The solitude-at the least, as much isolation as one could have when traveling in a group of men-at-arms-suited him fine. He'd begun the journey riding at the rear of the party, keeping Rule to a handy trot as they left Mal Verne and started on the road to Whitehall. It would take four days to reach the king, even traveling as quickly as he planned, since the roads were mired with mud from the heavy rains that had fallen in the last sevennight.
The carts carrying the bulk of their luggage would have a slower time of it, but there was no help for it. Nor could he have allowed the women to ride in a cart because of its slower pace. The king's message had made it clear Gavin was to make all haste to bring Madelyne de Belgrume to his presence.
He remembered the fear that turned her face ashen when she learned de Belgrume knew of her presence, and of his desire to see her. It had not been an insignificant expression-it had been true horror and panic. Gavin brooded, wondering what it was that she feared and if it was anything he could protect her from. Then, frustrated he shoved a hank of hair out of his eyes.
He was not the permanent protector of Madelyne de Belgrume-he was merely her escort to the king's side, after which he would be free to never see her again.
His attention wandered over the backs of his men until it found the mount carrying Jube and Lady Madelyne. Gavin tightened his hands on Rule's reins and forced himself to look away from the slim figure cloaked in a midnight blue wrap. She rode behind Jube, and he could see the wrist-thick braid that disappeared into the neckline of the cape where her hood had fallen back.
He clearly remembered the feel of her settling on the saddle in front of him, his thighs locking around her and her head jouncing just in front of his chin as they rode along. That memory was precisely the reason he'd refused to share a mount with her again, and was just as strongly the reason he'd made certain she sat behind Jube, rather than in front of him.
And, verily, it was also the reason for his nasty mood.
Annoyed at the distraction, he jabbed his mail-covered heels into Rule's side, and the steed surged forward with a sudden leap. They clipped quickly along, weaving expertly among the others in the party, to the head of the group where Gavin's three scouts cantered along. Glad to put Madelyne de Belgrume behind him, he manipulated the stallion so that he could talk with Leo, the leader of his scouts.
Fantin gripped the reins of his dancing mount and jammed a heel into its side. The bloody horse was causing the bush to shake and would alert Mal Verne and his men to their presence long before the ambush he planned.
After praying and fasting with Rufus for two days, Fantin understood: God wished him to return Madelyne to Tricourten immediately.
It had become clear there was some purpose she must play in his quest-for her reappearance was the sign he'd been awaiting. Not only must she return to his fold because she was his daughter, his flesh and blood, and he owned her. . . but because she must play a part in this purpose with which God had burdened him so generously.
Whatever Madelyne's task, it would be revealed to him in God's Time.
With a hiss, for he did not know how much longer 'twould be before Mal Verne's party approached this curve in the road, he captured the attention of his thirteen men-at-arms who stood ready to swarm into their path. He cocked his head, catching the eye of Tavis, and ordered, "Go you back on the road and look for signs of their approach. "
He had no need to wait for the king to make his decision regarding the fate of the girl-or even to grant him an audience. The wench was his daughter, and he would have her if he pleased.
The message he'd sent to Henry served only to cause him to appear complacent-to allay any suspicions the king might harbor against him and his Work. And thus when he appeared in the royal court, demanding to see his daughter, Henry would only be able to tell him that she'd disappeared again. And no one would fault Fantin for his anger against the king for allowing Mal Verne to lose his daughter again so soon after she'd been found. He licked his lips, feeling their pleasing plumpness-due to the herb-scented goose fat he smeared on them each night-and smiled.
The king was no better friend to him than Mal Verne was-and his whore of a wife as well. They would be among the first to feel his wrath when he completed his work and had the Stone in his grasp.
Eagerness rising within, he swallowed the smile and manipulated his stallion away from the group of men, taking a post further up the road. Mal Verne would die today, and Madelyne would be back in the care of her loving father. . . as she should have been for the last ten years.
He grinned there, silent in his glee, and thought of the destiny that awaited him once his daughter was in his custody.
And he gave a solemn prayer of thanks.
'Twas a capriciousness very unlike him, Gavin thought as he bent toward Rule's head, just missing being slapped in the face by a heavy branch. He patted the smoothness of the steed's neck, digging his fingers into the thick mane. An exhilaration filled him as the stallion leapt over a small creek, galloping at full speed through the thick forest.
They'd left the traveling party in favor of chasing a stag in hopes of having venison for supper-and to give Rule a few moments to exert his stunted energy. Gavin grinned, enjoying the feel of the wind buffeting his face. It had been overlong since he'd enjoyed himself so, and for a few moments, he felt young again-as if he'd shed the weight of his past, his mistakes, and that of those he'd loved.
The white tail of the deer was just visible as it bounded over a fallen tree, and Gavin leaned forward, urging Rule to go faster as they drew closer. He reached back for the spear he carried, readying it for the fatal thrust, crouching low as Rule sprang over the fallen trunk.
Suddenly, a scream rent the air, far distant but chilling to his ears. Gavin jerked his head toward the sound, hearing its echo even over the thrashing of Rule's hooves through the brush. Madelyne.
Gavin yanked back on the reins, kicking his mount frantically, and the destrier spun on its rear legs with the practiced grace of a warhorse. They reversed direction instantly, and he pressed forward, hugging Rule with his powerful thighs and urging him on with commands in the stallion's ears.
They burst from the forest onto the road moments later and swerved in an easterly direction, following the path of the travel party. Hooves thudding, Rule did not hesitate as he galloped furiously toward the sound of swords clashing in the distance.
Gavin swallowed back the dryness of fear at the unmistakable sound of battle, and froze all thoughts of self-rebuke from his mind. He would curse himself later. Now he must keep his wits clear in order to subdue their attackers.
Bellowing a clear battle cry, Gavin drew his sword as they rushed into the midst of the skirmish. He engaged one of the attackers, who wore a helm to cover his face and had been about to strike Clem and Tricky. A quick glance away from his opponent revealed no sign of Madelyne, and Gavin summoned all of his strength and rage to plow his sword through the chest of his adversary. He wheeled Rule about and cantered around the perimeter of the melee, which seemed to be dying down now that he'd reached it. In fact, those that remained were men from Mal Verne, with the exception of three bloody bodies that lay unmoving on the ground.
"Madelyne!" he shouted, rising on his heels in the saddle.
"She is taken!" cried Clem between gasps of air. He clutched his side even as he held Tricky in place on his lap. Gavin took in the sight of red staining his friend's arm and fury escalated within. "They came upon us from nowhere, and took my lady right from behind Jube!"
Gavin fought the urge to rush pell-mell in the direction Clem pointed, and halted for a moment, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. "Jube!" he shouted, then looked where another man pointed.