“Aye, I will wish you all of those things.”
He realized then that he could not trust her. “Do you swear, Chandra, that you will remain at Camberley?”
He rocked back in surprise when she said, “Nay, I will not swear to that, Jerval, but I do wish you Godspeed.”
“Very well.” He pulled the heavy key from the door and jerked it closed behind him. As he grated the key in the lock, he expected to hear her yelling at him, cursing him, but he heard nothing at all.
“Good-bye, Chandra.”
He met his father in the hall and pressed the key into his hand. “Release her tomorrow, after we are well away. If you would give her supper, take care.”
Lord Hugh looked at his son, finally nodded. “Has the girl no sense at all?” At his son’s silence, he added, “Kill one of the jackals for me.”
“Aye, Father, I will.”
“Where is Chandra?” Mary asked, and Jerval saw her looking closely at each of the mounted men.
“I locked her in our bedchamber,” he said. “Where she will stay.” He strode away to mount his destrier.
“Poor Jerval,” Julianna said as they watched the men ride from the keep, “wed to such an unnatural creature.”
Mary wanted to slap her, but she didn’t, just turned on her heel and walked back into the Great Hall. The truth burst upon her when she saw Lord Hugh with a huge key in his hand, speaking to an outraged Lady Avicia. Mary stared upward, wondering what Chandra was doing, locked in her bedchamber.
Chandra was tying the ends of the sheets together, cursing her husband with every breath she drew. Satisfied finally with her knots, she carried the sheets to the window, only to discover that it would not open wide enough for her to squeeze through. She looked for a long time at the costly glass panes. She couldn’t break them—they were too beautiful. But there was no hope for it.
She had to prove herself, once and for all. She had to prove to Jerval that she wouldn’t shame him, that she could fight and fight well and that the men would grow accustomed to her going with them. She would always be at his side, and she would protect him. Aye, she would prove herself this time. She simply had to, or her life, as she had lived it at Croyland, as she wanted more than anything to continue living it, would end. His heel would be on her neck.
She shattered the glass with a wooden stool and felt pain at the sight of the shards of glass on the floor. She snaked the line of sheets out the windowframe and watched them tumble down the stone wall of the keep. She threw down her quiver and her bow and sword, squeezed through the narrow frame, and slithered slowly down. A group of small boys were looking up at her as she came down the sheets. She said not a word to them or to the servants she passed as she strode across the inner bailey to the stables. Hopefully they wouldn’t even think to say anything, particularly to Malton, who was likely inside, speaking with Lord Hugh.
She looked toward Wicket, but knew that Jerval would spot him in an instant. She chose instead one of Jerval’s other horses, an older roan stallion with a broad back, strong legs and a stout heart. When she led him from the stables, she looked about, wondering if anyone would try to stop her. She made for the cooking shed, where she found a loaf of bread and wrapped it in the none-too-clean blanket she had taken from the stable.
She rode the stallion through the outer courtyard, head up, as confident as a warrior on a quest, and waved to Beglie. The drawbridge was still down. She prayed he would let her pass. He waved back to her, his expression sour, and yelled something about bad weather on its way. He even pointed in the direction Jerval and his men had ridden. She realized then that he probably didn’t recognize who she was. She was wearing a woolen cap over her hair. So much the better. Chandra laughed, dug her heels into the stallion’s belly when he crossed the drawbridge, and let him lengthen his stride.
Chandra settled comfortably in her saddle. She kept a good half mile back from Jerval’s men, planning t
o approach only when they made camp for the night. She was not foolish enough to believe herself invincible, and she would need the protection of their camp. She thought about Mary. She would speak to Jerval as soon as this fight with the Scots was over. He would know what to do.
Why did she assume that?
Why could she not solve the problem? Her mind went blank. What to do? What to do?
Well, what would Jerval do? He was a man, a man just like Graelam, who had raped Mary, made her pregnant. Oh, God, would Jerval say they had no choice? Would he say that since Mary was shamed she had to go to a convent? Chandra had to think; she had to save Mary.
She leaned forward in her saddle, her face on the roan’s neck. She closed her eyes, smelling his sweat, feeling the steady rhythm of his hooves.
For the tenth time, she told herself that she had done nothing dishonorable. This time she would prove to Jerval that she was skilled and competent, that he needed her. This would end the strife between them. He would admire her, praise her, approve, finally, of what she was.
He simply had to.
She loved his mouth on her, loved him inside her, wanted those frantic wild feelings.
No, she wouldn’t think about that.
Her exhilaration began to dim when the late afternoon air became damp and chill as the road snaked closer toward the sea. It was odd, she thought, pulling the wool cap tighter over her hair, how slowly the time passed when one was alone. Her stomach growled, and she thought of the single loaf of bread that would be her evening meal, indeed, all of her meals until—until what?
Fools acted in anger. Bigger fools acted in haste. And the very biggest fools acted out of vanity and arrogance. She had done all three. She should be riding in the midst of his men, not trailing after them, alone and at risk. She turned in her saddle to stare back in the direction of Camberley. She didn’t see the keep, naturally; she saw Jerval’s face, grim and set, and knew that even if she returned to Camberley now, he would know that she had disobeyed him, and his anger would be nearly as great. It was possible that she would be in more danger than she was in now were she to try to return to Camberley alone.
She was beyond a fool.