Lilliane laughed at that. "Am I enticing you, then? I thought I was merely gazing at my husband. Would you prefer that I did not?"

"What I would prefer ..." His thumb ran tenderly down the slope of her cheek then lightly caressed her lower lip. It was only with great effort that he forced his hand away from her. "What I would prefer," he whispered huskily, "is to know what thoughts ... what emotions you hide behind those innocent amber eyes."

For a moment she considered his words, pondering also just what those emotions were. Then in a sudden moment of clarity she knew.

She loved him.

It was not just respect. Nor desire. It was far more intense than either of those emotions, and the very knowledge left her awestruck. At some point in their difficult, turbulent marriage she had fallen deeply and completely in love with her husband.

It was something she'd never expected, and the truth of it was almost too incredible to believe. She loved him.

But how was she to reveal such emotions to a man whose own feelings were an enigma to her? For a moment longer she stared into his smoky gray eyes before she lowered her gaze in confusion. She was far too transparent with her feelings while he hid everything too well.

"I am happy," she admitted a little breathlessly. Then she bravely looked back up at him. "Aren't you?"

"Yes."

One short sweet word and yet it meant more to Lilliane than even she could have expected. He was happy with her. She had thought as much, but his easy admission was welcome confirmation. She could not speak for the giddy emotions that filled her. But her tremulous smile and glistening eyes revealed her inner feelings.

Clearly pleased, Corbett bent near and whispered softly, "How tempting you look, my Lily. It takes all my willpower to avoid whisking you up those stairs right this moment to a more private place."

"You have my permission," she murmured without thinking. They were bold words, she knew. And yet when she saw the hot glow that leapt in Corbett's eyes, she would not take them back.

Corbett groaned low in his throat, then took a deep breath. "I've one more matter to attend, then nothing shall keep me from taking you in my arms and doing just that."

"Corbett!" She gasped, convinced by his l.u.s.ty expression that he truly would not hesitate to be so bold, even in front of this company. "You must not think to really do such a thing!"

"Ah, but you have tempted me beyond any man's endurance."

"Oh!" Lilliane was caught between delicious antic.i.p.ation and a very real fear that he might truly do as he said. "You would not humiliate me so," she said, taking a cautionary step backward.

"Humiliate you? I would hardly call it that. Why, every man here envies me my beautiful wife. And there's not a woman at court who wouldn't turn green with envy to be so desired by her own husband."

At this Lilliane had to laugh. Her eyes were dancing as she faced her husband's wicked tormenting. Two could play at this game, however.

"I shall leave here this very minute, then. While you continue your boring discourse with the archbishop or the earl of Gloucester, or whoever else you must see, I shall be across the green, upstairs in our chamber."

Corbett took a step toward her, but she stepped backward as he came, and all the while she taunted him. "While you speak of sheep and wool, I shall be letting my hair down, brushing it loose over my shoulders." Her voice grew more husky. "And while you discuss ships and soldiers, I shall be unlacing my gown and stepping out of it."

Her eyes sparkled with delight for Corbett's face was a study in frustration as he stalked her step by step across the crowded hall. "And while you worry over the king's poor health, I shall slip into our bed. If you stay away too long, though, I shall fall asleep."

"The king's poor health?" Corbett drew up in surprise. "What do you know of such things?"

She did not hear his words, however, for she had inadvertently backed into a stout older gentleman. Nor did she see the suspicious expression her final words had brought to Corbett's face, because she was making her apologies to the other man. When she finally did smile back at her husband before escaping up the stairs she only saw him watching her, his face frowning, his eyes dark. She was not aware that his gaze remained fixed and staring long after she'd disappeared from his view.

It was almost midday before they departed the tower. Lilliane had awakened quite late to find Corbett already gone to prepare for their departure. She had no time for disappointment, however, for the maid was immediately at her side, urging her to rise and prepare herself for the day. She did not even see Corbett until she had descended to the Tower Green where the horses had been brought around. Then the very sight of his tall, muscular form brought vivid memories of the previous night rushing back.

He had not come to her until late, much to her frustration. But for all that he'd made her wait, he had been most conscientious in his attentions to her.

There had been no playfulness in his lovemaking despite the teasing that had preceded it. He had, in contrast, been strangely serious, seemingly bent on bringing her every pleasure almost to the neglect of his own enjoyment. It had been intense and silent, and they had both been drained when their mutual culmination had come. It was as if Corbett had been trying somehow to absorb her, mind, body, and soul. Afterward he had held her close against him all through the night.

Now, surrounded by his men and the various servants who loaded the animals, he displayed no signs of affection-or intimacy-toward her. But Lilliane was beginning to read him a little better, and she knew his gaze, though brief, was not wanting in attention toward her. She waited patiently beside her dappled palfrey as he saw to the last details of their departure. It was only then he approached her with a tonsured friar in tow.

"Brother Claverie will give us a blessing for our journey," Corbett announced. He gave her no greeting, but his eyes seemed to drink her in so avidly that she had to fight down a blush. She was relieved to bow her head dutifully as the stout friar gave his longwinded words of safe journey. They prayed for fair weather, good roads, safety from attack, and as always, the king's good health.

As the friar waddled away from them, however, Corbett murmured quietly. "Yes, we should all pray devoutly for the king's good health."

"Is he truly so very ill, then?"

"Why do you think he's ill?" Corbett replied as he led her to her horse. "Who put such an idea in your head?"

For a moment Lilliane faltered. She'd heard it from William, of course. But he'd not been present in the council chambers last night, and it seemed pointless, now that they were leaving London, to bring his name up. "I'm ... I'm not really sure who mentioned it to me. Perhaps I overheard some conversation ..." She waved her hand airily. "With everyone I've met here it's a wonder I can recall their names, let alone who revealed what particular bit of gossip."

"Yes, it is quite easy to forget who says what ... and whose word may be trusted in this place," Corbett agreed.

There was an odd note in his voice, and for a moment Lilliane feared he might not believe her. To her anxious eyes, however, he seemed to accept her explanation well enough. She was extremely relieved when he saw her properly seated, then mounted his own steed. She was only too happy to be leaving London, and she hoped her presence there would not be required for quite some time.

The day proved fair enough albeit chilly with a brisk breeze blowing. The land lay still and fallow, the crops long reaped, the new planting months away. Shepherds husbanding their sheep roamed the wide meadows as their woolly charges searched for diminishing forage. Woodcutters with their oxcarts worked deep in the woods, taking full advantage of the lenient weather before the next winter storm struck. Their children, gathering twigs and branches for kindling, ran excitedly toward the road when they saw the caravan of knights pa.s.s by. Their shyness made them hang back behind the trunks and bushes until they saw Lilliane's smile and friendly wave. Then they scampered forward like kittens, tumbling and running and elbowing one another aside for a better view of the fine lady and fierce knights.

Corbett was quiet during the ride, seemingly sunk in his thoughts. Lilliane was still feeling guilty about her small lie to him, and she was almost relieved not to have to face him any further.

They stopped in a meadow just beyond St. Albans for a light repast then continued on, planning to make Woburn by nightfall. As the afternoon wore on, clouds began to gather in the west. Although rain did not threaten, the wind grew more biting and dusk seemed to descend more quickly than usual.

They were traveling a narrow section of road that wandered through the forests. Lilliane recalled that there was an ancient stone bridge over a stream just beyond the curve in the road. Then not too much farther to the abbey at Woburn. Her mind was dwelling on the warm meal and soft bed waiting for her when she was startled by shouting and a loud commotion behind her.

It happened so quickly she hardly realized it. She heard Corbett's bellow "To arms! To arms!" Then the reins were suddenly s.n.a.t.c.hed from her hands and she was surrounded by knights. A brawny hand forced her to bend low over the frightened palfrey's neck, and in the crush of horses and knees and raised shields she could see nothing at all.

"Stay low, milady! Keep down!" someone ordered. But Lilliane was too terrified to obey. She was safe enough, she sensed, surrounded by guards as she was. But Corbett was not among them. His voice, clear and loud, could be heard shouting curt instructions. Then even that was drowned out in the ringing clang of metal on metal-blade upon blade, mace upon shield. In vain she struggled to see him, to make sure he was safe. But all she could see was a melee of men on horseback. Dust obscured them beyond recognition so that any one of them might have been either friend of foe.

Then she saw him, tall and awe-inspiring as he fought in the thick of the battle. In one hand he swung his long steel blade with wicked accuracy, while the other wielded his shield almost as effectively as a weapon. One armored horseman came upon him broadside, but before the man could strike, Corbett's huge war-horse put a mighty shoulder into the other steed's chest. With one deadly swipe Corbett severed the unbalanced man's arm at the shoulder and the screaming fellow fell beneath the destrier's hooves.

At once there was another foul attack on Corbett's back. But like a devil who sees behind as well as forward, Corbett hunched suddenly to the left, then cut back with his sword. There was a sudden cry of agony, but it was quickly lost in the curses and grunts and other cries of pain.

Lilliane was too stunned to be truly frightened. It was happening almost too quickly to be real, and she stared at the awful scene before her more with amazement than any other emotion. Her eyes could not break away from her husband as he made short shrift of his would-be a.s.sa.s.sins. Like a machine trained only for war, he cut down his opponents while his men rallied around him.

It was only when three of the enemy knights galloped off, followed by four riderless horses, that Lilliane was able to take a breath. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her nails had cut her palms, so tightly had she clenched her hands.

But that did not matter, for Corbett had survived!

"Corbett!" she cried, her voice only a dry, cracked whisper.

Yet he turned to look at her as if somehow he'd heard. His expression was frightening in its fierceness. The light of battle had not yet died in his eyes, and she shivered at the dark emotions she saw there. If she'd ever wondered why he was called the king's Bird of Prey, she now knew the answer. He was a fierce and deadly warrior, a man never to be taken lightly.

And yet his loyalty was something to treasure.

She would have gone to him then, but at a quick gesture from him she felt her mount being turned. Then, as one man, the guard that hemmed her in so tightly made off toward Woburn Abbey.

17.

CORBETT DREW OFF HIS heavy traveling birrus and flung it on the floor.

Sir Dunn watched his lord's restless pacing, but he wisely held his words. Instead, he poured two large tankards of ale and silently handed one to Corbett.

Corbett wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, took the tankard, and drained it in one long pull. It was only then that he turned his troubled gaze on his friend. "Things are beginning to move quickly now."

"Then you have the proof the king requires?"

"I will soon. I've invited all the actors in this farce to celebrate Christ's Ma.s.s at Orrick. We will flush them out once and for all-"

"'Twould be easier by far if they were simply to meet with an 'accident,'" Dunn said with a grunt. "Then there would be no traitors left to worry about."

"That might have been King Henry's way," Corbett retorted. "But Edward would rather they answer to the law of the kingdom. His revenge, when it comes, will nonetheless be hard, but it will also be within the limits of the law."

"Then it seems we will be forced to stomach this 'festive' gathering and ferret out the rat."

"They're getting worried." Corbett began to pace the low-ceilinged hall where his knights were housed. "We were attacked just hours out of London."

"What! By all that is holy! Who was it?"

Corbett shrugged. "A band of knights errant. They had been hired by an intermediary, so far as we can tell from the dying words of one of them. We could not prove who actually planned the attack."

"But you have your suspicions," Dunn prompted.

At this Corbett grew quiet, and once again he rubbed the ridged scar on his brow. "Aye, I have my suspicions. The web is tightening. The same ones who would see Edward dead have no use for me either. There is much gossip and speculation in London about the king's lengthy delay in Normandy. But we kept the fact that he was poisoned out of common knowledge. Only his most trusted advisors knew of it at all."

"He yet lives?" Dunn asked anxiously.

"Eleanor is with him and he grows stronger daily. But there is a leak somewhere." Corbett paused then and turned a cynical gaze on Dunn. "I heard from my own wife about the king's illness."

"From your wife!" Dunn's thick blond brows lowered in confusion. "How did such vital information slip into the women's gossip?"

"I hardly think she heard such secret news from the women." Corbett paused once more and stared unseeingly at the pitted stone wall. "The king's physician, Richard of Gorham, is cousin to Sir William of Dearne. Richard is suspect in the attempt on Edward's life, although he is unaware of it. And I've determined already that he corresponds frequently with his cousin."

"William is no longer at Orrick," Dunn put in, his brow creased now with worry. "He left not three days after you did."

"And he turned up in London. Only he kept well out of my way. I learned, however, that he sought out Lilliane."

"Then it was from him that she learned of the poisoning!"

Corbett moved restlessly across the room. He fingered a heavy wool window hanging before finally turning back to his friend. "She made no mention of poison."

"That would very nearly be a confession of guilt." Dunn snorted. "She must be exceedingly stupid even to let on she knew anything of Edward's doings. But then few women have the sense to curb their prattling tongues. William is a fool to reveal such a thing to her."

He stopped abruptly as another thought occurred to him. "Or maybe it is more than that. Perhaps she is a part of the plot. After all, Orrick stands squarely in the midst of these dissenting northern shires."

"I have no reason to suspect her of treason."

"If not treason, then perhaps-" Dunn stopped at the angry glare Corbett sent him. "You cannot afford any foolish loyalties. You already know that William is involved. And perhaps even your brother."

"Aye, William is involved. And he is a fool, which is our good fortune. It only remains for us to prove his guilt and that of his accomplices."

"And if those accomplices include your brother? Or your wife?" Dunn persisted.

Corbett did not answer at once. When he finally spoke his voice was grim. "Then they may expect no pity from me."

Lilliane lowered herself onto a narrow hide-covered bench and rubbed the aching small of her back. She was exhausted. She hurt all over from sitting in that wretched sidesaddle, and she wasn't sure which she wanted more: a bath or her bed.

"You smell of horses and you're caked with mud." Magda fussed as she removed Lilliane's travel-stained cloak then began unlacing her coa.r.s.e woolen tunic.

"And you smell of fresh bread and ... and baby." Lilliane smiled despite her utter weariness. "How is little Elyse? I should like to see her at once-"

"She is in her bed asleep, as you will be very soon also. Once you are bathed and fed you will go straight to bed."

Lilliane sighed, as much in contentment as anything else. How good it was to be home. Magda and Ferga had kept the household in good order, and even Thomas had been on hand to give her his familiar smile. Orrick would always be home to her, she decided. Let other, grander ladies than her have London. She would be content to stay a simple country mouse.

The trip from London had been far more arduous than their initial journey. Corbett had driven them at a furious pace. He spared neither men nor beasts in his determination to see them safely on the lands of Orrick. Lilliane's face lowered in a thoughtful frown. Corbett had been quite distant throughout the journey, hardly spending any time with her at all. She understood, of course, that he had been most concerned with their safety. Even now she shivered to think how viciously he had fought off those foolhardy knights who had attacked them. But now they were home and everything would be all right.

Of course there was still the dreaded Christ's Ma.s.s festivities to get through. Why Corbett wished to entertain people he did not even like, and so soon after her father's death, was still a mystery to her. But he'd been in a difficult mood during their journey and she'd not dared to question him.

At Magda's prodding she lifted her arms so that her tunic would slip over her head.

"We've a considerable task ahead of us." Her m.u.f.fled words came from beneath the smothering gown.

"Whatever it is, 'tis naught that can't wait on another day," Magda retorted as she pushed Lilliane toward the steaming tub set before a hearty blaze.

"So you say now," Lilliane answered as she let the woman remove the remainder of her clothes. "But it will take every pair of hands at Orrick to see my lord husband's will done."

"You can cajole him with just a smile."

Lilliane grinned and sank gratefully into the warm water. "I hope that is true," she admitted. "But it is the festivities of Christ's Ma.s.s I speak of. He has invited near a hundred guests! Think what that means, Magda. We must entertain them on the feast of St. Thomas, prepare gifts and a huge banquet for Christ's Ma.s.s, then toast them anew on the feast of St. John. If the weather precludes travel they'll linger for the feast of the Holy Innocents-or perhaps we may encourage them to fast that day. And of course there are those who will stay through Twelfth Night." She pursed her lips, already feeling daunted by the enormity of the task that confronted her. "We shall be fortunate if they leave before Candlemas!"

But for all Lilliane's fear of entertaining on such a grand scale, there was nonetheless a secret satisfaction in her heart. Corbett trusted her to see the castle ready and every detail of the weeks-long celebrations attended to. When at last she settled into her high bed, she had already composed a list of meals and accommodations, and decided on the forms of entertainment she must arrange.

She was determined to stay awake until Corbett joined her, but she had no sooner lain down than an overwhelming sleepiness took her. Though she fought to stay alert, her waking thoughts seemed to jumble with very odd dreams. Wait up for Corbett, she told herself. Yet the last image she recalled was of a huge black bird circling a snow-covered field where a single white flower dared lift its delicate head.

Sir Dunn watched her more closely than ever, although he tried mightily to be nonchalant about it. But Lilliane ever felt his eyes upon her. She would have complained to Corbett, but his mood was strangely tense. Sometimes she felt he also was trying to see quite through her as if what he saw on the surface was still not enough.

In every other matter things seemed well enough. The servants had been conscientious about their tasks during their lord and lady's absence, and even frail little Elyse-seemed to be thriving.

And yet Lilliane knew something was amiss.