskets they bore were opened, and a group of men
pulled out a series of wooden poles, which they began fastening
together to make frames.

Meanwhile, some of the squires began to
gather wood, which they used to light fires under metal tripods
that held huge cooking pots. Other men whom Fionna decided must be
cooks began directing servants in the preparation of the evening
meal.

Most amazing to Fionna were those wooden
frames, to which her attention repeatedly returned. The men working
on them set them up in neat rows, with canvas lashed to the frames
as soon as they were ready. Each canvas was a different, bright
color, so the camp quickly took on a holiday air.

After a brief conversation with Quentin,
Cadwallon came to help Fionna down from her horse. Quentin and
Royce went off together, deep in conversation, but Cadwallon seemed
content to remain by Fionna’s side in the midst of the busy
camp.

“Tents?” Fionna said, gesturing toward the
frames and the remaining piles of canvas. “Cadwallon, are we are to
sleep in tents tonight?”

“Royce does nothing by halves,” Cadwallon
said, grinning. “Anyone who travels with him can be certain of good
food and comfortable sleeping arrangements. Fionna, I told him
about your sister.”

“You did? Why? Quentin questions whether she
even exists. Janet means nothing to Lord Royce. Or to you,
either.”

“Well, there you are wrong,” Cadwallon said.
“You wouldn’t think it to look at me, considering how brawny and
musclebound I am, but my thoughts simmer constantly and I am cursed
with a lively curiosity. During our recent travels together you
told me so much about Janet that I have decided I must meet
her.”

“Cadwallon.” Fionna placed both hands on his
muscular forearm. “Are you saying you’ll help me rescue her, even
if Quentin refuses?”

“Oh, Quentin will do it,” Cadwallon said. “He
gave you his word he would, and Quentin never breaks a promise. As
I understand the agreement between you, Quentin also promised to
speak to Royce about joining us. It’s our good fortune that I met
Royce on the road. We have been saved the long trip to Wortham.
That happy circumstance means we can reach Abercorn weeks before I
thought we would.”

“Do you believe Lord Royce will agree to help
us?” Fionna asked.

“We will find out tonight, when we dine with
him,” Cadwallon said. “He wants to discuss the possibility with
Quentin before he makes his final decision. That’s what they’re
doing right now.

“Here, squire,” Cadwallon called to a passing
lad. “Bring a bucket of hot water to the tent assigned to Lady
Fionna. And be quick about it.”

The tent which Fionna was to occupy by
herself was made of pale blue canvas. It was set between the green
tent Quentin was to use, and the red one intended for Cadwallon and
Braedon. When Fionna examined the structure while she and Cadwallon
waited for her hot water to arrive, she found a man-at-arms posted
at the rear of her tent, and another guard at the front.

“Does Quentin imagine I’ll try to escape him,
just when I have some real hope of an armed force to help me rescue
my sister?” she asked Cadwallon. She didn’t mention her relief at
knowing Royce’s men-at-arms would act as protection for
Quentin.

“Well, you can’t deny that you ran away
once,” Cadwallon noted. “But I suspect the guards were stationed by
Royce, for your protection, rather than to keep you here. After
all, you are the only woman in a camp full of young and vigorous
men. Ah, here’s the squire with your water. I’ll see you later, my
lady.” Cadwallon bowed and departed.

Left to herself, Fionna made good use of the
soap and the linen towel Lady Agnes had given her before she
departed from Carlisle. Having scrubbed away the grime of several
days’ travel, she found there wasn’t enough water left to wash her
hair. She settled for combing and re-braiding it.

She decided dinner with Lord Royce was an
occasion worthy of Lady Agnes’ green silk dress. The gown lay
crumpled at the bottom of her saddlebag and when she shook it out
she found bread crumbs caught in the folds. She brushed them away
with an impatience born of her realization of the futility of
trying to get away from Quentin. She was beginning to fear she’d
never be free of him, no matter how far apart they were.

Royce had brought with him a large,
cream-colored tent in which he and his officers dined at a round,
easily dismantled table, which Cadwallon told Fionna was specially
made to fit the tent. Fionna was seated in the place of honor at
Royce’s right hand, with Quentin on Royce’s other side. They ate
several kinds of spit-roasted game birds, all bagged along the way,
according to Cadwallon. In addition, the camp cook produced a hot
vegetable stew served in thick slices of hollowed out day-old
bread, and a tray of apples and pears for the sweet course. The
wine was the most delicious Fionna had ever tasted.

“Is this the way you eat when you go to war?”
Fionna asked her host.

“Well-fed men will fight more valiantly than
hungry men,” Royce told her, lifting his silver wine cup to salute
her.

Fionna studied him in fascination. Royce
looked to be in his mid or late thirties, with lines around his
eyes and deep creases running from nose to mouth. Yet there was no
grey in his short, red-gold hair, and his form displayed the trim
musculature of a much younger man. His charm was evident in his
easy manner of speech and his ready smile. Even so, Fionna detected
a shadow in his grey-green eyes, as if grief lay always close to
him, though he hid it carefully.

“Now, then,” Royce said to her when the meal
was finished and the servants were dismissed, “both Cadwallon and
Quentin have told me about your ardent desire to rescue your sister
from an abbey.”

“I pray my brothers haven’t removed her yet.”
With hope rising in her bosom, Fionna turned toward Royce. “My
lord, will you help me? Murdoch and Gillemore cannot possibly
command enough men to withstand all the warriors you bring with
you.”

“As I mentioned earlier, King Henry isn’t
expected at Windsor for several weeks,” Royce said. “Until he
returns from Normandy, I don’t have much to do. An expedition into
the lowlands ought to alleviate my present boredom rather nicely.
Yes, I believe I will use my men in your sister’s behalf.”

“Thank you! Though a mere thank you isn’t
enough,” Fionna said. “When shall we leave for Abercorn?” She
looked expectantly from Royce to Quentin on his other side.

“Royce and I, along with most of his men,
plan to leave in the morning,” Quentin informed her. “Cadwallon and
the rest of the men-at-arms will escort you to Wortham, to await us
there.”

“No!” Fionna and Cadwallon both uttered the
same exclamation at the same time.

“I will go with you,” Fionna declared.
“Quentin, you cannot prevent me from going.”

“Nor me, either,” said Cadwallon. “I’ll not
be left behind.”

“If we run into Murdoch or Gillemore, we may
have to fight,” Quentin said. “A battlefield is no place for a
woman.”

“Neither is an icy river,” Fionna told him.
“I survived one; I will survive the other if our efforts come to
violence. I will not go to Wortham until Janet rides with me.”

“You will do as I tell you!” Quentin
exclaimed, half rising from his seat and looking as if he intended
to seize Fionna and drag her out of the tent by force. “I won’t
allow you to be wounded or killed.”

“Wait a moment, Quentin.” Royce lifted a hand
and Quentin subsided, sitting down again. “In the past I have used
women during spying missions for King Henry. I always found them as
loyal and dependable, and every bit as brave, as any man.”

“And some of those women died in King Henry’s
service,” Quentin said.

“True.” Royce looked at Fionna, holding her
gaze while he continued. “My lady, I tell you now what I told every
woman I recruited for a mission. There is a chance that some or all
of us could be killed during this venture. Are you willing to take
the risk?”

“To save my sister, I am,” Fionna
answered.

“Then I say, Fionna ought to go with us,”
Royce told Quentin.

“I will not allow it,” Quentin stated between
gritted teeth.

“I refuse to be ordered by you any longer,”
Fionna cried. “I do not belong to you. My lord Royce, there’s an
important reason why I should go. I am sure Janet will never
willingly leave the protection of Abercorn with men she doesn’t
know. She’ll be afraid you are sent by Murdoch, unless I am present
to reassure her.”

“Now, Quentin, you cannot quarrel with that
reasoning,” Royce said. “Fionna rides with us.