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  “What are you doing?”

  She looked up at Kenneth. “I’m going to stay the night here, and as soon as the sun rises, I’ll start searching for Rowena. Go back to the keep. You’re not needed here.”

  “I won’t leave you alone, Clara.”

  “Why not? You only protected me in order to discover Rowena’s whereabouts. Well, neither of us knows where she is now, and Lord Taurin has gone. I expect he found her and dragged her out, stole the babe and left her for dead.”

  “If you believe she’s dead, why stay to search for her?”

  She lifted her chin and threw back her shoulders. “Because she may have survived, and if she didn’t, and I find her body out here, I will bury her properly. It’s the least I can do after failing her. Good night, Kenneth. You’ve done enough for me now.”

  She hefted up more of the peat, keeping her back to him and fighting the tears that blurred her vision. ’Twas dark enough out here without adding unshed tears to make her stumble and fall.

  After a moment, as she was entering the hut, she peeked over her shoulder. Kenneth had turned and disappeared into the night. When she could no longer hear him pushing through the woods, she fell to her knees and began to cry.

  * * *

  Kenneth had reached the new road before his temper cooled enough for him to take a deep breath. By the time he’d reached the end of the forest, where the smithy’s house introduced the village, he was cooled down sufficiently to think straight.

  But fury still roiled inside of him. Clara had ordered him out of her sight and he’d obeyed like a whipped pup! ’Twould not be for long, though. She needed time to cool down, as he did. And, as she’d berated him, he’d formed an idea of what might have happened. He needed to confirm the theory first, though, and he wasn’t prepared to leave Clara alone in the peat bog for long.

  He strode past the smithy’s house, stopping to think as he reached the shop front. On the day of the altercation between the smithy and Taurin’s man, there were several Normans around the shop, not just the one who’d argued with the smithy. Was it possible that one had suspected Clara and seen her reaction when she’d heard the men discuss the peat bog?

  But only a few would know the bog’s location, so how would they know where to go?

  Unless...

  He strode up to the bailey gate. After pounding on it and shouting out his name, he shifted impatiently until the gate opened. There, he ordered one of the men to the bog, with strict instructions to guard Clara without revealing himself. Should she leave, he was to follow and protect her.

  Then Kenneth charged into the keep.

  The guard at the front door snapped to attention. Kenneth asked, “Is there anyone in Lord Adrien’s office?” Kenneth usually slept there, but since Lord Adrien conducted business there, it didn’t feel right calling it his own quarters.

  “Aye, Sergeant. Harry and that addled boy, Rypan.”

  Kenneth nodded. Since Kenneth had taken on the task of guarding Clara, he knew Harry had snuck in to sleep there. He’d most likely coaxed Rypan into the misbehavior, as well.

  The sounds of sleeping men filtered into the corridor from the Great Hall. The soldiers snored on tables and benches all set around the hearth. The unattended fire had waned, and no one appeared awake enough to rekindle it.

  Beyond, in the kitchens, someone was beginning the day’s work. Most likely the cook, who preferred to rise early and begin her baking. Kenneth moved past both the entrance to the hall and the kitchens, heading toward the office. He opened the door and strode over to turn up the lamp that hung at one side. Light bled into the room.

  Rypan lifted his head from the far corner pallet. Harry was asleep on the table. Kenneth roused him. “Go share the pallet. I have need of this desk.” Dutifully, Harry scampered down and fell onto the pallet.

  Kenneth pulled up the box that contained the maps and banged it on the table. Rypan started at the noise, but Kenneth paid him no mind.

  “What’s wrong, Sergeant?” Harry asked in French.

  “I have need of the maps.”

  “Why?”

  Kenneth tossed a fast glare at him. “Never mind.”

  “I could help, as I did before.”

  Kenneth found the maps and spread them out. But the light was still too weak, so he turned up the lamp even more. “When did you ever help with the maps?”

  “This evening. Before Lord Taurin left. One of his soldiers asked to see the way to Broad Oak. I was glad to show him.”

  He looked up at the boy. “This evening? Early?”

  “Aye. Several soldiers came in, asking for maps.”

  “They only wanted to see the road to Broad Oak?”

  “Nay. They also looked at the map of the road to Colchester.”

  Cold rushed through Kenneth. “And the new road?”

  “’Tis on that map.”

  Of course! He snapped, “What did you say to them?”

  “I told them ’twas nothing at the end of the new road save the peat bog. I haven’t been there, but Rypan has helped the smithy carry peat out.”

  Beside him, Rypan nodded wordlessly.

  “He has? When?”

  “Lord Adrien ordered some metalwork to be done at Christmastime. The smithy asked for someone to help him carry peat.”

  Aah, ’twas so. Kenneth nodded to himself. He remembered that Lord Adrien had asked for a special stand made to dangle small toys over a babe as it lay in its bed. What was it called? A carousel of something? ’Twas a gift to Lady Ediva last Christmas.

  Harry shrugged. “The soldier said he wanted peat so the smithy could reshoe Lord Taurin’s courser, but they left without that getting done.”

  His mouth thin, Kenneth recognized the soldier’s lie. But young Harry would not have seen what it really was.

  Thankfully, Lord Taurin and his men were gone, and Clara was safe for now.

  But not so Rowena. Was she even alive? He looked over at Harry. “Did they look at any other maps?”

  “Just the one of Broad Oak Forest.”

  Kenneth wasn’t familiar with the lands to the west. He rolled up the map before him and found Harry already unwrapping the one of the west. They spread it out on the table. Rypan played with the lamp a bit and then lit a candle he drew from the cupboard.

  “I remember one of Taurin’s soldiers saying they hoped to reach Broad Oak Forest by sunset,” Kenneth mused out loud.

  “’Twas a lofty plan, sir, and ’twill not happen.”

  He looked at Harry. “Because it’s too far? Have you ever traveled it?”

  “Only when I was a babe. I don’t remember, but we came that way with Lady Ediva for her first wedding, and M’maw still talks of not liking that trip through the forest. She says it takes a full day of riding to reach the edge of Broad Oak Forest, and it is so vast, you have to spend the night in it.”

  “I remember someone speaking of Lady Ediva’s birth home, Liedburgh. A place with more apple trees than anything else, they said.” He looked down again at the map. Broad Oak Forest encompassed much of the west of Essex, while Liedburgh lay beyond that. He stretched his memory to recall who owned the majority of the county. Fitz Osborne? Regardless, Taurin held some land at the southern tip of the forest.

  “He would have to travel past the abandoned watchtower and past the mill,” Kenneth said, thinking aloud. “His horse isn’t shod on one hoof, and the blacksmith said at least one more shoe needed replacing. That would slow them down. Not to mention a babe and mother.”

  “’Twill take a full day to make it to Broad Oak,” Harry warned ominously. “And ’twill make the horse lame.”

  Kenneth ignored his tone. “They’ll only get halfway to the forest before sunup.” He caught Harry’s gaze with a penetrating look. “Assemble a pack of food for me. I will need good cider, some cheese, and bread and linens for bandages and swaddling.” To Rypan, he said, “Saddle a horse, the fastest one, but not Lord Adrien’s courser. ’Tis too loud when it ru
ns. A fast, but quiet horse.”

  “What are you going to do, Sergeant?” Harry asked.

  He paused, then drawing in a deep breath, he said, firmly to his own ears, “I’m going to prove to Clara that I am worthy of her trust.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Too agitated to simply wait and unable to hurry dawn along, Clara cleaned up the peat cutter’s hut as best she could in the dull firelight. She found the pot she’d brought Rowena early on, and heated some water she’d drawn from the nearest drainage channel. ’Twas necessary to boil the water for some time, for stagnant water made a person sick and this water was as brown as old tea. As it was coming to a boil with the small fire below it, she swept the floor and set aright the few bits of furniture.

  She found another strip of swaddling and her throat closed sharply. Please, Lord, save Rowena. I have not been able to do it and have failed her. I risked so many people here and in Colchester in my stubbornness.

  Scrunching up the cloth, she sank onto the old bench. Could Rowena really be dead? And what of her babe? He was such a sickly boy, and Clara’s determination to keep them safe had forced mother and son into horrid conditions. Rowena had tried to survive, to do what she thought was best, but she was a young woman with no experience, barely out of childhood, discarded by her family.

  Lord, all I wanted was to keep them safe.

  And Kenneth? Hadn’t he also wanted to do what he thought was right? Had he really believed the child was better off with its father?

  She drew her hand to her face. Hadn’t that very thought crossed her mind as she’d watched Lady Ediva rock her babe? The warmth of her solar, the good food and safety that came with wealth were the defining factors, weren’t they? Was that what Kenneth felt all the time?

  But he’d betrayed her. He’d risked their blossoming friendship to do what he thought was right. Yet, wouldn’t she have done that, also? She, who would do anything to keep her pledge.

  And then, as pinpricks of hot tears threatened, she swallowed her pride and added, Please help me forgive Kenneth.

  Dawn could not arrive soon enough. With a need to hurry it along, Clara pulled together the edges of her cloak and stepped outside.

  The air was warmer than the past few days, for the rain had pushed the colder air away. To the east, where the bog opened to a marsh, the sky was lightening, hinting at a fair day ahead.

  She began her search, being careful to study the bog around her for signs of a struggle, working in circles around the hut until she found what she searched for.

  Footprints, heavy and going in all directions, had scuffed the moss in many parts. ’Twas good that they’d cared not for the earth beneath their feet, for she wouldn’t have spotted the marks in the forgiving moss had it not been for the scrapes.

  Into the forest, she spied broken branches, a portion of torn material, dull in color and much like what Rowena wore, and the abrasions of sword blades as they scraped on the bark of many trees. Someone with a blade had opened a new trail.

  Clara continued to scan back and forth as she followed the signs, hoping against hope that Rowena had been able to escape and that Taurin, more interested in the child, had abandoned her. She prayed that at least one of the two she’d vowed to protect would be safe.

  But as the sun rose high, she found the markers of the struggles in the woods continuing off into the distance, and knew she wouldn’t find Rowena close by. Despair added weight to her steps, and it hung heavily on her shoulders like a sodden wool cloak.

  She staggered into a small clearing, and sadly, she scanned the ground. A horse had been here. Nay, several horses, for one set of hoofprints was bigger than the rest. Marks on the branches of one tree suggested that was where the horses had been tied. She looked again at the ground. During those years with her aunt, who lived beside a blacksmith, Clara had learned the prints of horses, both in need of shoeing and not. Taurin’s courser had been here, and it still needed to be shod.

  Looking up, she found dark red smeared on the bark of a tree. She leaned forward, gingerly touching the smear with her forefinger. Blood. And it was still damp. But whose blood?

  Clara sank to her knees. Lord, don’t let it be Rowena’s! Or the babe’s!

  She looked heavenward, hoping for an answer in the rays of early sunshine that split the tree branches and glowed in the morning mist.

  But all was silent. Heart-heavy and with her stomach clenched so tight it hurt, Clara struggled to her feet and wiped her tears away with two harsh dashes of her hands. She focused again on the ground and continued to follow the prints. At least the blood was still moist. That meant they’d left not so long ago.

  Before the forest began again, she could see the man’s prints disappear abruptly—he’d mounted one of the horses. Rowena’s prints were nowhere to be found since she’d stepped into the forest. Her feet were small and slippered only in leather so thin they’d barely make a dent in the soft moss.

  “Rowena!” she called out, hoping that she was close, but all that answered her was a pair of annoyed birds that fluttered off.

  She strained to hear more, and in the distance, she could hear the regular strike of metal on metal, the sort of noise a blacksmith might make. Though hidden in the woods, she must be close to Little Dunmow.

  And close to Kenneth, too, assuming that he’d returned to the keep. She should really fetch Brindi from the kitchen, but would that increase her chances of meeting Kenneth?

  Forget about your feelings. And forget about Kenneth. This was about Rowena and the babe. Clara straightened. She would go straight into the keep and demand an audience with Lord Adrien and Lady Ediva. They would help her find Rowena. Surely they would know where Lord Taurin was headed? She would remind them of their promise, and then they could provide her with the means to find Rowena.

  She pushed through the thicket, hiking up her cyrtel and tossing back her thick hair to avoid getting it tangled with twigs and brush until she stepped free of the thick forest. She found herself between the blacksmith’s shop and the second house along the road. Ahead was the lane to the keep, and to her left, the stables the smithy used to shelter horses before and after they were shod. For safety’s sake, the smithy’s home was set away from the shop. Yesterday, she’d slipped out of that home and yet had been hidden from the men who argued.

  She frowned.

  A doubt nibbled at her, something akin to eating a portion of food that soured her stomach. Deep within, she felt a warning, yet couldn’t grasp it.

  Pushing the feeling aside, she hurried into the bailey and came to a dead stop within its center. She glanced anxiously around, her eyes searching for Kenneth. But the tall, lean Norman couldn’t be seen. Instead, she found people going briskly about their own business, the mood more relieved than she’d expected. Because Lord Taurin had left? Refusing to speculate, she trotted into the keep and spied young Harry peeking out from the lord’s private chamber.

  “Harry!” she cried as she rushed up to him. “I need to speak with Lord Adrien and Lady Ediva. Immediately!”

  Shock fell onto his face. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Aye. Please, find Lord Adrien for me!”

  Harry galloped up the stairs to Lady Ediva’s solar, leaving Clara in the corridor. The door Harry had slipped through eased open more. The young man Rypan peeked out. As soon as he spied her, he slammed the door again.

  She wished she could help him. His aunt, one of the cooks, had said that Rypan had been given a dose of stink gum once a week. Clara knew the plant well, but used it only to ease stomach troubles when nothing else worked. She didn’t feel it had an effect on brains and had told the boy so when he first came looking for a dose. ’Twas as if he expected her to feed him, also, but she’d had nothing to offer him that day, and he’d not come back since.

  Footfalls on the stairs turned her attention, and she found herself watching Lord Adrien approach.

  “Milord,” she began, “I need to speak with you!”

>   “Into the hall, then.” He strode into the Great Hall, ordering the soldiers who were there out to do a litany of exercises.

  Sitting down, he indicated she should take a chair, also. She sat on a short bench nearby, but too agitated, she jumped up again. “Milord, Rowena has been kidnapped!”

  “How?”

  “Someone found the hut. There was a scuffle, and she’s gone!”

  Adrien frowned. “Your hut?”

  “Nay, the one in the peat bog.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Deep in the forest, past the new road.”

  He sat back. “’Tis a dangerous place that far into the forest.” He paused. “There’s a hut in there?”

  “Aye. ’Tis old and abandoned, most likely once used by the man who cut and sold the peat. I took Rowena there when I discovered I was to come here. ’Tis closer to Little Dunmow than where she stayed before.” She pulled in her breath. “I know you disapproved of me hiding her, but you understand my reasons, don’t you?”

  “Aye. But ’twas wrong of you to keep her hidden and risk bringing Taurin’s wrath on the town of Colchester, not to mention here. You should have trusted my brother. Lord Eudo would have kept her safe.”

  She stemmed her counterargument. Normally, she would have burst forth with a string of reasons without any thought. But Lord Eudo was Adrien’s brother, and in retrospect, Clara was sure he would have intervened. “Lord Eudo is a good man and well liked in Colchester, but I did not know him, and I couldn’t take the chance that he’d allow Lord Taurin’s men to steal her away in the night. I’d pledged I would keep her safe. I didn’t realize how much I’d endangered Colchester.” She sank down on the bench again and let her head fall into her hands. “I see now that I endangered Little Dunmow, too. For that, I am truly sorry. It makes it worse that the people here did not do as those in Colchester did, but banded together to protect me.”

  Tears sprang into her eyes. “I pledged myself to healing and not hurting anyone, but I see I have done so much damage.”

  “Indeed you have.”