Page 17 of Lord of the Forest

Sir Kester tapped her father on the elbow, murmuring, “Best not let your daughter be a source for speculation and gossip. Take Clemence home, soothe her, and get her story. I’ll deal with this rogue. If we can work out a way to get him there, I’ll lock him in my cellar until he can be transferred to a cell.”

Clemence fought hard against the sick pain that clutched at her. Schooling her voice to one of calm, she said, “I insist you release your prisoner. I have no charge to lay at his door, and my father should reward him, not seek to have him punished. Be not fooled by his ill-kempt look—I have known men dressed in the finest silks and satins who have not a quarter the quality of this man.”

Her father pulled on her arm, but Sir Kester had turned to face her.

She held his gaze. “I swear on the grave of your son—whom you know I loved dearly—what I speak is the truth. And while you waste effort on the innocent, the guilty escape unchallenged.”

Sir Kester’s face paled. Mayhap she’d gone too far by bringing up Simeon. The young man had been gone almost three years now, and if she still felt his loss keenly, how much more so must his doting father. But she couldn’t let them throw Lancelot into a windowless cellar, under the ground. Used to the freedom of the forest and fresh air, he’d suffer immensely.

There was a groan from the prisoner. Clemence held Sir Kester’s gaze a moment longer, praying he’d relent. Then she fell to her knees beside Lancelot once more and gently cradled his head in her lap. She was distressed to feel the stickiness of blood on her fingers. Hurriedly, she removed her kerchief and applied it to his head as a pad.

“Get up, Daughter. Don’t grovel on the ground like a worm. I’m most displeased at the spectacle you’re making of yourself.”

It wasn’t easy to stand up to her father. But under the circumstances, she was determined to prevail. “This man needs physick, not a cold cellar floor.” She looked from the constable to his assistant, then back to her father. How could he be so obstinate?

“As your daughter is so certain ’tis not this fellow, but another responsible for her kidnap, mayhap the law should give him the benefit of the doubt. What say you, Fitzpayne, Brimelow? We can be civilized about this.” Sir Kester shot her a look and gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

Lancelot shifted, tensing his muscles against his restraints. Putting her lips to his ear, she murmured, “Be still. I mean to help you, but you must trust me and be patient. Don’t anger them. Be ruled by me. I know you’ll hate it, but I assure you, it will be for the best.”

“I hope you have a remedy for the headache in that basket of yours.”

She almost wept with relief—at least he was recovering his wits. And still making sense—at least, as much as he ever had.

“He speaks like a gentleman.” Sir Kester was standing over them.

“With respect, sir, he is no animal.” It was on the tip of her tongue to assert he was a nobleman and to tell them of the expensive possessions they’d find in the hollow tree. But she’d sworn to keep his secret, and he hadn’t agreed to her finding out his identity or shown any interest in the subject.

The constable tied his bludgeon back onto his belt. “Then what, pray, are we to do with him? Is he a criminal, or is he not?”

“That is something we’ll determine at length. Thank you for your assistance, Master Brimelow, but I think we must change our plans.” Sir Kester leaned down and offered a hand to Lancelot.

After the merest pause, he took it and allowed the man to help him to his feet. Clemence rushed to his aid.

If Sir Kester was awed by Lancelot’s height, he hid it well. Gazing up, he inquired, “What will happen if I ask the constable here to remove the manacles from your wrists and untie your feet?”

“That depends on what the constable plans to do after that.” Lancelot’s gaze fell on the constable’s club, and his lips thinned. Brimelow looked self-conscious.

“Oh, just take them off.” Clemence was losing her patience. Why couldn’t they see sense? “Lancelot, do you give your word not to escape if you’re released?”

The expression on his face as he regarded her was tinged with regret. “As I said, it depends upon what is expected of me thereafter.”

An idea struck her. “Come to Clairbourne Manor. We’ll treat you to a feast the likes of which you’ve not had in months. It will more than make up for your ill-treatment at the hands of these gentlemen. You must reside with us at least until I’ve related what happened to me on the road. And done my best to repair the damage to your poor head. What say you, Father? Sir Kester?”

A leashed hound, kept in check until that moment by Franklin, her father’s steward, suddenly broke free and hurtled toward Lancelot, tail wagging wildly. As it jumped up at him, he smiled and leaned down to tug on its ears and stroke its head. But when his manacles clinked, the dog backed off, growling.

Hurriedly, the constable unlocked the iron cuffs, then busied himself around Lancelot’s bare feet, removing the ropes. To Clemence’s surprise, and doubtless that of everyone else, Lancelot then crouched down while the dog bounced up to him and licked his face, greeting him as if he were an old friend.

Her heart warmed to see the immediate blossoming of affection between the man and the hound. If only relations between people could be so simple.

“His name is Elf,” she informed Lancelot. “I’ve never understood why. He came to us with the name already attached.”

Her father let out an exaggerated sigh. “It seems this man—Lancelot, did you call him? This man has won over both my daughter and my dog. It would be churlish not to offer him my hospitality. Shall you come, too, Sir Kester? I have a fine Malmsey laid down in the cellar, and Dame Fitzpayne would be happy to see you. You’ve visited far too rarely, since… I mean, you always seem too busy to spend time with us these days.”

Clemence’s heart had finally settled to a normal rhythm—well, almost. It looked like Lancelot was out of danger—for the moment. She was consumed with guilt at having led him directly into an ambush when she knew how much he dreaded contact with his fellow men. He deserved a heartfelt apology. But that was something she’d rather deliver in private.

Leaving the dog to sniff excitedly around his feet, Lancelot straightened and bowed his head in a lordly fashion. “I accept your hospitality, sir, on the understanding I am innocent of harming your daughter. I also beg, in light of that innocence, that no one here speaks of me. My privacy means all, and I abandoned it purely to rescue Clemence.”

Though her father raised his eyebrows at this, he nodded his acquiescence. The servants and constable were dismissed, and her father and Sir Kester set off for home, walking on either side of Lancelot, while Clemence and Elf trotted along behind.