The Conqueror

He stopped in front of the doorway. Oddly, there was a key resting in its lock. He put his hand on it, paused, then turned it, feeling the fool. More silence. Nothing to be seen or heard.

“Of course not,” he said to the emptiness. “Because there’s nothing here.”

The door crashed open and Guinevere fell into his arms.

Chapter Ten

They fell into a clump against the far wall, Griffyn propelled backwards by her headlong rush. He struggled to his knees and clamped his hand over her mouth, which she’d opened to scream.

“I cannot believe it,” he announced, removing his hand when he saw she was not going to loose the shriek.

“Oh, thank the Lord,” she cried in a whisper. “Pagan! How came you here? No, no, not now. I cannot believe you came, but we must get out of here—”

“We? What are you doing here?”

“—for I’ve only a little while until he comes for me.”

“Comes for you?” he shouted back in a whisper. “What are you talking about? I left you with Clid, a safe refuge, and now you’re here?” He stared at her a moment. Realisation dawned. “His betrothed.”

“I am not!”

He rubbed the heel of his hand across his forehead, muttering, “I can’t believe it. How incredibly unlikely. Abducted, twice in one night.”

She scowled. “Astonishing. I can barely bestill my wonder. I left the village—”

“Why? It was warm and dry—”

“Yes, yes.” She brushed off his kept promises with an urgent whisper. “But not safe.”

“Aye, well, I can see how being here suits you so much the better.”

She touched his arm lightly, but the subtle contact felt more forceful than that, a flash of feminine verve. “You were mad to leave me there,” she whispered vehemently. “But there is no time for that now. I came because I had to. I know of Hipping’s reputation, of course, and the trouble he’s caused my lord king. But I did not know he was a…a brigand.” Her lips twisted, and Griffyn wondered if Hipping’s lips had touched hers. The thought, against all reason, brought a flood of anger surging through his blood. “He is holding me against my will.”

“For what?” he asked suspiciously.

She paused for half a heartbeat. “It doesn’t matter. Politics.”

The evasion seemed unnecessary, and would have caught his attention if he hadn’t had his attention captured by so many other things, such as the bewildering verity that he was kneeling on the floor of a minor nobleman’s corridor with a woman he’d already rescued once tonight and left miles from here not three hours ago. And she needed

more rescuing yet.

Then again, abductions were commonplace enough. Kidnappings, forced betrothals. An unprotected woman on the road was fair game.

And all of a sudden, Griffyn’s largest concern was not expanding Henri fitzEmpress’s frontiers, it was the raven-haired, flushing-cheeked demoiselle in front of him. Her tousled hair and wild eyes made him worry, but it was her incredible, indomitable spirit that turned his tides.

“I hate to be a burden yet again…”

He grabbed her arm. “Let’s go.”

He leaned in and took a quick survey of her room—much nicer than his—then grabbed a lantern sitting on the table. Lowering its flame to almost nothing, he propelled her down the stairs.

Keeping close to the shadows, they made their way straight out the front door and through the rising winds to the stables without being seen or heard. No one could have heard an approaching army over the winds, and no one was about to witness this abduction.

Griffyn pulled open the stable door. A powerful gust wrenched it out of his hands and flung it wide, slamming it against the wall. Muttering under his breath, he shuttled them inside and hauled it shut behind them.

The roaring quieted. There were the dim sounds of animals crunching hay and shuffling. It was warm, with tighter seams between the planks of wood than of his guest bedchamber, he noticed grimly in passing. He began fumbling around in the darkness, feeling about on the ledge by the doorway for a flint.

Her shadowy figure moved down the row of stalls. “Where’s my horse?”