"Rohan. He is the one. " Gavin spat the words, even as his mouth dried in fear. As he did in battle, he fought to collect his mind, to clear it from the dread that threatened to paralyze him. Calm and clear. He would remain calm and clear, for this was the most important battle of his life.
"Fantin has taken her to Tricourten, I would stake my life on it. You must go there, go after her. . . if the king does not release me. . . . " His voice trailed off. He could not conceive of that possibility. . . Henry must let him go. "You must go! Go now!"
Gavin paced blindly after they left. Would Henry come to him? Would he understand the urgency? He stopped and grasped the bars when he thought he heard the sound of someone approaching, but no one came.
He paced more, feeling the rising tension in his chest. His heart thumped crazily, his breath came faster, in short, sharp pants as he tried to keep from imagining what was happening to Madelyne. . . what her mad father was doing to her.
But he could not keep his mind clear, and the bile gathered in the back of his throat. He retched in the corner, sagging against the wall, pushing his fingers into his eyes to keep the tears at bay.
Clem and Jube had to take the time to gather their things and collect the other men-at-arms from Gavin's retinue, and then they were off to Tricourten.
They traveled quickly, with one wagon carrying some basic supplies. . . and for transportation for Lady Madelyne, should they need it. The wagon would not keep their pace, but for the first leg of the trip, it would stay within a short distance.
When they stopped the first night, the wagon rolled into their camp only an hour after the men had dismounted. Clem and Jube sat with Thomas, Peter, Antoine, and three others around a fire on which a rabbit roasted. As he poked the meat with a stick to determine whether it was cooked, Clem saw an unfamiliar shadow emerge from the back of the wagon.
Bolting to his feet, he started toward it. "Who goes there?" he shouted, then stopped in his tracks as he recognized the deliciously plump figure of Patricka.
"'Tis I. " She stepped from the shadows, planting her hands on her hips, and Clem felt a wave of disbelief wash over him.
"What in the bloody hell are you doing here?" he stomped toward her, wanting nothing more than to wrap his hands around her neck. . . and squeeze.
"I want to help. I may need to care for Maddie. . . " her voice wavered, but she continued. "We do not know how she will be when we find her. . . and I couldn't wait at Whitehall to hear from you. I won't be in your way, and I can help. " Her hands remained on her hips and her chin thrust in the air.
"Woman, you are the most foolish, addlepated female I have ever met! You cannot go with us! You will return to Whitehall immediately!" He stuck his hands on his hips and thrust his chin in her direction.
Tricky stepped toward him, seeming to be unaware of the other men crowding around, watching the display. "And how will I get there? You cannot take me back, and I cannot go on my own. I will have to go with you, and Clem," as she spoke, her brown eyes grew wide, gleaming earnestly in the moonlight. "I will be no trouble! I won't slow you down, and I'll do as you say. . . but I must go. Please! I beg you. "
Clem's tongue thickened in his mouth and he could not speak. His insides had melted into a puddle, and he was alternately desirous of paddling the wench and tearing off her clothes. But of course, he could do neither. The blasted woman loved Jube.
Instead, he swallowed, coughed, and, when he heard a snicker behind him, turned to glare at the man who dared do so. "All right. " His words, gruff and short, were all that he said before swinging around to take his place by the fire.
At last, Gavin heard the sound of voices approaching. He prayed that it was the king. . . and his prayers were answered as the robust figure of Henry Plantagenet came around the corner.
"What is it that ails you, Mal Verne?" Henry bellowed, coming face to face with Gavin, with only the bars betwixt them. "You have been shouting the walls down here and nearly sent my guard to an early grave. "
"'Tis Madelyne-she is gone, she's been taken by her father. You must release me and allow me to rescue her. " Gavin strained against the bars again, bringing his face breath to breath with his liege lord.
"Fantin has Madelyne? How can that be? Did you not make arrangements for her to be guarded-"
"By God, man," Gavin breathed sharp and short, his teeth tight. "You know that I would not neglect such a thing! 'Twas one of my men who has betrayed me. . . and I believe 't has been him all this time, reporting to Fantin, that has enable him to best me so many times! 'Twas he-it has to be-who put the poison on the necklet! Now he has absconded with my wife and I must go after her!" He sagged against the bars, the cold metal a relief against his hot face. "Please, my liege, as I have served you well. . . please release me. . . . "
Henry stepped away from the bars. "Release the man," he told the
guard, watching impassively as Gavin straightened eagerly. "Go with God, Gavin. . . and this time, do you not return without de Belgrume's head on a platter. "
Had he not been on such an urgent mission, Gavin would have reveled in the freedom of charging down the road on his mount's back. As it was, he had no pleasure in the moment. From the instant the bars opened on the door to his cell, Gavin had been in motion, frenetic and frantic.
Early the morning following his release-by his count, two days since Madelyne had been taken-Gavin overtook his men and their party. They were only hours from Tricourten Keep.
He barely registered the presence of the woman in the group, the maid Tricky, except to speak sharply to Clem to keep her out of his way, and then dismissing her from his mind. His focus, his life, his every breath was pinpointed upon arriving at Tricourten and finding a way inside the keep.
Gavin kept his mind from considering what he might find when they gained entrance. He could let nothing distract him from his goal of getting there, and finding Madelyne. . . and treating Fantin to a slow, painful death.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Madelyne's throat was dry, but she dared not ask for water. She swallowed, again, wishing for just a drop of something for her parched mouth.
She'd arrived at Tricourten only a day before, but the hours that had passed since had been of such nighmarish quality that she dared not think on them. Instead, she allowed her head to fall back against the stone wall to which her wrists were chained. Her arms ached, extended as they were, and her fingers and feet had no sensation.