Suddenly John knew she was right. And he knew that he would be the one to turn her over to Walter Demari’s bloody hands. She had struck John’s heart when she mentioned love for Lord Gavin. John couldn’t love the young man more if he were his own son. She was right that there was a chance to save Lord Gavin if she surrendered herself. Lord Gavin might have him hanged for endangering Judith, but he knew he was going to obey her. “You are trying for martyrdom,” John said quietly. “What is to keep Demari from killing you also?”
Judith smiled at him, put her hands on his shoulder, for she also knew she’d won. “If he killed me, he would lose the Revedoune lands. If I have learned nothing else, I know how much men will do for my property.” Her eyes glinted for a moment. “Now, come inside where we may talk more freely. You and I have a great deal of planning to do.”
He followed her dumbly. She acted as if they prepared the menu for a woodland picnic rather than gave herself, as a lamb to slaughter, to a butcher.
Judith wanted to leave immediately, but John persuaded her to wait and give him and his men some rest. Truthfully, he hoped to talk her out of her madness and to find an alternate plan, but her logic bewildered him.
For every reason he gave that she should not go, Judith gave ten more sensible ones why she should. And he agreed with her; he could see no other way of any chance of saving the prisoners…if they were prisoners.
But oh, how he dreaded Lord Gavin’s wrath! He said as much to Lady Judith. She laughed. “If he is safe enough to indulge his anger, I will kiss his hand in thanksgiving.”
John shook his head in wonder. The woman was too clever by half again. He didn’t envy Lord Gavin the taming of her.
They couldn’t take many men as a guard—they could not leave the estate unprotected—and already many of Gavin’s knights waited for him. They were thankful it was only two days’ travel to Demari’s property.
Judith worked hard while John rested and ate. She ordered the loading of several wagons of grain and preserved meats to be prepared at the campsite. Another cart was given over to her clothes; the most beautiful of silks, velvets, brocades, cashmeres, along with a large ironbound chest filled with jewels.
When John mumbled something about women being ostentatious, Judith took him to task.
“Walter Demari hungers for some woman he believes to be beautiful. Would you like me to appear before him in homespun? He would say he’d changed his mind and have me thrown to the bottom of a well. He must be a vain man, or he wouldn’t demand that a woman he hardly knows repudiate her husband and claim him as her true love. Therefore, I will play to his vanity and wear my most exquisite clothes for him.”
John stared at her a moment, then turned away. He didn’t know whether to praise her or be angry at himself for not thinking of what she said first.
For all the facade she showed to the world, Judith was scared. But for the life of her, she couldn’t think of any alternative plan.
She lay awake all night thinking. Demari had sent no message of exchange. Perhaps he had already killed Gavin and Helen, and Judith was turning herself over to him for no reason.
She ran her hands over her stomach, knew it was still hard and flat. She was sure now that she carried Gavin’s child. Was the baby part of the reason she worked to save her husband?
When the sun rose, Judith dressed slowly in a practical wool gown. She was strangely sedate, almost as if she walked to certain death. She went below to the little chapel for mass. She would pray for all of them—her husband, her mother and her unborn child.
Walter Demari sat before a wooden table in the great hall of his father’s estate. Once the table had been a finely carved piece, but over time most of the heads of the beasts had been broken away, the necks rubbed smooth. Absently, Walter kicked at a chicken that pecked at the hose on his short, thin legs. He studied the parchment in front of him and refused to look at his surroundings. His father refused to give him anything but this run-down, neglected old tower. Walter buried his resentment deeply and concentrated on the task before him. When he was wed to the heiress to the Revedoune lands, then his father wouldn’t dismiss him as if he didn’t exist.
Behind Walter stood Arthur Smiton, a man Walter considered his friend. Arthur had helped Walter at every turn, agreeing that Walter should have had the lovely heiress instead of Gavin Montgomery. To repay Arthur for his loyalty, Walter had made the man his chief vassal. It was Arthur who had succeeded in capturing Lord Gavin.
“Arthur,” Demari complained, “I don’t know how to word the message. What if she won’t come? If she does hate her husband, why should she risk so much for him?”
Arthur didn’t let his emotions show. “Do you forget the old woman we hold? Isn’t she the girl’s mother?”
“Yes,” Walter said and returned his attention to the parchment before him. It wasn’t easy asking what he did. He wanted marriage to the Lady Judith in exchange for the freedom of her husband and mother.
Arthur stood behind Walter for a moment, then moved away to pour himself a cup of wine. He needed a firm stomach to be able to withstand Walter’s mewling. The love-sick young man made Arthur ill. Walter had come back from the Montgomery-Revedoune wedding so enthralled with the bride that he’d hardly been able to do anything except talk of her. Arthur looked on him with disgust. Walter had everything—lands, wealth, a family, hope for the future. He was not like Arthur, who had pulled himself up from the muck that had been his family. Anything he had he’d acquired through intelligence, physical strength and, quite often, treachery and lying. There was nothing that he wouldn’t do to get what he wanted. When he’d seen the spineless Walter mooning about a bit of a girl, Arthur developed a plan.
It hadn’t taken long to learn of the quarrels the new bride had with her husband. Arthur, only a knight in Walter’s garrison, had found a ready ear when he spoke of an annulment and a second marriage to Walter. Arthur couldn’t have cared less about the girl, but the Revedoune lands were worth any amount of fighting. Walter hadn’t wanted to attack Robert Revedoune, but Arthur knew Revedoune would stop at nothing to keep his daughter wed to the Montgomery family. It had been easy to kill the old man once he allowed them, as friends, inside his castle walls. His wife Helen had followed docilely and Arthur laughed, recognizing a well-trained woman when he saw one. He admired Revedoune for that.
“My lord,” a nervous servant announced, “there are visitors outside.”
“Visitors?” Walter asked, his eyes hazy.
“Yes, my lord. It is the Lady Judith Montgomery, surrounded by her men-at-arms.”
Walter jumped up, the writing table upset, as he started after the servant.
Arthur grabbed his arm. “I pray you, my lord, take care. Perhaps it’s a trap.”
Walter’s eyes burned. “What trap could there be? The men won’t fight and endanger their lady.”
“Perhaps the lady herself…”