even though her legs wobble with the effort required to simply stand before you—to clamber up upon a horse’s back and endure what additional torments such a heinous journey would surely extoll?”
“You … forbid it, you say?”
Biddy thrust out her prodigious bosoms stubbornly. “My lady requires rest and solitude, peace and undisturbed sleep if it is to be hoped she may begin to recover from her ordeal.”
Wardieu clearly looked as if he might like to knock one or both fists against the side of Biddy’s head, but he nodded, barely perceptibly at first, then with somewhat more conviction as a precipitous crash of thunder shook the abbey to its foundations.
“The weather shows no sign of improving, as I had hoped,” he conceded. “And even with Lucifer at our heel we would not reach Bloodmoor before midnight. Very well, we will take advantage of Abbot Hugo’s kindness one more night.”
A second nod to someone who had arrive unseen in the doorway, brought Sir Roger de Chesnai hastening into the chamber and dropping instantly onto one knee to greet the Lady Servanne.
“Sir Roger!” She smiled with genuine affection for the first time in a week. “You are recovered from your wound?”
“’Twas nothing, milady. A pinprick scarce worth a leech’s fees.”
“You will remain with Lady Servanne and see to any comforts she may require,” said Wardieu. “Deliver my warm regards to Abbot Hugo and tell him we will be vacating his field at dawn; have him also prepare either a coffin or a litter for the sheriff at that time.”
“Aye, my lord. It shall be as you ask.”
“Lady Servanne,” De Gournay bowed to her again. “Your own guard will remain with you for the night. I trust their presence will ease your mind of some burden.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she whispered. “I did not mean to imply—”
But he was gone, swept out of the chamber with a swirl of his blue silk mantle. Nicolaa de la Haye was a pace behind, taking two steps to each one of his, her voice reduced to a low growl by anger.
“Are you not going to ask her about the Wolf? You were bristling with questions the whole morning long, and now you mean to just walk away?”
“The old witch was right,” he said thoughtfully. “She was in no condition to be badgered.”
“Badgered?” The disbelief in Nicolaa’s expression caused her to slow her steps. “Every hour we delay gives him an hour more to plot against us. Why, in heaven’s name, did you not send your men back to Thornfeld immediately upon your return with the chit? Why did you not attack and burn them out when you had the chance?”
“Because there was no chance, Nicolaa. He would undoubtedly have moved his camp the instant we rode away. What is more, he and his men have had eight weeks to familiarize themselves with the forest. They could have picked my men off one at a time and laughed out of the sides of their mouths while doing it.”
“But the girl—maybe she knows something. Maybe she knows where they would have moved. And if she does, we must have the information from her now.”
Wardieu stopped and glared. “And if she knows nothing more? Will not your incessant questions and jealous ravings only rouse her to wonder if there was more to it than a simple kidnapping?”
“You speak to me as if I were a child!”
“You are acting childish, you leave me little choice.” He stared down at her glowering countenance a moment longer, then walked back the few paces to where she stood. “There will be no more games, Nicolaa. No sly remarks. No taunting, no teasing. No gossip. The girl is here and I intend to marry her as planned. I intend to legally assume title and deed to Sir Hubert’s fiefdom and, by God, if I choose to bed her before, during, or after the wedding ceremony, there is absolutely nothing you can say or do to stop me. In fact”— he cupped her chin in one of his hands and forced her to raise her blazing green eyes to his—“if these jealous rages of yours persist, I will not only make a point of bedding her every hour upon the hour but I will do so with you bound and gagged and lying alongside us. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
Nicolaa’s thick black lashes lowered slightly. “Perfectly, my lord.”
“What?” Wardieu ground his teeth at the sweetness of her voice. “What did you say?”