he’d been awaiting. Not only must she return to his fold because she was his daughter, his flesh and blood, and he
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.
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.
The tall blond man stood to the side of the road, his sword hanging at his side, violence darkening his features. The destrier that Gavin recognized as Jube’s was on its side, its gut slit open and spilling entrails onto the dirt road.
“They made certain I could not save her!” he shouted furiously, rage roughing his voice. “By the rood, I’ll murder the man who took my Blazon!”
“
Rule leapt forward and the others fell in behind. Fortunately, the ground was soft from the rains and left a clear pattern of tracks along the easterly road. Gavin and Rule kept a generous lead from the remainder of the party—approximately eight of the fifteen men with which they’d left Mal Verne.
As they thundered down the road, Gavin forced himself to focus on reaching the kidnappers and saving Madelyne. The man he’d killed had worn no standard or livery that could identify him. It was likely he was part of a band of thieves that preyed on travelers. Mayhaps Madelyne been targeted and taken to be held for ransom. If that were the case, then she would not be harmed.
The tightening of his chest—the fear that he was wrong, that there was some other reason for her kidnapping—grew and he urged Rule on further.
Madelyne swallowed the fear that bubbled in her middle, nauseating her. Mayhaps ’twas the stench of the man who carried her on his mount in front of him that caused her stomach to turn, but most likely it was the horror that she was no longer in the safe hands of Gavin Mal Verne, and had been catapulted into a worse fate than that of being taken to the king.
Her hands were bound tightly in front of her with a rough rope, and she clutched the mane of the horse in hopes that she would not lose her balance and be trampled under its hooves. The man behind her—she’d heard his name given as Arneth—breathed heavily, leaning forward and billowing stale breath into her face.
Lord Gavin.
She thought his name, praying that he would have heard her scream and was even now racing to save her. She did not know who had taken her, nor had the four men who accompanied her captor said anything to disclose the reason for her kidnapping. She had seen through the whirlwind of fear and fighting that some of the men who’d ambushed them had been left for dead, and the others had been separated, retreating in a different direction.
Suddenly, they changed course, wheeling off the road and into the underbrush. She heard a grunt from Arneth, and the reek of his breath buffeted more strongly as he shouted, “We are followed! Break away!”
A leap of hope lunged in her chest, and she wrenched her head to look back. Arneth’s face, drawn together in ugly intensity, loomed inches behind her, his gray teeth bared in concentration. Madelyne jerked away from the ugly proximity and felt her seat slip. Bracing her aching legs against the side of the horse, she struggled to regain her balance even as she heard the man chuckle in her ear.
