Or was he moving too fast? If the queen’s guards.nay, Matilda must not be in residence or the nun would be inclined to send the guards after Judith, not the sheriff.
“Was Judith hurt?” he asked.
Distressed, the nun crossed herself. “Her.her robe was torn. I fear the men who chased her did not treat her gently.”
Resigned to the need for haste, Corwin turned to William. “Bring the wagons up and take the good sisters to the abbey. Have the abbess summon the sheriff.”
William raised a surprised eyebrow. “You mean to go after them alone? Let me accompany you.”
Corwin swung up into his saddle. “There are only three men. With luck I can have Judith back to the abbey within a few hours at most. If I do not return by morn, take the company on to Cotswold. I will join you there as soon as I am able.”
He felt a gentle hand on his calf.
“We will pray. God go with you,” the nun said.
Corwin reached down and covered her hand with his own. “Your prayers are most welcome. Is there aught else I should know?”
She was silent a moment, then said softly. “‘Twas not happenstance the brigands took the unveiled one among us. They knew who Judith Canmore was and meant to have her.”
He’d never doubted it. Not for one moment had he thought that a group of brigands had happened upon the nuns and decided to take the unveiled one among them for sport.
Corwin urged his horse forward, his ire rising with the horse’s increasing speed. What the devil had Judith been doing out here, so far from the abbey, without a guard? Surely she knew of the dangers she faced if caught outside the abbey walls. The woman should know better than to be wandering about.
Judith certainly hadn’t been given permission to leave the abbey, of that he was sure. Being of royal family herself, having had the duty of caring for Matilda as a young woman, Abbess Christina knew well the dangers and wouldn’t allow Judith to leave the cloister without protection.
Judith had sneaked out disregarding not only her own safety but that of the nuns. Thoughtless of her. Irresponsible.
The tracks Corwin followed came to an abrupt end. The brigands had left the road and taken to the woodland. He entered the forest where the hoofprints ended, where the brush had been disturbed. A few feet off the road, he stopped to pick up a small piece of roughly woven wool. A piece of Judith’s black robe.
Corwin rubbed it between his fingers, wondering if she’d purposely dropped it for someone to find or if it had simply torn loose.
He shouldn’t have to chase after her. She needn’t now be in the hands of rough men. This whole incident would have been avoided if Judith had simply used her sense and remained where she belonged.
Corwin was in the mood to tell her so.
First, however, he had to find her.
Judith’s hope for an immediate rescue dimmed along with the fading day. Thurkill obviously knew this area well. They’d long since left the road and ridden swiftly through the woodland, at times on trails and others not. Judith doubted that even a skilled tracker could find her now.
With no rescue imminent, she must devise her own escape. She prayed for an opportunity to arise soon, at a place where she might find aid, giving her a chance at success.
Heedless of her discomfort, Thurkill had pressed hard all day. They’d stopped only once for a brief rest and a meager meal. Her backside had gone numb from the constant abuse of the horse’s rough gait. Her hands and arms grew weary from holding tight to Thurkill’s leather hauberk to prevent herself from falling off.
A grunt escaped her lips when the horse stopped suddenly, tossing her forward against Thurkill’s back.
“We will camp here for the night,” he said. “Slide off, my lady.”
Judith didn’t hide her anger. “I do not think I can. I have no legs. For one who promised me every comfort, you do a miserable job of providing it.”
“We will find you your own horse soon.”
The prospect thrilled her, for with her own horse the odds for a successful escape rose.
Duncan helped her down. Her hands pressed to her lower back, Judith hobbled over to a nearby log and eased her sore, weary body ontoit.
Thurkill had chosen a small clearing in which to spend the night. The men set about their chores. Thurkill took the horses to water in a nearby babbling stream, Oswuld gathered wood for a fire, Duncan set out rabbit snares.
“You should get up and walk about, my lady,” Oswuld told her. “You will find your legs sooner.”
Judith glared at him until he turned red and walked away. She wasn’t about to move until she was sure she could walk about without falling on her face. She’d suffered quite enough indignities today and refused to suffer more.
Mercy, but she was tired. Beyond the physical pains, she’d also waged a heady battle with her emotions. She’d bounced from anger to frustration to fear far too many times today.
When the nagging pain in her thighs could no longer be ignored, she took Oswuld’s advice. If she didn’t walk, she would stiffen to stone.
Judith paced in front of the log, working out the stiffness and knots in her body. She cursed her idiocy, wondered how she could find her way back to the abbey, and said another prayer for the sheriff to come quickly.
Duncan returned with two rabbits dangling from his hand. Thurkill returned from caring for the horses. The evening meal wasn’t long off now. For tonight, she was stuck here.
Back at the abbey, the nuns would be sitting down at the trestle tables in the. refectory. They would give thanks for their food, then, in silence, eat what was put before them. Had Sister Mary Margaret returned-safely to the abbey? Had the abbess sent for the sheriff? Was anyone looking for her? Did anyone care enough to miss her?
Judith shook her head to clear the maudlin thoughts.
“A bite of bread, my lady?” Oswuld asked.
Oswuld’s courtesy had her bristling once more. She took the crust of brown bread and ate it without thanking him. Just because he strove to be polite didn’t mean she must also put on her manners. She would never forgive Oswuld his part in her capture, nor did one trade pleasantries with the likes of brigands.
“Mayhap a walk to the stream to wash away the road dust would suit you,” he suggested, waving a hand toward the stream. “I will take you down, if you wish.”
“Iwish to return to the abbey where I might have a long, hot bath and clean, unripped garments!”
Oswuld sighed in exasperation. Judith didn’t sympathize.
“I fear the stream is all I can offer, my lady. Do you wish to go or not?”
She did, and led the way.
“Guard her close, son,” Thurkill called out from across the clearing, where he tended the cooking rabbits.
Oswuld nodded, not losing stride.
“Guard me close, he says,” Judith complained. “Where does your father think I am going, I wonder? He batters me all the day long to the point of immovable joints, then worries that I might run away.”
“He takes his duty and your care to heart, Lady Judith. Truly, none of us wish you to come to any harm.”
She turned on him. “No harm? Every muscle in my body screams for mercy. The skirt of