The Heart of the Phoenix (5 page)

“More aren’t,” put in Bernard, the oldest of the band. He had good reason to despise the late king’s brother, whose cowardly desertion of Nottingham a few years earlier saw the death of Bernard’s brother. Ironic that many of those gathered here hated John as he, Stephen, had hated Richard. Yet they banded together in a way only those who’d survived hell appreciated.

“Nevertheless.” Stephen turned, stiffening against a jab of a pain in his thigh. “You’ve the right to decide for yourselves. I can’t match what he offers.”

The men didn’t move. “We made the choice as we rode, Captain.” Macsen’s tone left no doubt of the outcome. “We have our own war to finish.”

The words brought an unexpected lift of relief, a surge of warmth for the resolve of these warriors. Stephen’s gaze lit on each man, and he recognized the determination in their faces. Each of them hated the Dragon far more than any of them hated whoever might sit on England’s throne.

He nodded. “Tomorrow, I’ll send an answer. Rest now. Bernard, can you leave at dawn?”

Across the narrow expanse, Bernard gave a grim smile and rapped a knuckle against the table’s surface. Though older than the rest, he had proved himself a swift courier as well as a smart and fearless warrior. Born in the countryside south of St. Anselm, he knew shortcuts none of the others did.

At Stephen’s right, Macsen pulled a grubby fold of fabric from a pouch at his waist. His hand froze as the door opened. Father Joseph slid through, closed and barred the entrance, then moved to a stool.

Macsen released a pent breath and rose. “This is what we bring,” he rasped, then spread it on the rough surface. Faint brown marks formed a rough line along the center of the fabric.

“You can see from this trail Bernard’s marked, they’re finally ridding themselves of the looted treasure.” Macsen took up the explanation. “They follow the exact path we had designated as our route, but they ride a day ahead, as if taunting us. It cannot be a coincidence. Somehow they’ve discovered our plan.”

Stephen took the map. “I fear I know how.” His voice hardened. “We have a traitor.” He described the attack he had escaped the night before and his conclusion on its source. Brother Michael.

Father Joseph held up his hand. “I’m grieved to report that Brother Michael has, indeed, gone missing. Until he is found, all of you are in danger if you remain here.”

“Agreed,” Stephen added. “We can’t take the chance any one of us is captured, nor do we want to bring unnecessary suspicion to the monks. As soon as it is full dark, we’ll slip out.” He continued to outline the strategy he’d formulated as he lay in the infirmary, until Father Joseph interrupted, a thoughtful frown crimping his deeply lined forehead.

“I believe there might be another way.” He perched on the stool, his eyebrows drawn together. “One you may not like,” he added, sharp blue eyes lifting to Stephen. “I understand the Lady Evelynn believes some of our brothers are traveling on a pilgrimage to England. Why she thinks so, I cannot say. But if a group left tomorrow, say, with a pair of penitents, along with the lady, her maid, and their personal guards, such a party might pass unremarked.”

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was breathing. Then Macsen admitted, “It could work.”

Stephen swiped a hand across his face. “
Merde
.”

****

Evie sat alone in the chapel, staring toward the door through which Father Joseph had disappeared. She’d failed. Every argument, every plea had been turned aside. At least he offered her party shelter tonight, which meant a full day tomorrow for the return to Rosemont. That was a concession at least, she supposed. A messenger already rode to inform Mimi.

She bowed her head, squeezed shut her burning eyes. What now? A heaviness lodged in her upper chest. No. She must not fail. She leaped to her feet and paced toward the widow, hands clasping and unclasping.

There must be another way. She would not slink back to Mimi in defeat. Who knew how long the struggle for England’s succession might continue? The thought of being stranded in Normandy indefinitely sent her pulse racing. Inhaling deeply, she calmed her turbulent thoughts. One by one, she reviewed the arguments, searched for another approach, a different tactic.

Perhaps Davy wouldn’t suffice as a lone escort. Grudgingly she admitted the long road to England might present unanticipated problems. If only the other travelers had arrived as scheduled.

Restless steps took her to the window, elaborate for such a small, simple place. Nothing was visible through the thick wavy glass, and she traced a portion of the leaded pattern in distraction. Perhaps the men she’d glimpsed earlier were bound for England. She might hire them to escort her.

She resumed pacing. If Sir Stephen possessed the honor of most knights, he would offer to accompany her home. Not that he demonstrated the least willingness to give aid. Far from it. She paused in stride. On second thought, she’d rather remain at Rosemont than request help from the selfish, hard-hearted churl. She shook her head at the vision of such a nightmare journey, forced to listen to his mocking criticism, his constant chiding at her lack of feminine qualities.

Why had she wasted so many hours of her youth dreaming of him? He’d been as unattainable then as now, what with his early betrothal to Emelin. Pity she’d forgotten that detail so consistently. Had he returned from the crusade as expected, the two would have wed long ago. As it happened, Emelin married Giles and found great happiness.

The kind of happiness Evie wanted.

With a short, silent laugh, she massaged her forehead. That line of thought led nowhere.

She had completed another circuit of the chapel with no further ideas, when the library door opened. Father Joseph appeared, a gentle smile on his weathered face.

“Good news, my child,” he said.

Behind him Stephen glowered.

Marie’s shrieks cut the pre-dawn air like a dagger to the skull.

Evie winced.

“No, milady. Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me go all the way to England.” The maid stopped sobbing long enough to moan. “It’s cold and dark and wet, and the devil himself prowls the night. He’ll get me, and I’ll be dead, and then what’ll happen to me?”

Evie didn’t doubt real fear lurked amidst the wails. But she also suspected the girl enjoyed the attention. Stephen should not have simply ordered Marie to accompany her to England. Yesterday the girl volunteered to travel only as far as the monastery, with the promise she’d be home in her own bed that very night. No wonder she resisted—loudly.

Two of Stephen’s men hauled up the screeching maid and set her in the saddle for a third time. She wriggled off. Again. Her sobs decreased to whimpers as she cowered beside an empty cart.

“Can’t you do something with the foolish wench?” Stephen demanded.

Evie jumped at the deep voice from behind. She turned with raised eyebrows. “What would you have me do? Tie and gag her? I’ve tried reasoning and bribery. She’s terrified of being away from all that’s familiar. Who can blame her?”

He stepped to her side. “You didn’t seem to mind being away from familiar surroundings,” he challenged. “How long have you remained with your cousin?”

Arms crossed tightly, she swung around to stare ahead. “That was different. My mind hadn’t been filled with stories of witches and demons.”

She heard his growl and pressed her lips together. He argued with her already, and the day had only begun. She allowed her arms to drop to her sides and prayed for patience.

In a conciliatory tone, she said, “Perhaps we could hire a girl from the village to accompany me.”

“There’s no time for that.” Impatience edged his voice. “The less anyone outside these walls knows about our destination, the better.”

Evie opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. “No more questions. You have what you came for. You’re going home.”

Another yelp from the direction of the cart made him turn. Disgust rumbled deep in his throat. “Provided you can force your maid to get on that horse and be quiet. Do it soon, or I’ll order her tied to the saddle. We leave at dawn.” With a last frown, he strode away.

Teeth clenched, Evie glared at his retreating form. How, by St. Mary’s grace, did he expect her to persuade Marie to exhibit at least a semblance of acceptance?

Sudden quiet caught Evie’s attention. With an occasional hiccup, Marie stood, head bowed, beside Davy. The young squire spoke gently, then patted the girl’s arm. She nodded and peered up at him. Her swollen, tear-stained face eased into a tiny smile as she gave him her hand. Solemnly, Davy walked her to the horse and lifted her up.

Glancing over his shoulder, he called to Evie, “If’n ye don’t mind, m’lady, I’ll ride aside Marie for a ways. I been tellin’ her how fine Chauvere be, and how lucky she’s yer personal maid and all. I told her I’d watch out fer her ’til we gets there. If’n it’s all right, a’course.”

Bless the boy. Evie rewarded him with a smile. “That is a perfect solution, Davy. Thank you for thinking of it. I’m sure Marie is pleased to have a new friend by her side.”

Davy nodded. “See,” he said to the girl. “Told ye she be a right lady, not t’ worry none.”

Marie dashed away the remaining tears and beamed at him. Evie sighed. That difficulty was resolved. Now if only all the other problems would follow suit. With a peek beneath her lashes at the broad back of their stubborn leader, she shook her head. Not likely.

She didn’t understand the sudden change of plans. She’d been stunned to learn of the pilgrims’ arrival—she’d seen no one enter through the gates. Then Father Joseph decreed Stephen and his men would protect the small band on its trek to England. Stephen grudgingly accepted, although he obviously didn’t like the request.

Evie didn’t like it either. Not when the dratted man took charge without another word of explanation and ordered her every move, as if she were incapable of the simplest thought.

How in heaven would they manage in each other’s company for days without coming to blows? The laughing youth she recalled had been replaced by the rudest, most opinionated knight she’d ever met. Why had he agreed to guide her home if he disliked her so emphatically?

She wasn’t deceived. Something else was going on; she just didn’t know what. But the road to Chauvere stretched days ahead, plenty of time to discover his real purpose.

After a last check to secure her packs, Evie permitted one of the guards to help her into the saddle. Last night, Stephen rudely refused to allow her and Marie to slow the pace by riding in a cart. She bit back a smile. It wouldn’t do for him to know the edict pleased her. Henry always insisted she bounce around in one of those hard boxes on wheels. Riding horseback was a wonderful freedom.

Muffled grunts came from the monks as they climbed onto their mounts. Only a pair of them? She’d expected more. One horse took exception to its rider’s flapping robe but calmed when the man muttered a guttural phrase.

Evie blinked. His words sounded suspiciously like a curse. She must have misheard.

Stephen swung onto his bay gelding, Father Joseph offered a prayer, and before she knew it, the party made its way down the road. Behind them, the closing gate groaned a farewell.

At last. Evie inhaled more deeply than she had in months. Dawn dampness clung to the brush and trees, but the tangy odor of green smelled better than the finest perfume. It smelled like freedom. Even the sharp sourness of horses carried a fragrance she relished. Eyes closed, she tipped back her head and smiled. The palms of her hands tingled in eagerness. Home awaited.

****

Stephen scowled over his shoulder. The bane of his existence rode in the center of the group. Lips curved, she eagerly examined the countryside.

“Looks like she’s enjoying herself,” Macsen said, his horse in step with the bay. “Most ladies would have complained at the pace you set this morning.”

“You know as well as I that speed is important.” Stephen glanced at his friend. “When do you think Bernard will reach Prince John?”

Macsen shrugged. “Two days of steady riding, less with good weather. He ought to catch us before we leave for England if we don’t travel too fast.”

Stephen ignored the veiled reference to the haste he’d decreed.

They continued in silence for a few minutes before Macsen asked, “How long do you intend to keep up this speed?”

“Until we camp. Tomorrow when we hit busy roads, we’ll slow. Wouldn’t do to look too eager with a pampered lady in our midst.” His voice dropped. “Seen anything?”

“No followers. No one ahead.”

“Good. Post guards tonight. Our luck may not last.”

“You expect trouble?”

Stephen gave a short, cynical laugh. “Always. We won’t take chances.”

Macsen snorted. “Since when?”

At the sound of a bright voice, Stephen threw another glance behind. Since their numbers included a recalcitrant, troublesome creature who found pleasure in any circumstance, that’s when. One more grievance against his little shadow.

Teeth gritted, he turned his mount toward her. The guards at her side fell back as he approached. When she saw him, her smile died.

“Have you come to demand we ride faster, yet again?” She slowed her horse to a walk.

Although she tried for a light tone, Stephen heard a challenge.

“We must make up the time lost to frequent stops.” He replied in what he considered a reasonable manner, yet her narrowed eyes warned she caught an undercurrent of criticism.

She stiffened her spine and squared her shoulders. “If traveling with two females inhibits your journey, I’m surprised you accepted the responsibility of guiding us.”

“It was Father Joseph’s wish.”

“Men, of course, never have need to stop. I suppose you even—” She glanced at his lower body, her face flushing scarlet as her voice stumbled to a halt.

The words triggered a burst of laughter from him; he knew immediately it was the wrong reaction. The red drained from her cheeks, and her eyes glittered like polished glass from Cyprus. Damn. He hadn’t meant to make her weep.

But he’d underestimated her once again. Chin notched upward, Evie said, “You will have no need to halt on our account henceforth, Sir Stephen. We can keep any routine you or your men set.” With a jab of heels, she set the mare into a canter.