“You say your men followed us?” He forced his voice to remain calm. “We encountered no one.”
D’Ambrosie cast him a smug look. “Of course not. They have experience from years on the trail. They know how to observe discreetly.”
Stephen longed to disabuse the other man of his arrogant assumption. Such a move wouldn’t be wise. Let him think his men master trackers and all others inept. That was to Stephen’s advantage.
He didn’t make the mistake of underestimating d’Ambrosie, however. The lord might be disdainful and proud, but he carried an air of efficiency. And a look of cruelty in the haughty set of his lips. No one could doubt him a seasoned fighter.
D’Ambrosie’s gaze flashed to the deck cabin, eyes narrowed in speculation as his men joined the others. He gave an almost imperceptible nod, then looked back to Stephen, expression affable once more. The switch had been rapid; Stephen wouldn’t have caught it had he not been watching. This was no simple courier.
“Where do you journey?” d’Ambrosie asked.
“To Nottinghamshire, my lord.”
“What a coincidence. I will be traveling that direction, myself, after the coronation.” He smiled and leaned his forearms on the railing, hands clasped. “The late king, my dear friend Richard, granted me a demesne north of Lincoln some years ago, and I have yet to visit. The wars kept me busy.”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “But when duty to king and country calls, what can one do, eh?” He chuckled in self-deprecation.
D’Ambrosie possessed a likeable manner, Stephen had to admit. But he mistrusted any man so affable and confiding to a stranger. So the man had property near Lincoln. The only holding in that area without a resident lord was that of Stephen’s own foster father, murdered on the plains of Acre. By an ally who thought the older lord didn’t slay Saracens fast enough. The same betrayer who then buried a dagger in the side of the lord’s former squire, recently knighted.
The scar along Stephen’s ribs twitched at the memory.
For the last years, that old lord’s demesne, Hawksworth, had flourished under a seneschal and provided a lucrative income for the crown. Was it possible the king handed it off after all these years?
Dread stole through Stephen.
“A great honor to you, my lord. Such a gift is the dream of many knights. It is fortunate your obligation takes you back to England,” he said.
What orders did the lord d’Ambrosie carry? Stephen knew the barons were being summoned to declare allegiance to John. The meeting may already have occurred. He also knew support wasn’t assured in many areas where sympathy ran with Arthur.
As for himself, he’d follow John, devil or no. Arthur was too young, too susceptible to France’s King Philip. John was simply the lesser of two evils.
But Stephen wouldn’t venture any of his opinion to this man, no matter how genial he appeared. Something about him struck a discordant note, like a lute with a sagging string.
D’Ambrosie stared into the deepening fog for so long, Stephen thought the conversation ended. Then he straightened and turned. Again, his expression was assessing, almost thoughtful.
“A strong knight like yourself must have fought somewhere.”
“I had the honor of serving in Lord Henry’s troop.”
The moment he heard that name, d’Ambrosie’s gaze sharpened, and even in the dimness, Stephen could see his eyes sparked. “Lord Henry? In Nottinghamshire? Would that be Lord Henry of Chauvere?”
Stephen didn’t like the sense of dread oozing through his veins. “Why?”
D’Ambrosie failed to take offense at the rude reply. Instead, he laughed. “By God.” His amusement seemed genuine, and he slapped Stephen on the shoulder. “After I visit my lands, I’m for Nottinghamshire to meet my bride.”
Dismay gripped Stephen. Somehow he knew what was coming.
“Some time before he died, the king arranged my betrothal to the sister of one of his old friends,” the other man said. “Lady Evelynn of Chauvere, sister of Lord Henry. By God,” he repeated. “Could it be you’re escorting my bride?”
“I have that honor.” The words grated like sand in Stephen’s mouth.
“What good fortune. I’ll go below and meet her. I’ve been told she is beautiful and biddable.”
He didn’t seem to require an answer, which was just as well, for Stephen didn’t think he could force a sound without growling. Of all the curse-plagued luck. What odds that this particular man should choose this particular port on this particular night to sail for England.
He reminded himself he didn’t believe in coincidence. Yet, how else could he explain it?
“My lord,” Stephen put in as d’Ambrosie turned, “my lady isn’t feeling well. Her maid said she’s taken to her bed. Perhaps tomorrow?”
The man paused, nodded. “You have the right of it. Wouldn’t do to interrupt her at rest. She’ll want to look her best when we meet. Ladies must be allowed their little vanities. Tomorrow, then.” He strode toward the hold, but Stephen could hear him mutter, “By God, what luck.”
And even though the wind lay quiet and the water calm, Stephen felt bile writhe through his stomach.
Macsen slid into place beside Stephen, who stared into the night as if trying to bore a hole through the blackness. “Well?” his friend prompted, after a long moment of silence.
“He’s the damned one.”
“What?”
“D’Ambrosie. He’s Lady Evie’s mysterious betrothed.” No reason why those words ate at his gut as they did. Despite his usual mistrust of strangers, he found no obvious reason to dislike John’s emissary so much. The man’s superior attitude rankled, certainly, but that, alone, provided no foundation for the wariness Stephen instinctively felt.
Macsen grunted. “Then we are happy Matthew found nothing suspicious at his lodgings. Are we not?”
“Of course.” Stephen shoved away from the railing and paced along the deck, Macsen matching his stride. Once they’d put the crew behind, he muttered, “Those were his men following us yesterday. Somehow they got word to him before we arrived. God’s blood! We should never have been surprised like that. This whole trip has thrown us off our usual pace.”
“It was unforeseen,” Macsen agreed, “but not a threat. We could spare no one to track their movements. Stop blaming yourself for everything that happens; we can’t be everywhere at once. You’ve lost perspective.”
Stephen halted in midstride and rounded on his friend. “Damn you, I haven’t lost anything.” He sucked in a breath and squeezed shut his eyes. “Sorry.” His voice dropped to a rough murmur. “You’re right. I don’t know what’s gotten into my brain lately.”
“I could venture a guess.”
“Don’t.”
Macsen shrugged. “Then let’s discuss d’Ambrosie. There’s no evidence to suggest he’s not what he claims, an envoy for John. A war hero, going to collect his reward, which happens to include the lady you’ve been trying to rid yourself of. Why not suggest Lady Evelynn’s betrothed escort her the rest of the way to Chauvere? Then we can be about our task of finding the Dragon. Seems to me a God-sent opportunity.”
“Not a chance in hell. And wipe that smile from your face.”
****
At first, Evie thought it was the thud of her headache. Then the pounding came again, louder. She groaned and turned over. Opening her eyes told nothing; the blackness in the cabin was impenetrable.
“Marie?” Her voice rasped in a dry throat.
No one answered. The girl must still be on deck. Evie might as well have left Marie behind, for all the assistance the maid provided. With a groan, she swung her feet over the side of the bunk and felt her way along the wall toward the sound of another insistent knock.
“A moment,” she called. “I’m coming.” Who had the nerve to wake her in what must be the middle of the night? Hah. Need she even wonder? Her toe collided with something, and she yelped as she landed on her knees on the wood plank floor. Just what she needed. A broken foot.
The door burst open, bringing with it a dim light. “What’s wrong?” Stephen’s deep voice filled the room. “Where’s the damned lantern?”
“If I knew, I would have lighted it.” Blasted man. Did he think she enjoyed stumbling around in the dark? He acted as if she did so just to plague him.
Holding a shielded ship’s lantern high, he stepped toward the desk. “Here it is. Where’s that malkin who’s supposed to be your companion?”
“Leave Marie alone. I wanted privacy and gave her permission to go above.” Never mind that Evie had just complained about the same thing. He had no right to do so.
“What do you want?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”
“A little late to ask that, isn’t it?” He bent to coax the cabin lantern to flame.
“Oh, for the love of heaven. Stop plaguing me. Why are you here?”
“I thought you’d like to know the identity of our fellow passenger.”
“At this hour? Could you not have waited until morning?” Sweet Mary, preserve her patience. He was the most maddening man alive.
Light flared in the cabin’s shuttered lantern, throwing a shadow across his face, reminding Evie of another reason he should not be here. Her body instantly throbbed to life.
She pressed her palms against her stomach and inhaled. Calm. She needed calm. He was not the most beautiful man she’d ever beheld. He did not possess the power to heat her blood to boiling. He did not care that she thought of him night and day.
That much was true, for certain.
“I have news that will make the rest of your trip joyful.”
His words centered her whirling mind, and Evie eyed him warily. What news could possible make her happy right now?
She ventured a guess. “You are leaving? Your second in command, the delightful Sir Macsen, will accompany me the rest of the way home?”
“Much better.”
She could tell he was angry now by the way he glowered and roared in that whispery sort of way no one else could hear, but left her with no doubt of his displeasure.
“Your betrothed.” He bent and scooped her off the floor.
“What? What about him?”
“That’s the identity of the illustrious lord who’s sharing passage with us.”
“You’re drunk. And put me down. I’m perfectly capable of getting up on my own.”
“Be quiet. You have blood on your leg.”
“Of course I do. I tripped and fell trying to answer your pounding when you could easily have opened—” His words finally penetrated her throbbing head. “I’m bleeding?”
Oh, blast. The contents of her—empty—stomach churned. She attended the villagers’ hurts, bound the cuts and scrapes of servants and their children. The sight of their blood bothered her not a whit.
But her own? Black spots danced at the corners of her vision, becoming larger and larger until she heard Stephen’s voice.
“Evie, Evie. What the hell?”
His voice echoed so far away. If she didn’t know better, she’d vow he sounded alarmed. Perhaps she’d close her eyes for a moment.
As the ringing in her ears crescendoed, she recalled his words. Betrothed.
Her betrothed was on board?
Dear Lord, just let me die.
Stephen eased Evie onto the narrow bunk, intent on discovering the extent of her injury. From the position of the blood, he guessed her knee had been scraped. The light from both lanterns wavered as the door swung open to admit Marie.
“See to your mistress,” Stephen ordered. “She’s hurt herself. And don’t leave her alone again, girl. Your only duty on this trip is to care for your lady, do you understand?”
The poor maid gaped at him, eyes round and fearful. “Yes, sir, Captain. My lord. I’m sorry. But my lady said—”
“I’m not interested in excuses.” Stephen grabbed the lantern he’d brought and strode to the door. “Make sure she rests. She’s not to leave this cabin until morning.”
He slammed the door behind him. Hand still on the latch, he paused to inhale. How had a simple errand gone so wrong? He’d meant to inform Evie of her future husband’s presence, not sink into a row with the impossible female. Not be the cause of her hurt. Not feel the unwanted need to wrap her in his arms, shield her from further harm.
Even worse, his body didn’t seem to remember she wasn’t for him. Not just his body. If he didn’t put her out of his mind, the whole mission would suffer. The Brotherhood was moving to England for protection and to act on information the Dragon and his men were headed there. Their focus must not change. He had no room in his life for a lady.
Unfortunately, he spent too much time reminding himself of that fact.
On deck, Stephen sought out the men and dropped down beside William. Resting his head against the cabin wall he sighed. No one spoke. Finally, Matthew said, “Learn anything from our fellow passenger?”
“Nothing we didn’t already know. His story sounds real enough, but I can’t shake the feeling something is off. He’s too smooth. What did you find?”
William leaned forward. “The documents in his cabin look authentic. They carry John’s seal. One grants the Lord Fulk d’Ambrosie authority to help arrange the coronation at Westminster Abbey.”
After a pause, Stephen prompted, “And?”
“Another validates the grant of Hawksworth in Lincolnshire to d’Ambrosie ‘for service to the king.’”
“Any pertaining to the Lady Evelynn?”
“Not that I discovered.”
The betrothal contract likely lay in the possession of d’Ambrosie’s agent. Or with Henry. For all Stephen knew, it had reached the Bishop of Lincoln’s files.
“One more thing,” William murmured. “The cabin contains a triple-lock chest. I couldn’t find a way to open it in the time I had.”
“So. There’s something our illustrious lord doesn’t want disturbed. Wonder what that might be?”
“If the opportunity presents, I’ll look again,” William said.
Stephen nodded. “What did his men want?”
Matthew snorted. “Right polite, they were. They wanted to know where we traveled from. Which route we took. If we ran into trouble. And they kindly warned us to stay alert for outlaws once we arrived in England.”
“Do you think we’re all searching for the same quarry?” William asked.
“Possible.” Matthew admitted. “They said John assigned their lord the task of catching a troop of mercenaries that was causing problems with the allies. Murdering and looting. They’ve even destroyed one or two holy houses.”