He rose, knowing from experience that Richard’s wine-fueled sleep would be heavy enough to keep him from realizing his wizard was gone. He counted on his men at arms to watch him, and unfortunately they were very good at their job. So far it had proved impossible to get anywhere near Alys without an army of witnesses, and he had no intention of reassuring her and having word get back to Richard.
Not that he had any illusions. Richard no longer trusted him. Despite Alys’s He and Simon’s own lazy protests, Richard knew that his wizard would betray him for the utterly ridiculous sake of a woman’s life. But as long as the suspicions were unspoken, he had a small measure of safety. So he nodded and said nothing as Richard prattled on about the future, and dreamed of his head on a pike.
He needed an ally, and he had none. The frightened-looking serving woman who attended Alys would likely run screaming into the forest before she helped him, and it seemed as if Richard had chosen the men who accompanied them with special care. Every one of them had a particular grudge against Simon of Navarre.
Admittedly, it would have been hard to find inhabitants of the Keep who didn’t hate Simon. He had done his best to intimidate everyone who’d come his way, and very few had proven resistant. Only Brother Jerome, and God knows where he was now. And Thomas du Rhaymer, off in search of Alys’s silly little sister.
It was a cold night, but he didn’t bother with his fur-lined mantle. He liked the cold, the icy nip of frost that danced across his skin. It went a small way toward cooling his blood. And he needed to be cool, to be calm and unemotional, in order to accomplish what needed to be done.
The wagon was off to one side, the thick curtains pulled tightly around it. He wondered if she was warm enough in there, if she slept soundly. If she dreamed, if she cried. If he somehow managed to come to her, to kill the guards that surrounded her prison and cut her free, would she take the knife from his hand and plunge it into his heart?
And he wondered if he would care.
The guards had moved away from the cart, closer to the warmth of the fire, but Simon did not think for a moment that they would simply watch as he approached the makeshift prison. He ignored them, ignored the wagon and the pale-faced woman who sat nearby, and walked into the forest.
“Guess even a wizard needs to relieve himself every now and then,” one man said in a loud voice. Louder than he usually would have dared speak within Simon’s hearing. One more sign that Richard’s favor had been withdrawn.
“At least his John Thomas is good for something,” another one said with a crude laugh. “Bet the little lady would like to know what a real man’s like.”
Simon paused at the edge of the woods, out of sight, his right hand clenched tight on his dagger. He was unmoved by the insults, but the suggestion of a threat to his wife was a more serious matter. It was more than possible one of those idiots would decide to climb into Alys’s prison and find out whether or not she was still a maiden. It was more than possible that Richard would encourage them.
He’d never felt possessive in his entire life. He’d never felt helpless.
It was a small noise, and to a man less observant it might have sounded like a woodland creature, a squirrel or rabbit scuttling through the fallen leaves. But Simon seldom made mistakes.
He’d already drawn his knife when the creature hurtled itself at him, a bundle of rags and hair and fury, but at the last instant he dropped the blade, catching the enraged creature with both hands.
She made a choking sound of great pain, collapsing at his feet, and a moment later Thomas du Rhaymer hove into view, panting slightly.
“You need to keep better watch on your lady,” Simon observed in a quiet voice, hauling Lady Claire to her feet and still keeping her hands imprisoned in his. He could see no weapon, but Lady Claire was a formidable young woman, and he had no desire to end up a real castrati.
“Bastard,” she spat at him, struggling. “Murderer!” She gasped again, and he realized that one of her wrists was tightly bandaged, and that he was hurting her quite badly.
He shoved her toward her champion with a sound of disgust. “Keep hold of her, du Rhaymer. I have no particular desire to inflict injury on my wife’s sister, but I’m not in the best of moods either.”
Thomas caught her, holding her easily against him despite her struggles. “Are you going to call the guards?” he asked in a low voice.
“You don’t really think I would, do you?” he replied.
Claire stopped struggling, though her face was still mutinous. “Calm down, my lady,” Thomas said to her, and astonishingly enough, she did. The wonders of love, Simon thought bitterly. “His lordship is going to help us.”
“Help us get killed,” she shot back, but her voice was quieter now. “He hasn’t made any attempt to rescue her yet. What makes you think he even cares?”
“I’ve thought of one plan,” Simon said in a mild tone of voice. “You could take her place.”
Claire opened her mouth to insult him again but her stalwart knight simply clamped a hand across her face, silencing her. “How heavily is she guarded?”
“Four men at all times, and no one in the camp is likely to help. Between the two of us we might be able to manage, but why did you bring that tiresome creature along?” he demanded, looking askance at Claire. “No, don’t tell me. I imagine you didn’t have much say in the matter.”
She knocked Thomas’s restraining hand away. “I love my
