The Rose and the Shield (Medieval 2)

Rose watched as Reynard and another man came and lifted Ivo between them, awkwardly carrying him away. Gunnar did not even watch them go.

The sense of watching a play continued. She shook her head in disbelief, swallowing the queasy feeling clenching in her stomach. She should turn and run, back into the keep, find somewhere to hide. But where could she conceal herself so well that Miles and Arno would not find her? And besides…she doubted she could walk very far without collapsing on the ground. Her cheek was pressed so hard to the stones, the tender skin felt raw.

Rose took a shallow breath, blinking back tears. Why would Gunnar kill Ivo? Why do that, when he was in the process of rescuing her? It made no sense, nothing made sense…Gunnar and Arno were still in conversation. When the buzzing in her head had faded, Rose was able to listen again.

“We are taking Somerford for Lord Fitzmorton.” Arno seemed to have forgotten Ivo already. “No point in waiting any longer, now Lady Rose knows the truth.”

“I see that.”

Arno shifted uncomfortably, as if he noticed something in the other man’s eyes. Or perhaps he just needed to justify himself. “It was always mine! Edric swore an oath it would be mine when he brought me here—he owed me a debt he could not pay. But then when he died he made me swear allegiance to his wife, made me swear another oath before them all! Where is the honor in that? Edric deserved to lose Somerford, but I waited, I hoped I could win it through fair means. Well, I am tired of waiting! Somerford is mine, and Fitzmorton is eager to help me claim it.”

“Or claim it for himself,” said Gunnar softly.

Arno frowned. “Why so? I am his man, and I will serve him well. He knows when to value loyalty. I will rule Somerford, and he will be a step closer to taking Crevitch.”

“Where is Miles now?”

“I have sent him to fetch Lady Rose.”

“Sent him? I’ll wager he volunteered.”

“Sir Arno!” The shout came from the keep. One of the original Somerford garrison was peering toward them, looking shocked and uncertain. “The lady has barricaded herself inside her chamber and refuses to let us in. Sir Miles is going to break down the door.” Arno swore and started toward him, pausing only to call over his shoulder, “Close the gate and set a guard on it!”

Gunnar turned and stabbed a finger at the gate. “Close that gate!” he shouted. “Brother Mark? Come here and help them!”

Now was the moment. Now was when she must step out and make her escape. I cannot do it, I cannot do it…

“Brother Mark!” he roared.

Rose pushed herself away from the wall and walked on wobbling legs into deadly danger.

Gunnar saw “Brother Mark” appear from the shadows and more or less glide across the bailey. The figure passed by several of Fitzmorton’s men. None of them looked up. Arno half turned again, no doubt puzzled by his friend’s sudden appearance, but then a loud crash and a scream from inside the keep claimed his attention once more.

Gunnar shouted again, urging the men at the gate to hurry, and quickened his own stride. One of the soldiers’ horses was tied loosely to the handle of a cart, as if the rider could not be bothered to see the animal properly stabled. Gunnar grabbed the reins and tugged it after him; it was done so smoothly his action appeared perfectly normal.

Ahead of him he could see that Edward had stopped trying to close the unusually stubborn gate and was gaping at the approaching “Brother Mark.” Sweyn, who had been using his own strength against Edward’s to hold the gate open, was trying to hide a smile. As the brother reached them, they closed around him, their bodies sheltering him from anyone watching. All three began to tug at the gate, and then suddenly there were only two. Brother Mark had slipped around the gate and vanished into the night.

In a moment Gunnar, too, had reached them. With perfect timing he swung himself up onto the horse and, with a telling glance at Sweyn, was also gone into the darkness. The gate closed with a dull thud behind him. He was safe…for the moment, but Gunnar did not pretend to himself that he had very long.

Rose had already reached the far end of the bridge, running, her skirts kilted up to her knees. Her pale undergown shone like moth’s wings in the darkness—he should have told her to wear dark colors. Gunnar didn’t even slow his pace a fraction, he simply reached down with one arm and snatched her up. She cried out and clung, and then he had her tucked safely before him.

Her hands, clutching at his forearm where it was wrapped about her, were icy. Her cloak hood had fallen back, and her dark hair blew into his face in a sweet scented cloud. “Did they see?” she gasped, when she was able to speak.

“Aye, but they don’t believe it. Yet.”

Gunnar turned the stolen horse off the village road, heading across the pale fields toward the darker woods, and at the same time realized what he should have known before. The horse was lame. That was why its master had left it unattended—the animal was useless. It would not get them far.

Urgently he scanned the dark trees before them. It was possible they could hide out there for a time, but Miles would eventually find them with his hounds and his men. He looked toward the village, but there would be no help there, and the villagers could be killed simply for sheltering them. Crevitch was safe, and Radulf was probably even now waiting for word from him, but it was too far on foot with Miles snapping at their backs.

That left the Mere.

Why hadn’t he noticed that the horse was lame? Why hadn’t he noticed that Rose’s undergown was white? Why hadn’t he realized what Arno was up to and gotten her to safety long before now? Once such details would never have slipped by him. Since he had come to Somerford it was as if his mind had lost something of its alertness, its capacity for anticipating his enemies, its ability to think clearly.

Wryly, Gunnar admitted why that might be: he was more concerned with getting between the Lady Rose’s thighs than carrying out his mission.

There had been women before, plenty of them, but none had wound him up in a spell like this one. Suddenly he understood what his mother, Gudren, had meant when she said that he had not asked any woman to wa

it for him because he had not yet found the right one. There was something different about Rose, something unique and special. When he held her in his arms she just felt right.