"The ring he gave you as a pledge of his troth."

Nicolaa caught sharply at her breath. "Onfroi? "Onfroi? That miserable circlet of gold he gave me-?" That miserable circlet of gold he gave me-?"

"The ring ring, Nicolaa," Wardieu interrupted ominously. "The one worn by the rightful heir of the Wardieu estates."

"Lucien," she gasped. "Are you mad? What are you talking about?"

Wardieu held his rage in check with an effort, but even as he had voiced the accusation, he had known he was grasping at the wind. Such subtleties were not in keeping with Nicolaa's methods. If she had kept something as damaging as the ring all these years, she would have produced it and used it long before now to bend him to her will.

"I am talking about this," he said quietly and uncurled the fingers of his fist.

Wary of the threat of violence in his every look and gesture, Nicolaa slowly tore her gaze from his and focused on the ring that lay cradled in his broad palm. The gold sparkled dully and the ruby eye winked in the moonlight, but at first glance, she could see nothing unusual in the design. Dragons, serpents, lions, and other menacing grotesques were commonly worked into rings, crests, and armourial bearings. The craftsmanship in this particular ring was exceptionally good; the beast appeared to be on the verge of a strike, with the scaled jaws gaping and the forked tongue poised to spit flame.

Nicolaa's heart missed a beat.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed the ring out of Wardieu's hand and held it up so that the light from the campfires would augment the glow from the moon and stars.

"G.o.d spare me," she whispered.

"G.o.d spare us both if you had no hand in this," he said tautly.

"Me?" She looked up, shocked. "You think I ... !" She looked up, shocked. "You think I ... !"

"If not you, Nicolaa, then who else?"

Her eyes grew rounder, wilder. "No! No, it could not be! There must be some mistake!"

"Look at the ring, Nicolaa. There is no mistake."

"A duplicate! It must be a duplicate!"

"Look at the ring, Nicolaa. There is no mistake."

She did not have to obey the command in the ice-blue eyes to know there would be a jagged point of gold marking where the tip of one of the dragon's ears had been broken off.

"But"-she gripped his arm and her voice became shrill with panic-"it cannot be. How can you believe he survived? Mon Mon Dieu-all these years. He has been dead ... forgotten! All these years!" Dieu-all these years. He has been dead ... forgotten! All these years!"

Wardieu's fingers pinched her arm cruelly as he led her farther away from the curious eyes and ears of the camp. "Lower your voice, d.a.m.n you. We have enough problems as it is without drawing a host of others down upon our heads."

She halted, dragging back on his arm. "A jest," she cried. "As you suggested, it must be someone's foul, bloodless idea of a jest!"

"Who else knows enough of the truth to make such a jest?" Wardieu took the ring out of her hand and thrust it up beneath her nose. "Bayard was the only other one-apart from Lackland-who knew more than he should ... and Bayard is dead! Killed by someone he recognized; someone who, according to De Chesnai, caused Northumbria to act as if he had seen a ghost!" caused Northumbria to act as if he had seen a ghost!"

Nicolaa's heart suffered another choking setback. "But you brought him down yourself! You said you saw him die!" You said you saw him die!"

"I said there was no man on earth who could survive such wounds. I did not not say I stood there and watched him die. He was my say I stood there and watched him die. He was my brother! brother! I struck him down, I left him broken and bleeding on that h.e.l.l of a desert. I could not stand over him and wait for him to die!" I struck him down, I left him broken and bleeding on that h.e.l.l of a desert. I could not stand over him and wait for him to die!"

"And for your compa.s.sion," she spat, "he has now come back to take his revenge. G.o.d's blood, he must be insane with hatred. But why has he waited so long? Why has he not come forward before now? And why this elaborate ruse as the Black Wolf of Lincoln?"

Wardieu's fist closed around the ring again. "He wants me to know he is there, waiting. Watching. He wants me to jump at every shadow, sweat over every morsel of food, challenge every new face I see. The Black Wolf: how appropriate. I should have guessed it right away. The wolf hunting the dragon hunting the wolf."

"What will you do?" she asked, hugging her arms through a sudden chill.

"Do, Nicolaa? Why, I will do what I must do, of course. Come morning, I will dispatch a party back to the keep to collect the ransom."

"You intend to pay his outrageous demands?"

"I cannot see where I have any other choice," he mused, smiling tightly. "If I refuse to pay the ransom, he will take the greatest delight in sending the pieces of De Briscourt's widow to me in a series of tiny b.l.o.o.d.y sacks. When he does, whether it is the widow he slices or not, the news will travel the length and breadth of England like wildfire. Lackland will hear of it and panic. He will think at once that his own stupid schemes are at risk, and there will be bodies thrown from the parapet walls before he can be calmed enough to see reason."

"Calmed? Lackland? I was told he frothed for a week when he found out you were planning the wedding so soon. He should turn into a ravening madman when he hears about this. Can you not find this ... this Black Wolf"- she hissed, unable to admit the spectre had another name- "and kill him before the threat goes any farther?"

"Find him? In these woods?" Wardieu scanned the dense fringe of tall pines and sweeping oaks that blackened the horizon. "You forget, he knows every footpath and deer track in this forest as if he were indeed a wolf and this his natural domain. My men could search for months and never come within bowshot. It was a game with him, almost since he was old enough to drag the weight of a sword behind him, to hide in the forest and defy Father's best gamekeepers and woodsmen to find him. Few ever did."

"A pity you did not indulge in his games," Nicolaa said dryly. "Then you might have known one or two of his favourite lairs and spoiled whatever his gambit might be."

"There is more than one way to trap a wolf," Wardieu said evenly. "And more than one kind of bait to use against a man's emotions."

The second chill that trickled down Nicolaa's spine caused her to turn slowly and follow the direction of Wardieu's stony gaze. Silhouetted against the leaping orange flame of the main campfire were De Gournay's two squires, their heads bent forward as they dexterously cleaned and polished weapons that were already burnished to a mirror brightness. Rolf, the eldest by three years, had been fostered into Wardieu's care at the behest of a neighbouring baron who hoped his son could learn his skills at the feet of a master. Eduard, taller than his thirteen years would suggest and quicker to accept the increased responsibilities of his promotion from page to squire a year earlier, had also been a part of Wardieu's household since the tender age of six. Both young men were trustworthy, courageous, and loyal. Both burned for the opportunity to earn their own spurs of gold through deed or battle, and until then, to serve their powerful and mighty liege lord in whatever capacity demanded of them.

Nicolaa had never paid one more heed than the other, treating both with the same indifference she allotted any menial who sat below the salt. Only in moments of great weakness-or drunkenness-did she allow herself to remember the pain of giving birth, of pushing the screaming infant away from her breast, of banishing it into the north country so that no one should know or suspect its origins.

"Eduard has grown into a fine young man," Wardieu murmured in her ear. "A son any man would be proud of. A year or two more and he will no longer be content just to split Rolf out of a saddle, but will be turning his eye to me."

"When he was born," she said bitterly, "I wanted to take him out-of-doors and dash his brains out on the nearest rock."

"Ah, compa.s.sion," he retorted blithely, echoing her scorn of only moments ago. "It comes back to haunt us all, at one time or another. It will be interesting to see whose back Eduard will protect when he discovers the truth."

"He need never know the truth. He believes he is yours, b.a.s.t.a.r.d-born, as does every other pair of eyes in the shire. There is no living soul who could gainsay him differently. Not even I could swear by my blood or yours whose seed it was took root and swelled within me."

"Could you not? Can Can you not, Nicolaa? Look closer at the living flesh and tell me with all honesty-if you can-that you know not for certain where you have seen those eyes before, or warmed to that smile. Watch his hands, Nicolaa. Your servants did well in breaking him of the habit to favour the left, and I am sure he does not even remember a time when he did not grip a sword or a lance by the right. But the small things betray him. In the end, the small things betray us all." you not, Nicolaa? Look closer at the living flesh and tell me with all honesty-if you can-that you know not for certain where you have seen those eyes before, or warmed to that smile. Watch his hands, Nicolaa. Your servants did well in breaking him of the habit to favour the left, and I am sure he does not even remember a time when he did not grip a sword or a lance by the right. But the small things betray him. In the end, the small things betray us all."

Nicolaa was watching Eduard, but in her mind's eye, she saw only him. him. She saw him as clearly as if he stood before her now, his gray eyes almost colourless with resentment and disbelief. It was true, she had gone to him to beg forgiveness for her earthly sins and rampant appet.i.te, but he could see nothing through those n.o.ble eyes but betrayal and impurity. In disgust she had torn the ring from her thumb and hurled it at him, and he had simply turned away and walked out of her life without so much as a glance back. She saw him as clearly as if he stood before her now, his gray eyes almost colourless with resentment and disbelief. It was true, she had gone to him to beg forgiveness for her earthly sins and rampant appet.i.te, but he could see nothing through those n.o.ble eyes but betrayal and impurity. In disgust she had torn the ring from her thumb and hurled it at him, and he had simply turned away and walked out of her life without so much as a glance back.

"Does it not rankle to see him every day?" Nicolaa asked, flinching from the robust sound of Eduard's laughter as it drifted past her on the cool night air. "How could you even take him in if you suspected he was sprung from your brother's seed?"

"The suspicion did not trouble me as much as it troubled you to know I had found him, despite all of your cunning attempts to keep him hidden."

"I sought only to spare you pain," she insisted darkly.

"What is pain if not too-perfect pleasure?"

"Was it your pleasure, then, to keep him by your side, flaunting him before my eyes at every turn?"

"It was my pleasure ... and my wisdom ... that bade me keep a small hold over you, my love."

"He means nothing to me-nor to you if your treatment of him is any judge."

"Nothing dead," Wardieu agreed. "Alive, he serves as a reminder."

"Reminder of what? what? That your brother was in my bed first?" That your brother was in my bed first?"

Wardieu laughed suddenly. "Why do you think I pursued you at all, if not because my brother was there first? The fact you betrayed him so eagerly and so ... wholeheartedly, even knowing you carried his seed, well, it serves to remind me that things oft repeat themselves in life."

"I would never betray you!" she insisted. "I ..."

Nicolaa caught herself, a breath away from an admission. She could see the incandescent heat was gone from his eyes, replaced once again by the almost insufferable indifference that would have turned any kind of an admission into another weapon he would think nothing of using against her. And, even as she fought to regain her composure, another insufferable intrusion appeared on the crest of the knoll, running toward them with the beetling self-importance of a noisome gnat.

"Good my lord!" Onfroi de la Haye hailed them, an arm raised and flailing the air for attention. "A message from Sir Aubrey de Vere ..."

Wardieu's annoyed gaze flicked to the sheriff ... then flicked again as he caught a brief glint of light where no light should have been. It took his superb reflexes only a split second to identify the metallic flash of an arrowhead streaking out of the woods, and he was able to shove Nicolaa out of its path as it hissed toward them, flying straight and true to the point where Nicolaa's heart would have been.

Wardieu spun around, his sword already halfway out of his scabbard, his eyes searching the blackness for an enemy he could not see.

Behind him, Onfroi de la Haye felt something hot and sharp punch through the quilted velvet of his surcoat. Meeting with very little fleshy resistance, the arrow had enough force behind it to pierce through muscle, gizzard, and tissue, and to exit out the other side a full six inches before the stiff feather fletching snagged on cloth and torn sinew. Onfroi stared down at the protruding feathers and screamed. He gaped uncomprehendingly at his wife, at Lord Lucien, at the shaft of the arrow that had found him by sheer mischance, and he opened his mouth again, screaming until Nicolaa's bunched fists struck him to the ground.

Less than fifty paces away, concealed by heavy shadow, Gil Golden cursed and swiftly drew another arrow out of his quiver. He nocked it and realigned his quarry, but before he could shoot, he was trammeled to one side by a pair of booted feet. The bow and arrow were startled out of his grip as a solid weight crushed into his shoulders. An instinctive grab for the hilt of his sword was cut short by the familiarity of a high-pitched voice cursing at him from the clump of thicket.

"What do you think you are doing, Addle-Brain!" Sparrow shrieked in a strident whisper. "Christ's blood, are you mad? Has the whole world gone mad this night!"

Gil's fury gave him no chance to vent an intelligible answer. Beyond the fringe of trees, Onfroi de la Haye's screams were causing a minor eruption of chaos in the Wardieu encampment. Torches were blazing to life. A flurry of shouted orders was bringing a small army of armoured feet running down the slope toward the hem of trees. In seconds, the woods would be swarming with knights and men-at-arms.

Sparrow extricated himself from the thickets and gave Gil a resounding thump in the ribs even as the taller outlaw was bending over to search for his fallen bow.

"Move, you ape! Run to deeper cover before they fetch the hounds and loose them on us!"

"I almost had her!" Gil spat, crashing through the tangle of saplings and gorse behind the fleeing Sparrow. "I would have had her too, by Christ, if you had not swooped down on me like the wrath of h.e.l.l! Where did you come from? What the devil are you doing so far from camp?"

"What am I doing so far from camp? What are you you doing so far from camp! And what do you mean you almost had her ... had who?" doing so far from camp! And what do you mean you almost had her ... had who?"

"Nicolaa de la Haye," Gil snarled. "The sheriff's G.o.dless wife."

"Nicolaa de la Haye!" Sparrow exclaimed, tumbling to an abrupt halt. "But I thought-"

"You thought I was aiming elswhere? You thought I would set out on this miserably dank night to risk the ire of the Black Wolf by piercing the one breast in all Christendom he chooses to reserve for himself? You think me that much of a fool?"

"Would that I thought so highly of you, you hulking bandys.n.a.t.c.h!" Sparrow retorted. One ear was tuned to the camp and he heard the sudden howl of dogs, a sound that raised a cool p.r.i.c.kle of sweat across his brow. He hated dogs. Loathed the mangy, fang-toothed demons as much as he had the capacity to loathe any of G.o.d's creations. An early attraction in one of the fairs he had been sold into had been the pitting of a manacled dwarf against a salivating, red-eyed demon hound from Hades. Both his body and his mind were scarred from those horrific bouts, and he could barely tolerate the gentle, tamed beasts that had attached themselves to the Wolf's camp.

"Do you realize the trouble you have caused me?" he demanded, running again. "Do you have half a head's worth of notion how many different treasons I have condemned you of over the past few hours? Skewering the Dragon would have at least made the trip worthwhile, but you, you poxy snipe, you tell me now you had not even that much ambition! You tell me all you wanted was the skewered bosom of the Lincoln Bawd!"

"I almost had her too, d.a.m.n my luck. A beat sooner ... a blink blink sooner and she would have been as neatly spitted as a suckling pig." sooner and she would have been as neatly spitted as a suckling pig."

"A more deserving fate I could not envision for you, Gil of the Golden Eyes!"

"I did not ask you to follow me," Gil countered. "Nor will I thank you for interfering, if that is what you expect."

"Save your grat.i.tude and your sweat for the hounds," Sparrow snorted. "Perhaps your luck will fare better and they will tear you apart before the Dragon's men have a chance to mould a copper mask to your face. And And before milord hears of this folly and pins your ears to your heels!" before milord hears of this folly and pins your ears to your heels!"

"He will only hear of it if you tell him."

"Aha! Now the knave begs favours!"

They weaved and bobbed from one shadowy stand of trees to another, moving as swiftly as they dared in the darkness. The sound of their braying pursuers had veered to the west of them, but both knew it would not take long for the pointed noses to relocate their scent.

Gil, seeing how hard Sparrow was churning his legs to keep apace with his own longer, lither ones, felt as vulnerable as a newborn babe without the comforting weight of his longbow slung over his shoulder. Halting again, he grabbed Sparrow around the waist and, without delaying to ask, hoisted the squawking bundle onto a nearby branch.

"Up into the treetops you go," he commanded. "You can move twice as fast through the branches, especially if you do not have me to hold you back."

"What will you do?" Sparrow gasped.

"My legs are long enough to cover the same ground, only in a more earthbound fashion. Do not worry about me."

"But the dogs-"

Gil wiped a hand across his brow and glanced back over his shoulder. "There is a wide stream up ahead. I will cut it down the middle until I have gone a ways to dilute the scent."

"And you expect me to just leave you!" Sparrow sounded shocked-and hurt.

Because the little man was now on eye level with the taller forester, the latter could feel the clutch of fear in the gnarled, stubby hands as they grasped his shoulders.

"I will be all right, Puck," he a.s.sured him. "We will meet up again at the fens in ... an hour. In fact, a sovereign says I arrive there first, in plenty of time to cut and pare myself a new bow frame. Are you game?"

"'tis not a game, Gil," Sparrow objected morosely.

"I know." Golden reached out and ruffled Sparrow's curly locks. "But I will best you just the same, so you had better put in a good effort, else have your coin waiting at the other end."

With that and an extra tweak on Sparrow's rump, Gil set off at an agile, loping gait that quickly carried him out of sight in the misty gloom. Sparrow sent an oath after him, and would have given chase except for a sudden, bowel-clenching burst of braying and howling that was far too close for lengthy debate.

Scrambling nimbly up to the highest branches, he swung from tree to tree, his heart pounding loudly and steadily within his chest. He kept his eyes trained on the ground as it rushed below, hoping against hope to catch a glimpse of Gil running safely through the forest. Not even his keen eyes could see anything, and once or twice, the hot sting of tears almost caused him to misjudge the distance and angle between branches.

"G.o.d give you speed, my friend," he whispered to the night air. "G.o.d give you speed."

11.

"G.o.d give me strength," the Wolf snarled. "You did what?"

Gil and Sparrow, looking as if they had both been dredged through a thorn patch, figited guiltily, shifting their weight from one foot to the other while the Wolf showered accolades upon their intelligence.

"You left the abbey without consulting anyone; you crept within a few hundred paces of the enemy camp, then, without a thought or consideration for the consequences, proceeded to singlehandedly jeopardize all of our safety by throwing arrows at Nicolaa de la Haye?"

"She does not figure to be of any significance in your mission for the queen," Gil said sullenly, then added in a hushed voice. "In truth ... I only wanted to see her. When I heard Sigurd mention she had joined the Dragon's camp, I ..."

"Only wanted to see her," the Wolf repeated belligerently. "And?"