Knave's Honour

After all, could she really be sure that Finn and Garreth were helping them? He could be taking her to Wimarc, or some other place where he could hold her for ransom, since he knew who she was and to whom she was related. She was surely right to get away from him as soon as she could.

Brushing her tousled hair back from her face, she realized she must look more like a peasant than a noblewoman with her disheveled, matted hair and dirty face. Hopefully her accent and demeanor would mark her for the noblewoman she was. Nevertheless, she smoothed down her mud-stained skirts and pulled her cloak more tightly about her over her soiled gown.

Two soldiers rounded the corner—proper soldiers, not mercenaries in motley armor probably stolen. Their helmets gleamed in the morning light, no spots of rust marred their mail, and they wore matching woolen surcoats of scarlet and green. There was something vaguely familiar about those surcoats and the arms upon them, and the banners flapping from the pikes they carried.

Before she could remember to whom those soldiers belonged, a knight in gleaming chain mail seated on a marvelous destrier, with a woman dressed in a cloak of green-and-gold damask trimmed with fox fur, rode around the bend. The man had pushed back his coif and wore no helmet, so his fair hair, smoothed and cut in the bowl shape the Normans favored, shone in the sunlight.

She knew that hair, and she knew that face, and now she remembered whose standard it was: Lord Gilbert of Fairbourne, who had once visited Averette in the hopes of winning Adelaide’s hand in marriage. Or Gillian’s, if Adelaide said no. Or even hers, if he were desperate, although that’s not the way he’d put it when he’d cornered her in the stairwell.

She’d heard Gilbert had got himself a bride from Lincoln, the daughter of an earl who had no sons, so her dowry was considerable. Helewyse was the girl’s name; Lizette remembered because Gillian had commented she must not be a very wise woman to accept Gilbert.

One of the soldiers at the front of the cortege nodded at Lizette and Keldra and said something to his companion, who grinned and made a disgusting gesture.

Perhaps this was a mistake, after all, and they should run for the trees—except that Gilbert’s men had spotted them and if they gave chase, they might also find Garreth and Finn. No doubt Finn could come up with some kind of explanation, speaking with that noble accent he managed with such ease, but these soldiers might simply assume they were poachers or outlaws and kill them before Finn could say a word.

And despite her personal dislike of Gilbert, he was noble. He should help a noblewoman in distress, even if she’d slapped his face.

“Here, you, out of the way!” one of the lead soldiers shouted at them before he addressed Lord Gilbert over his shoulder. “There’s a couple of beggar women in the road, my lord!”

“Beggars?” the lady said, loud enough for Lizette and Keldra to hear her as she spoke to Gilbert. “You assured me Wimarc’s lands would be free of such troublesome creatures.”

Wimarc’s lands? Gilbert and his lady were headed for Lord Wimarc’s estate?

She’d thought Gilbert arrogant and greedy, but not evil. Perhaps she’d been wrong—and if he was in league with Wimarc, she would much rather take her chances with Finn.

Throwing the hood of her cloak over her head, she moved to the side of the road. “We can’t go with these people after all,” she whispered to Keldra. “Say nothing, not even if one of them speaks to you.”

Keldra must have also heard them speak of Wimarc, for she immediately did as she was told and sat abruptly on the ground, pulling her hood over her head, too.

The first soldiers were only about twenty feet away when Lizette rounded her shoulders, clutched her cloak about her throat with her left hand and held out her right hand in a begging gesture.

“Alms, noble lord!” she called out in a hoarse voice, imitating the sickly mother of the alewife at Averette. “Alms for a poor woman and her dumb daughter!”

“Out of the way, hag!” one of the first soldiers growled, raising his foot as if he meant to kick her.

Lizette scurried out of range and stayed there as the cortege passed.

“We should be at Castle de Werre before nightfall tomorrow,” Gilbert said, giving his wife a slightly peeved glance. “You didn’t have to come. I told you this was no courtesy visit.”

“And you said you’d never met the man.”

“I haven’t, which was why I was surprised by the invitation.”

“Which was to both of us,” his wife reminded him with a pout. “So of course I ought to come.”

Her husband didn’t respond, but rode on in sulky silence.

In addition to the soldiers, the knight and his lady, there was a wagon full of baggage, no doubt bearing all the items the lord and his lady considered necessary for their comfort, regardless of who their host might be.

Keeping her head down, Lizette waited until the last of the soldiers were out of sight before she straightened, her back aching. Then a frowning Finn emerged from the trees, his scabbard slapping his thigh as he marched toward them.

She couldn’t blame him for being angry; she’d as good as admitted she didn’t trust him, and then not done what she’d said she’d do.

Garreth, however, rushed past him, grinning with delight. “Damn, my lady, you’re good!” he cried. “Not as good as Finn, mind, but you could have fooled me! You sounded just like an old crone.” He gave Keldra a condescending smile. “And you make a good simpleton.”

“You look like one,” her maid snapped back.

Finn ignored them both. “So, my lady, may I ask what prompted your change o’ mind? Didn’t like the looks of him, after all?”

“As a matter of fact, I know him. That was Lord Gilbert de Fairbourne, who once came courting my sister. I’m quite sure he would have helped us if I’d chosen to ask.”

Finn cocked a brow and waited expectantly.

“He’s on his way to Lord Wimarc’s castle.”

That removed the contempt from Finn’s features. “What for?”

She lifted her chin with haughty disdain as she swept past him. “I didn’t inquire.”

As he hurried after her, Finn cursed himself for a fool. He’d been as peeved as a child who loses a friend when she’d told him what she was planning, silently condemning her for an ungrateful wench when he’d given up time and trouble to help her. God save him, he’d even been tempted to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder and carry her into the woods.

Because unlike the lady, and even though she had the bearing, speech and manner of a noblewoman, he couldn’t believe anybody would simply take her word that she was Lady Elizabeth of Averette. They’d more likely think her a peasant who was trying to trick them, or perhaps a courtesan who’d fallen on hard times. Either way, they would treat her with disdain and disrespect.

Or worse. Once, when he was ten years old, he’d seen what soldiers might do to a peasant woman alone and unprotected on the road. A pack of wolves would be more merciful.

So in spite of knowing what a brave, spirited woman she was and that she could probably hold her own with any nobleman and get the respect and aid she deserved, he’d hidden and watched, ready to rush out to her defense again if necessary. He simply couldn’t abandon her to her fate, any more than he could leave Ryder to die in a dungeon.

And even if that made him a fool. “My lady, you’re going the wrong way!”

She halted and turned abruptly. Without a word, she marched past him, going back the way she’d come.

He hurried after her, leaving Garreth and the girl to follow. “So this Gilbert was going to Castle de Werre?” he asked, hoping to achieve some kind of truce.

“That’s what he said.”

“What sort of fellow is he?”

“Greedy. Arrogant. Like most men.”

“Then he might be allied with Wimarc if the man’s up to no good.”

“Perhaps. He’s ambitious, too.” She cut her eyes to Finn. “Gilbert came to Averette to court Adelaide—or Gillian, if Adelaide refused him, or me, if they didn’t want him, which they didn’t. He had the audacity to kiss me, too.”

She hadn’t enjoyed it, obviously. He was fairly certain he could kiss her in a way that would make her remember it with something other than contempt.

“He’s a pompous, arrogant fool,” she continued, yanking Finn back to the here and now. “I can believe he would turn traitor if he felt slighted or exploited. Perhaps Adelaide and Gillian were right to worry that John’s the sort of king who forces men to rebel because of his greed and lust.”

Finn had seen and heard enough at court to know how deep the hatred of John ran among the nobles. “Lots o’ the barons hate him. He’s not just taxed them for his wars, they’ve lost sons in his quest to get back his lands in France and he’s seduced their wives and daughters, too.”