Ah, there had been a time in Alisoun's life when she thought that if all people acted with maturity, the world would be peaceful, organized, and prosperous. Now she sought a return to that aloof state of mind, but the memory of her own hopes and dreams haunted her.

She hated David. Hate burned in her gut until she feared it would harm the babe, but still she couldn't tame her rancor.

Worse, she missed him. She wanted someone to talk to, someone who thought the same thoughts she did and shared the same values.

Not the same values, she corrected herself. She had thought they shared the same values, but he'd let Philippa go with her husband because he feared the loss of his lands.

And of his family. That inner voice, always fair, taunted her. He worried about Bertrade. He wanted to keep his daughter safe, and he would sacrifice anyone to do so. And he wanted to keep her safe, too, Alisoun grudgingly admitted. He had done everything he could to keep her safe: taking her to Radcliffe, mobilizing his forces there, protecting her even when she had refused him her bed.

So mayhap he had had a little justification for his actions.

But when she remembered Philippa's scars, her anguish, her fears; when she remembered that lonely baby upstairs in her keep who cried pitiably for her mother-then she no longer thought him justified, and she wanted to do something, anything, to rectify this situation.

She heard a slow, shuffling tread and the tap of a crutch on the wooden planks behind her, and she turned at once to Sir Walter.

"You shouldn't have walked so far." She rebuked him. "And never down the stairs from the keep."

"I didn't walk all the way. I couldn't bear to be inside anymore, so Ivo carried me." Sir Walter's bruises had faded, the scars had drawn together and formed red and white streaks across his face, and he moved with great difficulty. He looked down toward the village to the tiny figure of Edlyn, and said, "We'll miss her, eh, my lady?"

"Dreadfully."

Balancing carefully, he tugged at her arm. "Come inside. I still find myself unconvinced that the duke of Framlingford will not retaliate against you, and I don't like you standing in such an exposed spot."

She didn't want to go, but she knew he was right. Osbern would no doubt brood on the wrong she had done him and would someday come back to take his revenge.

But only when he'd finished with Philippa.

She whimpered softly, but Sir Walter heard. "Would you help me, my lady? I find myself tiring more easily than I expected."

Blindly, she took his arm and helped him back into the bailey, and after a moment her choking sensation eased. One couldn't remain in pain all the time, and the act of helping Sir Walter seemed to bring solace.

She could, after all, successfully aid someone.

Sir Walter was speaking, and with an effort she tried to comprehend the words.

"I'm not the man I once was, my lady. I'll never walk easily and I'll never fight in battle again. Not only that, but I am humbled in spirit as well. You were right about the threat the duke posed, and I should have listened and done my duty rather than instruct you in yours."

He breathed heavily, and she realized he hadn't simply used his condition as an excuse to bring her inside. He did need to rest. She looked around, and the hovering Ivo rolled a tree stump toward them for Sir Walter to sit on.

She smiled at the big man who gave her his unquestioning loyalty and wished all men were so easily trained. Sir Walter had almost died learning that a woman could know better than a man, and David...in his ignorance, David had lost her.

But did he really care?

She and Ivo held Sir Walter's arms as he lowered himself onto the stump. With a grunt, Sir Walter settled himself, then with his gaze on his feet, said, "If you choose another steward for George's Cross, my lady, I understand, but there can never be another man who would truly be as dedicated to your service."

Now she realized the reason for at least some of his discomfort, and said hastily, "Sir Walter, I have failed in my duty to you if you think I would choose another man to care for George's Cross. You may not be able to fight, but you know the people, the crops, and you have the loyalty of the men-at-arms and the mercenary knights. I have no time to train another, especially since I have a one-year-old daughter to reconcile to her new home, and-" she looked at him directly, "-I will be giving birth in the winter."

He smiled. The attack on him had left him with few teeth and a mouth permanently split on one side, but she read his joy. "That is indeed a blessing, my lady, and I rejoice that the child will be legitimate."

She grimaced in pain at the thought of her marriage.

"I meant no disrespect," he added quickly. "Only that I doubted your attachment to Sir David, and I should have realized your wisdom."

"Wisdom." She chortled.

"Your activities are always wise and well thought out, my lady."

"I used to think so, too."

"Even taking Lady Philippa from her husband had its base in wisdom."

"Now you give me your blessing?"

"And if you think about it, you'll see it is wisdom to give up your grief about her recapture." She drew back, but he caught her hand. "There was nothing you could do about it. There was nothing anyone could do about it. A wife belongs to her husband, and you always knew that one day, he would capture her."

"I suppose I knew, but I hoped that Sir David..."

"You can't blame the man for recognizing an impossible situation and doing the best he knew how."

"He isn't who I thought he was."

"Who's that?"

"A legend."

"He never said he was a legend."

She didn't answer, because she knew it was true.

"You, lady-you usually think so clearly. What solution can you envision that would take Lady Philippa away from her G.o.d-given husband?"

She treated his question seriously. "I've thought about it and thought about it. I can't bribe Osbern. Even if he needed my money, he's the kind of man who would keep Philippa for the pleasure of tormenting her and knowing that her pain tormented me. I can't appeal to the king. He arranged the match himself, and he would never interfere between man and wife."

"And think of your estates. Your first duty is to them."

"I've lived my whole life for these estates, and I know now someone will always tend them. They are too rich to remain unclaimed for long." Almost to herself, she said, "Surely Philippa's life is worth more than any land."

"Ease your heart, my lady! Perhaps Lord Osbern learned his lesson during his wife's long absence and now treats her with honor she deserves."

She gave a bitter laugh.

Quickly he abandoned that fantasy. "It would take a desperate man who cared nothing for his life or his family to try and rescue Lady Philippa."

"Or a desperate woman." She said the words, it seemed, even before she thought them.

"A woman? Ha." As Sir Walter tried to struggle to his feet, Ivo rushed to his side and a.s.sisted him. "With all due respect, my lady, a woman's weapons are useless against the might of king and Church."

She was desperate.

"I'm going to the guardhouse now, and then I will retire."

Yet what was she supposed to do?

Sir Walter patted her hand. "If I may be so bold, I would advise you to resign yourself to Philippa's fate and submit to your husband your unquestioning obedience."

Don armor and ride to rescue Philippa herself?

"Ah, I see a spark in your eye." Sir Walter smiled, a wise lift of the lips. "I'm glad we had this talk."

"I'm glad, too." She smiled back at him, at ease for the first time in days.

He waved Ivo away and hobbled off on his own, and she waited until he could no longer hear her before she turned to her man-at-arms. "Ivo! Have we got any armor that would fit me?"

Ivo's lips moved as he repeated the question silently, clearly puzzled over the meaning. "Aye. There's an old leather breastplate."

"Is there a sword I could lift? Maybe a sharp knife?"

"Aye. There is." But rather than going to get them, he stood and scratched his hairy chin with an intent expression. At last he seemed to have comprehended something, and he asked, "Are we going t' get Lady Philippa from her husband?"

"I am." She needed him to get to Osbern's stronghold but she would not command him. "If you and Gunnewate wish to accompany me, I'd be grateful."

"There's nary a question that I'll accompany ye an' speaking fer Gunnewate, he'll go, too." His scratching fingers wandered down to his chest. "Pardon me, my lady, fer being forward, but I heard ye say ye're with child."

In sooth, she made this decision not only for herself, but for the life within her. Still, she knew what she had to do. With steady resolve, she answered, "No child of mine could want a mother tainted by dishonor and cowardice."

His fingers came to a halt and he nodded slowly up and down. "Aye, m'lady, ye're right about that."

She realized she'd been holding her breath as she waited for Ivo's opinion. A plain man, an honest man, he viewed the world without imagination and still he approved her plan. She needed no more benediction. "Then we have a journey to make."

24.

The banners flying from the ramparts of Osbern's castle gave Alisoun her first indication of the obstacles she now faced.

"M'lady?" Ivo spoke in his slow, measured manner. "Isn't that the king's coat o' arms?"

"It is." She could scarcely believe her luck, although whether it was good or bad, she couldn't decide. "Henry is here. I should have known." Not many of King Henry's subjects had the wealth to feed and shelter the court during one of his summer tours, and she suspected Henry took a special delight in plucking the fruits of Osbern's wealth.

Gunnewate had ridden ahead. Now the dust stirred beneath his horse's hooves as he returned to report, "It looks like half the country's mustered in the bailey, m'lady, an' they're all yelling an' excited. A tournament, I'd say, but the stands are only half built."

"A fight, more likely." Alisoun fingered the blade hidden under her cloak. "That might make my mission easier." But now that the moment had arrived, her stomach twisted and rolled.

She was planning to kill Osbern. What had she been thinking? She'd never killed anyone. And how would she do it? By sneaking around and slipping a knife into his ribs? A paltry, cowardly battle for right, but if she challenged him-him, the king's champion-he would laugh and break her like dry kindling.

"Shall we go down, m'lady?" Ivo asked.

She saw that he had bared his weapons, and it occurred to her he had come prepared to fight and die. She could do no less.

"Aye, let's go." Ivo rode on one side of her, Gunnewate on the other, and she entered the castle like a warrior of old flanked by her faithful companions. Yet as they entered the outer bailey, no one challenged them. No one even seemed to notice. Everyone-servants, knights, lords, and ladies-were gathered in a circle around two figures, clad in fighting armor, who stood facing each other. From atop her horse, Alisoun had a view the others only fought for, but the warriors' helmets covered their faces and she knew not who they were. Nor did she care, for lifted above the throng on a half-built viewing stand sat King Henry. A few of his lucky n.o.bles, the ones powerful enough to remain at his side, stood around him, and there she sought Osbern.

She couldn't see him.

"Want me t' find out where the duke is?" Ivo asked.

She nodded, and he urged his horse into the outer fringes of the crowd and toward a tree, laden with children who had climbed there to watch the combat. Stretching up out of the saddle, Ivo twisted the hair of a stableboy and the rumble of his voice rolled through the leaves. "Where's the duke o' Framlingford?"

The children all laughed, their high-pitched voices full of scorn. The stableboy pointed at the warriors in combat. "There. He's fightin'."

"Who's he fightin'?" Ivo asked.

"That crazy man, an' they're fightin' t' the death."

Cold tingled in Alisoun's fingertips and at the tip of her nose as she overheard this exchange.

Ivo shook the lad. "What crazy man?"

"That crazy man, that one who walked up t' the king today, on the first day o' the royal visit, an' said he was goin' kill his champion."

Alisoun could no longer contain herself. "Why?" she shouted.

"He said t' avenge the death o' Lord Osbern's wife."

Red spots flexed and grew before her eyes. She gripped the saddle and fought to retain her balance. But she could still hear Ivo ask, "Do ye know the man's name?"

No one answered for a moment, then a girl's voice piped up, "They call him Sir David. Sir David o' Radcliffe."

David hated fighting. Whenever he found himself sweating beneath his hauberk, trying to see around a nose guard, gripping a sword in one hand and a shield in the other-well, then he knew how stupid combat really was.

Of course, that was while he was still afraid, before the exhilaration of battle had swept him up and carried him away. And every time he fought, he always feared that that glory would fail to seize him, and he'd have to fight on, cold with the cowardice that no one recognized.

Especially now. Especially facing Osbern. Osbern had defeated him before, and that gave him a powerful advantage over David.

Osbern knew it, too. In a voice designed to carry over the shouts of the crowd, he asked, "Did your wife force you to come?"

David saved his breath and stoically met the hacking of Osbern's sword with his shield.

Osbern didn't seem to mind David's silence. Lightly, he chatted, "She's a powerful woman, I warned you of that, and unless you train her properly at the beginning, you'll have no peace all your life long." He lost that congenial tone. "Ah, but I forget. You're going to die today, so you'll not have to worry."

Osbern's sword slashed toward David's neck, but David stepped aside at the last moment and the steel whistled through the air.

That angered Osbern, and he said, "A rather drastic solution to an unhappy marriage, isn't it?"