That fateful afternoon flashed through Stephen’s mind, when he returned to the village to find it wiped out, his beautiful young wife dead with the others. He’d sat with her body in his arms until Geoffrey had forced him at last to relinquish her for burial.
“Five years or fifty, it will not matter,” he said, his voice a feral growl. “I will not rest until her killer is dead.” He turned to Geoffrey. “We’re close now to knowing who it is. Until I have avenged her, I will not think of taking another wife.”
Evie longed to slam her chamber door and pound on it. But such an outburst would make her seem childish. She longed to kick the wall. But all she’d have to show for it were bruised toes. Standing alone in the middle of the floor, she hissed in a breath and clenched her hands.
She refused to show reaction to the scene in the hall. No one must guess the extent of her turmoil.
But she wasn’t upset.
She was furious.
At herself for wanting to weep. At her stubborn inability to learn a lesson. At Stephen’s obvious preference for a glittering, stunning, alluring—tall—female.
Dull and boring Evelynn possessed none of those attributes. Evie plopped down on the bed, then flung herself back, arms wide. She didn’t care if a beautiful, mysterious woman followed Stephen across half the world.
She didn’t.
Let him have all the women he wanted. Veiled or unveiled. Sun-browned or not.
No freckles marred the beauteous Geoffra. Of course, Evie hadn’t seen much of the lady’s face.
But she just knew the rest must be as smooth and unblemished as the forehead. And those eyes. Ladies at court would kill for such long, thick, curled lashes.
Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes into her hair. She was not weeping for him—again. These were tears of anger at herself. Foolishly, she’d allowed the old feelings to slip beneath her defenses. Last night. Oh, last night had been the fulfillment of dreams she’d never known to dream. And today, hope rode at her side every step, every glance.
She rubbed her chest. Odd that a heart could actually hurt. She drew a shuddering breath and blanked the images clamoring in her mind. This would pass. The pain would ease, the disappointment disappear. And if it proved the last act of her life, she’d eliminate this destructive fascination with Sir Stephen of Rively.
The first step involved reaching England as soon as possible. There, she’d embrace the betrothal King Richard decreed before his death. Henry hadn’t seen fit to reveal the man’s identity, only that the king dubbed the lord “Hero of Bientreveux.”
Hero was he? A man to respect, then. If he were brave, perhaps he’d also be kind and strong, one a lady could admire, like Henry.
Encouraged by the thoughts, she dragged to her feet to make ready for bed. Strength of purpose required sleep, so she’d best see to some rest. When she at last pulled a thin blanket over her, Evie had resolved to be pleased with the marriage and to put all her energy into the union. It would be a good one. She’d make it so.
****
Before dawn, Stephen led his small group along the mist-shrouded dock to the boat. Muffled voices seeped through the dark, along with the stomp and whinny of horses and the thud of baggage. Their fellow traveler must have arrived. From the sound of activity, d’Ambrosie journeyed in style. Stephen didn’t care how much the man brought along, provided Evie had a bunk. A corner of the deck sufficed for him and his men. The biggest challenge lay in keeping the horses calm throughout the passage. If everything went smoothly, however, the crossing would be swift and without incident.
If so, it would be the first uneventful part of this journey, Stephen thought ruefully. Nothing had gone as planned these last months. That might change soon. In any event, he and the men would be prepared.
By the time the party boarded, the lord had gone below and left his lieutenant to stow belongings. Evie remained silent as the captain grumbled out directions to the cabin she and Marie were to occupy. She merely nodded when the other lord’s man bid good day. At first, Stephen hadn’t noticed her silence. But riding through the still-sleeping town earlier, he realized something was wrong.
The problem must be Geoffrey—or Geoffra. He winced. Evie no doubt remained furious about his mysterious visitor. Just as well, because explanations, or lies, must wait. Guilt stung at his conscience like a persistent fly. He’d hurt his little shadow, but it was for her own good, if only she knew. He had to make sure she was far removed from the danger that trailed him. And he did not doubt that danger drew closer with each league traveled.
Matthew should have reported by now, and Stephen feared the young knight had met with trouble at d’Ambrosie’s lodging overnight.
A glance showed Evie clutched the railing as she stared into the dirty, brown-gray fog. Her arrested expression made him turn. An indistinct, cloak-wrapped and hooded figure flashed up the wooden plank to disappear into the black maw of shadows around the deck cabin where the men waited. Matthew. At last.
Back to the rail, face stiff with displeasure, Evie confronted Stephen. “Your mysterious friend is here, at last. Perhaps we can get under way.” With a twist of her head, she flounced toward the hold.
What did her foolish words mean? She acted as if—. Damnation. She thought the late arrival was Geoffra. His bark of laughter brought the captain around a pile of rope coiled shoulder high near the wheel.
Stephen circled a hand in the air to signal. “Ready,” he called. Stifling a chuckle, he headed toward the men.
****
Evie closed the door of her cabin, then leaned against it. A tingling pressure tightened the back of her throat. How could he allow this new woman to travel with them? Surely he didn’t intend for her to remain on deck for the crossing.
Of course not. Even in the hurt that spiraled through her, she knew he’d never subject a female to such conditions. She’d misunderstood again, something Evie had grown quite good at where Stephen was concerned.
But if the figure who arrived wasn’t the lovely Eastern lady, who? And why the need for such secrecy? Why did it matter to her? It didn’t. She threw herself onto the narrow bunk—and cracked her head against the wood paneled wall.
“
Merde! Merde, Merde, Merde
.”
“What is wrong, milady?” Marie leaned against the small desk bolted to the floor along the opposite wall. Her own terror seemed to have vanished the moment she stepped onto the swaying boat. “Are you ill?”
Evie grimaced. “It’s nothing, Marie. I merely need rest.”
“Then if you don’t mind, milady, I’d like to go on deck.”
Evie dismissed the maid with a gesture and stretched out facing the wall. Her head throbbed from the blow. Her heart still ached from last night. All she wanted was a good cry to clear the anger and frustration building inside.
The desire to wilt into tears was one more reason to avoid Stephen. In the darkest moments of her life, she’d remained dry-eyed. Sorrow, despair, fear—all left her clear headed and determined. But anger made her weep like nothing else. And in the past days of traveling, she’d shed more tears than in the last three years.
She’d told Marie the truth, however. Sleep had refused to come last night, after the guests’ disturbing arrival. She’d lain awake, remembering how close the Eastern lady stood to Stephen, the way his head dipped to the side as he whispered to her. It was obvious the two shared a past. Evie’s throat ached with tears. She managed to hold them at bay until she recalled the events of two nights earlier—the night they’d spent during the storm.
What a fool she’d been, allowing him to touch her, touching him in return. And thinking the encounter meant something special. Not that she’d allowed herself to believe it meant he loved her, but surely he cared a little, or he’d not have been so tender, so passionate.
She brushed the hem of her sleeve at her eyes and sniffed. More than ever before, Evie wished Kate were near. Henry’s wife would understand her confusion and would help sort through the conflicting emotions that seemed to drown her. But Kate was hundreds of miles away, and Evie was no longer a child. It was up to her to sort out her own life.
But, Mother Mary, she needed a clue. Please?
****
“Nothing, Captain,” reported Matthew. “Not one person arrived for the lord. Two men accompanied him here this morning. He ordered two others back to King John with his report. They are to rejoin him in London. That’s all I heard.”
Stephen leaned against a cask set at the end of the cabin and stroked his chin with one hand. Lord d’Ambrosie appeared to be just what he said. A courier. Probably carrying all kinds of messages for the new king’s factions at home.
He cleared his throat. “I suppose it would have been too convenient for our search to end this soon. Well, then. Geoffrey and Brother Gerald will follow later, when Bernard arrives.
“They’ll likely catch up to us on the North Road. For now, we’ll keep watch for any craft that’s following and hope for a swift crossing.”
Stephen hoped it proved swift. He didn’t like to admit his aversion to sailing. To his mind it was a weakness, and he hated any hint of such a humiliating malady. Provided the waters remained smooth, he’d manage with only a mildly sick stomach. But more than that? He’d be hanging his head over the railing for sure. Well, this time such a reaction was not acceptable.
It wasn’t the fancy lord’s ridicule Stephen considered. It was scorn in a pair of big sea-blue eyes. Such a concern was foolishness, itself. Her future lay with a chosen favorite of the king, not with an outlaw mercenary who didn’t dare reveal his secret life to his own father. Best she continued to believe him an unrepentant rogue with a taste for women.
The memory of Geoffrey’s disguise brought a quick smile before he ventured to the rail. He saw nothing through the impenetrable fog, a dark formless void. At this moment, he felt right at home in it.
The fog eventually thinned, but dark clouds and mist continued to plague the craft. To Stephen’s relief, the ship maintained an even keel; not once did he have to empty his stomach.
Evie had—blessedly—kept to her cabin, resting after the arduous journey from St. Anselm, her maid announced. The long hours on horseback hadn’t kept the little maid down. In fact, she seemed to thrive in the cramped quarters on deck. No, she insisted, she had no desire to languish in a stuffy cabin, not when the sky and water contained so much space.
Stephen gave the girl her due, however; she didn’t mind performing the least errand for the men. Nor did she flirt beyond what any maid might do in similar situations. She appeared to have chosen Davy as her personal champion, which made the young squire blush each time she returned to his side.
The first few hours passed in such uneventful manner, with no sign of pursuit, that Stephen allowed himself to relax.
He should have known better.
Shortly after midday, darkness descended. One moment, weak light from the shrouded sun lay torpidly across the water; the next, thick shadows enveloped the deck, and the boat steered again into a formless void.
D’Ambrosie arrived on deck. Trailed by his lieutenant and a second soldier, he strolled to the bow where he halted a few paces from Stephen to gaze into the darkness.
“Dreary,” he announced, apparently ready to talk after spending the day sequestered in his cabin. “But if we catch a decent breeze, we’ll make sufficient time.”
He turned toward Stephen. “How does your lady fare?”
The question was posed in an affable tone, but Stephen’s suspicions bristled. Throwing the other man a quick glance, he forced himself to relax. The lord showed nothing but mild courtesy.
“She is resting from the strenuous trip, my lord,” Stephen answered, implying a delicate and sensitive constitution for his mistress. If only the other man knew. He stifled a laugh. He must remember to moderate his voice, assume the firm but respectful attitude expected in the captain of a lady’s guard.
D’Ambrosie sized him up in a quick but astute glance, then peered toward the deck cabin where the rest of the men congregated. He turned back. “How long have you traveled, Captain?” Although the lord maintained a friendly attitude, his voice contained an edge.
Why would John’s emissary care about their journey? Watching his face, Stephen decided to tell him a close approximation of the truth. It would be no more than the other man could learn. In fact, he might already know.
“Four days. My lady has been visiting at Rosemont Castle.”
“So.” D’Ambrosie’s lips pursed. “Did you encounter trouble?”
“The only problem we faced was the weather. We were forced to take shelter one night in a burned-out manor. My lady’s cousin warned that a band of marauders roamed the countryside, but we saw no evidence of any. Did you encounter them?”
Ignoring the question, D’Ambrosie paced away from the rail, then back. “I’ve been tracking a troop of mercenaries,” he said, finally. “A bad lot. Guilty of murdering innocent women and children from here to Jerusalem. Not long ago, I learned they may be headed for the coast. Several of my men searched the countryside to the south, but they failed to turn up any sign.”
Stephen tensed, his arm muscles flexed. So. The band that followed them yesterday could have belonged to d’Ambrosie. Perhaps they both searched for the same murderer. Stephen and his men weren’t the only ones who suffered from the Dragon’s vicious actions.
“You think they were nearby then, these renegade knights?” he asked.
“It’s possible. My men identified a party on the way to port. Not the pack of hardened outlaws I seek, but a small contingent containing two women and a pair of monks. In fact”—a side of his mouth curved up—“I believe it might have been you.”
“Very likely, my lord.” Stephen nodded thoughtfully, his mind flying over the past hours. If the band spotted yesterday belonged to d’Ambrosie, they must have dispatched a rider hours before Stephen reached port. Possible. Damn, he hated the idea of missing something so obvious. He should have ordered Claude back to the cove to keep an eye on the strangers. But with Evie along, he couldn’t take the chance of depleting his own guard.