Tode well knew how Axia felt about men or women who wanted to be near her because of her father's money. Once she'd said about Frances, "At least her friendship can't be bought. I've tried."

Going to his chair, she put her hands on the armrests, her face near his. She was the only person in the world who did not turn away in revulsion at the sight of him, and when she put herself this close to him, a wave of love ran through him.

"Do you not see?" she said. "It is my only chance. My one chance. I could travel as my rich cousin's poor companion."

"Poor indeed if you have less than Frances," he said, his eyes soft as a doe's.

Axia was not oblivious to Tode's love for her, and when needed, she used it to get round him, for ostensibly, he was her father's chief spy. She gave him a sweet smile. "It all depends on you."

"Away from me," he said, throwing up his arm, for he saw what she was up to. "You think you can persuade me to anything. This is dangerous. Your father's rage is-"

"What would be his rage if I were taken by brigands and held for ransom?" Looking at him, she lowered her voice and hoped he would not catch the hole in her logic, as just moments before she had been rea.s.suring him that she would be safe. "What would you feel when my father refused to pay the ransom and they murdered me?"

When she saw his eyes flicker, she knew that she had won. Clapping her hands, she laughed aloud as she danced about the room. "No one will know who I am! No gawking boys staring at me as the new men my father hires do. No one staring at my clothes and food, asking whether I wear silk in bed or not. No one judging every word I say because England's richest heiress has said it. No marriage proposals at the rate of three a day."

At that Tode smiled. Axia exaggerated, of course, but declarations of love were tossed over the walls regularly. Young men sang love songs from outside the walls. They wrote sonnets to Axia's beauty and said they'd glimpsed her in a dream or "from afar" or had climbed a tree and watched her and fallen hopelessly in love with her. Whenever Frances heard that, she always said, "They must have seen me. "

"Will Frances agree?" Tode asked softly, buying time to allow him to think this out. "You know how she loves to thwart you."

"Agree?" Axia asked, aghast. "Agree! Are you asking me if she'll agree to have it all? To have the gold and the beauty? Do you ask me if this is what she wants?"

She laughed happily. "You leave Frances to me."

"And may G.o.d have mercy on her soul," Tode said under his breath so she could not hear him.

Quietly, Frances listened to what Axia was saying. Her room, half again the size of Axia's, had walls covered with drawings and paintings of herself, each of them expensively framed.

"You want me to be you?" Frances asked, her nose in the air. "I am to risk my life as every criminal in the country tries to take your father's gold?"

Axia gave a sigh. "You know my father would not send me across the country if it were not safe."

Frances gave her a little smile. "Safe for you perhaps, but if I am the heiress, what of my safety?"

"Safety? You act as though brigands with swords will attack this caravan. You know that tomorrow my father is sending new men to escort me. Escort us. No one will know us. And the few here who do will say nothing. No one cares," she said with bitterness. Besides, she knew full well that she would give Tode enough money to pay all employees well to say nothing.

Axia continued. "Frances, this is to be no pa.s.sage of a queen. You know how cheap my father is; all of England knows of his stinginess. Our caravan will no doubt be so poor no one will know of the wealth that is my father's. They will think I-you-are an ordinary merchant's daughter, no more, no less. It is your one chance-"

"Cease!" Frances said, putting up her hand. Walking away from her cousin for a moment, she looked out the window, and when she turned back, her face was hard. "You always do get your way, don't you, Axia?"

"How can you say such a thing to me? I live as a prisoner."

"Prisoner! Ha! You don't know what prison is until you've been poor. As my family was and still is. But you, all your life you've had anything for the asking. Whatever you want, all you have to do is ask your father for it, and he gives it instantly. And here on this estate your word is law."

Axia kept her fists clenched but said nothing. Everything Frances said was true: Axia knew nothing of poverty. While the world hungered, she lived in splendor, yet ungratefully, she wanted freedom. Frances always knew what to say to make Axia feel guilty.

"All right, I will let you see what it is like to have no power," Frances said when Axia did not respond.

Axia nearly choked at that. "Power? Do you think I have power here?"

Frances laughed. "You are queen here, yet you do not know it."

"It is you who flirts with the gardeners, teases the grooms, who-"

"It is all I have! Can you not see that? You do not even have to say, 'Open the door,' for it to be opened for you. You do not see that everyone is aware of who you are and jumps to find favor with you."

"I live as economically as possible, while I have heard of-"

"Heard of! Oh, Axia, you are so naive you think fairy tales are true. All right, we shall see how you will do as a commoner, but I warn you, once this is started, we will play it to its finish. I will be the Maidenhall heiress until we reach our destination. If you come to me a week from now or even a day from now and tell me you want to be yourself again, I will deny that I know what you speak of. And only under this agreement will I do this."

Axia raised one eyebrow at her. "You think it is easy to be something out of a legend, to never know who is your friend and who your enemy? Three years ago I was nearly kidnapped. Do you think it is good to live in daily fear?"

"As I live in fear of you? All you have to do is write your father and tell him to send me away and I will be poor again. As it is now, all that your father pays me to live with you is sent to my father and younger sisters. Living with you I have given up all chance of making a good marriage; I never meet anyone suitable locked away here with you. But perhaps my sisters will make good marriages because of my sacrifice."

"I would not send you away," Axia said softly as she'd said many times before, but Frances never believed her. Every time they had a disagreement, Frances had said, "Now you will send me away, and my family and I will starve."

After a while, Frances gave a slow smile. "Perhaps we should work out a financial arrangement. I do not think you believe I am so stupid as to risk my life for nothing."

Axia smiled. "If you are asking if I thought you would do something for me out of friendship, no, I can honestly say that never crossed my mind. I took the liberty of making a list of possible payment," she said, unrolling a parchment.

Taking it, Frances glanced down the list, then smiled. "Not nearly enough. I do not risk my life for so paltry an amount."

As always, Axia was prepared for this. "Shall we sit?" she asked tiredly. Bargaining with Frances always took time.

Hours later, gold, jewels, cloth, and even revenues from land that had belonged to Axia's mother had exchanged hands. Truthfully, it was less than Axia had expected to pay.

Standing, Axia rolled up the parchment. "You will not like being me," Axia said at last.

"Nor will you like being me," Frances answered.

Then, tentatively and very, very quickly, they shook hands.

The bargain was made.

Chapter 6.

Jamie was in a foul mood.

At home, laughing, teasing with his sisters, it had seemed like a splendid idea to try to win the hand of a rich young woman. It was time he married; he was not averse to the idea. He was tired of sleeping on the ground or in flea-infested inns. He'd like to get back what his father and brother had sold, but to do that he needed money. And so it had seemed the answer to everything to make a young and protected girl believe she loved him, loved him so much that she'd beg her father to allow her to marry someone other than the one he'd chosen for her.

And of course, Jamie thought in his vanity, he'd felt that he was the better prospect than the one who she was to marry. He was a Montgomery, of an ancient family, and if he had no money, his t.i.tles and blood would surely make up for that.

But last night, as he paid halfpence to children to gather daisies to be sewn into a cloak, his conscience began to hurt him. Perkin Maidenhall had given him this job on trust. Trust. He was to guard a woman from enemies, not become her enemy.

How could he do this to either of them? he asked himself. Yet never once had he wondered if he'd succeed. Whatever his pretended modesty, he knew that women liked him. But every time he thought of courting the beautiful Frances, he remembered the feel of pretty little Axia under his body. He remembered her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his arm; remembered her brown eyes looking at him with disdain. Maybe that's what he liked about her: she wasn't falling all over herself at the sight of him. She stood with her shoulders back as though to say, I'm worth something!

Just thinking of her made him smile, but the smile didn't last long. How was he going to travel for weeks with her while trying to get the Maidenhall heiress to love him, which of course was a dishonorable thing to do since he didn't love her and very much doubted that he ever would, and besides she was engaged to another, and besides that- "h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation!" Jamie said. "What in the name of the devil is that?"

Sitting atop his horse, Jamie looked down at the sight before him and rubbed his eyes. Surely what he was seeing couldn't be real. It must be the early morning sunlight playing tricks on him. After all, he'd been up late last night supervising the sewing of daisies into a cloak (which he could ill afford), and now the cloak with its lining of hundreds of daisy heads was carefully packed into the wagon of goods he and his men needed for this trip. It had taken a great deal of work to be ready to meet the Maidenhall heiress.

Now, coming over the hill, he could not believe what he was seeing.

"How many are there?" Thomas asked from beside him.

"I count eight in all," Rhys, on the other side of Jamie, answered. After a moment, he said, "It looks like a circus."

All Jamie could say was, "How will I protect her?"

Standing in front of the stone walls that guarded the heiress were eight wagons, but not ordinary wagons. Six of them were made of ma.s.sive oak timbers bound all the way around with thick iron bands. And in huge letters was the name Maidenhall. They were treasure chests on wheels. Had Maidenhall hired a trumpeter to announce that he was moving valuable goods across the country he could not have been more blatant.

As for the other two wagons, they were newly painted in red and gold, with cherubs on the side, painted draperies across the tops and sides. In the Holy Lands Jamie had seen wagons containing the sultan's wives that were less gaudily painted. Nothing could more obviously announce the transport of the Maidenhall heiress and her dowry as these wagons did.

"We will attract every thief in the kingdom," Thomas said.

"And every lovesick swain trying to win her hand," Rhys responded, then saw Jamie glance at him. He cleared his throat. "Except you, of course. I did not mean-"

"Someday, Rhys, you are going to trip on that tongue of yours," Jamie said as he kicked his horse forward.

For a moment Thomas held Rhys back. "He is in a venomous mood today. Best for both of us to keep our own counsel," Thomas said, then followed his master down the hill.

"Probably an attack of conscience," Rhys muttered. "Conscience is his weakest point." Then he too went down the hill.

Jamie was indeed having trouble controlling his temper. He knew Maidenhall was only a merchant, a great one perhaps, but a merchant only. He could not be expected to know about soldiering and strategy, but to send his only child across England accompanied by wagons that looked to be full of gold was too dangerous to contemplate.

The day was just coming dawn, and in the gray light, he could see men, obviously drivers, just waking. Where were the guards? Surely even Maidenhall did not expect a mere three men to guard so many wagons?

It did not take long before he saw them: three huge men coming out of the shadows of the wagons, yawning and stretching, and right away Jamie did not like them. It looked as though Maidenhall had made a common error: he thought size equaled strength. But Jamie knew you did not hire men the way you bought beef-by weight. These three men were as tall as he was but weighed half again as much, and Jamie could tell from the way they moved that they'd had no training.

I will not do this, he thought, but as he thought it, he knew he was lying to himself. Had not the Maidenhall letter-he had not met the man-said he'd hired Jamie because he was someone to be trusted? Was it not enough that Jamie was thinking of betraying the man's trust by trying to win his daughter in marriage? But now to leave her and her wagons of gold in the hands of another was more than his conscience could bear.

"James Montgomery," he said, introducing himself as he dismounted. As he a.s.sumed they would, the three men gave him insolent looks. Jamie could have groaned, for those looks confirmed his knowledge that he'd have to show these men that he was to be obeyed. "There are only three of you?"

"Never had any complaints before," one of the men said, puffing out his chest. "In fact, usually one's enough." He looked to the other men, and they smiled smugly in return.

Fat, Jamie thought. Fat bodies, fat brains.

"You forgot one," one of the men said, repressing a derisive laugh. "There's four of us." At that the men fell into great guffaws of laughter, nearly crying at their own witticisms. One managed to recover himself enough to point. "Him. He's the fourth."

Standing to one side was a tall, thin, plain-faced boy. At his side was a sword that looked as though it had been brought to England by the Romans. He gave Jamie a tentative smile.

At that Jamie threw up his hands and walked toward a tree where Rhys and Thomas were standing and observing.

Thomas raised his brows in question.

"We will camouflage the wagons as best we can," Jamie said. "To protect them as it is, I'll need a hundred soldiers, not just that fat lot. I will get rid of them as soon as I can. As for now, I'll have to put up with them."

"And the boy?" Thomas asked.

"Send him back to his mother. Now, go, talk to the drivers. And, Rhys, do not get into a fight with those braggarts. I do not need your temper today."

Rhys gave Jamie a hard look, but he nodded. Truthfully, he'd taken an instant dislike to those three, and he'd like to slice a bit off each of them.

"Merchants!" Jamie muttered as he strode back to the wagon.

The gate in the wall was still bolted, and Jamie now rang the bell for entry. But no one came. He rang again, but still nothing.

Much to his disgust, he found the three men standing behind him, doing their best to loom over him. He knew their posture, what their bodies were saying: they meant to establish their superiority from the beginning.

"We must warn you," one of the men said in a smug way, "of 'it.' "

Jamie did not have time for games. "Open the gate," he bellowed. How could he protect a lone female if she were surrounded by wagons full of gold? What if something happened to Axia-no, he corrected himself-to Frances, the heiress? He was so busy with his own thoughts he hardly heard the men behind him.

"Have you seen it?" a man said, too near Jamie's ear, as though they were confidants. "I cannot call it a man. It is stunted, with a raw face. A freak."

Jamie did not turn around. He daren't. Sometimes people called Berengaria a freak.

"If it comes out, I'll have a hard time keeping my breakfast down." The other men laughed at this.

"It can't travel with us. I'll be sick to look at it every day."

One man laughed aloud. "We should throw it to the dogs along with the rest of the beggars and blind men."

One minute Jamie was pounding on the door and the next he'd knocked one man to the ground, his foot on his throat, while his sword was at the second man's throat. Out of nowhere Rhys and Thomas appeared, Thomas with a dagger at the neck of the third man, Rhys taking charge of the one under Jamie's foot.

"Out of here," Jamie said through his teeth. "All of you leave before I drain your blood just for the pleasure of it" He could see that the men wanted to retaliate, and he knew he'd have to watch his back for a while, but they soon scurried away, mumbling curses under their breaths.

"And now how do we guard the wagons?" Thomas asked in disgust as he resheathed his sword. He'd heard what the men said, and when the word blind was mentioned, he'd known what was going to happen.

"And what about the boy?" Rhys asked, as annoyed with Jamie as Thomas was. "We don't need children along when we have women to protect."

Suddenly, Rhys was flat on his back. One minute standing, the next sprawling. Over him stood the boy, his corroded, pitted old sword at Rhys's throat, "Shall I slay him, my lord?" the boy asked.

Although Rhys could see no humor in the situation, both Jamie and Thomas did, as well as the wagon drivers who'd eagerly watched all of it. When Rhys moved in a way that let Jamie know he was going to teach the boy a lesson or two, Jamie prevented him with a wave of his hand. "What is your name?"

"Smith, sir."

"Have you done any fighting?" Jamie knew of course that he hadn't, but his test was of the boy's honesty.

For a moment the boy looked as though he were planning an elaborate story, but then he grinned, his face as plain and as wholesome as the daisies inside the cloak Jamie had in the wagon. "Never done anything except help my father farm, sir."

Thomas and Jamie smiled at that, and Rhys almost did. He was never one to hold a grudge, and the boy had courage. "You are hired," Jamie said. After directing the boy to fetch the cloak from the wagon, he turned to the gate bell again.

But before he touched the bell, the gate swung open, and standing there was the "it" he'd heard of. He was a young man, with a tall, strong upper body but made short by crippled legs. Down his face were long, deep scars, all on the left side, running down his neck and into his shirt. The scars had healed at odd angles, and so they pulled his face into a grotesque caricature of a human face. And, obviously, when the cuts were new, something had been put into them so they were forever red and raw looking. It was Jamie's guess that this man had not been born with these physical deformities.