Chapter 17
Lily had not slept. Not a wink. Boneless and raw, she seemed unable to master herself. Each rut and rattle of the carriage jarred.
“I shall have you,” she heard the earl say over and again.
The words like night-shaded birds encircled her, pooling low in her belly and playing havoc with her pulse.
The temptation to yield again to the enchantment of his touch all but overwhelmed her.
Her mouth relived the velvet of his, and the stripes of his clever hands lay bare her flesh as would whips.
The forbidden iron of him, imprinted his claim on her, and her treacherous response had been an easy capitulation. She would have yielded herself utterly to him. They both knew it.
Lily felt herself lost.
How could she protect her heart from so skilled a warrior? What resources could she summon against one such as he? Ravensworth had been proclaimed England’s warrior for a decade already. Her paltry play upon this stage was laughable.
She had yielded.
Her father’s enemy. What of her obligation to her family? Honor demanded that she recall it with swift and unambiguous resolve.
One answer came to her mind. She must escape. But how?
The carriage rattled on. The track carved a line across the landscape. At one point, the body of the carriage tipped so far to the right that it almost fell over. Their going slowed to a crawl.
A little further on, they came out of wooded hills, and it seemed as though the worst lay behind them. Now their way passed through several hamlets where roads replaced cart tracks and lands were tame.
Lily caught a brief glimpse of the Black Raven. He rode a fine sorrel this morning, and from his broad shoulders there flew a blue cape that sailed out behind him.
Lily tried to look away. Remember, she berated herself, Edward Rowley, 5th Earl of Ravensworth, is no gentle poet!
No blissful knight of Camelot. She had to stop herself from thinking of him that way. He was a ruthless warrior who took, who demanded, and got whatever he wanted.
Her heart leapt again. She closed her eyes. It did not banish him. She heard him still, behind my walls, you will become my bride in truth.
His Arrogance.
Last night, he’d revealed his true intentions.
He had told her. He would not wait for their marriage vows.
The schemes and plots he spoke of surely were not real.
Her father would never allow her to suffer such a fate as the earl described.
A kind of perpetual betrothal without a consummated marriage.
It could not be. All he had to do was wait, and in less than four months, they would wed.
Aye, His Arrogance.
By the afternoon of the third day, they had come to well-tended farmlands. Here and there in sheltered corners, they passed hamlets and even a market town or two.
Suddenly, Lily sat up straight. Looking down into the shallow valley beside the road stood a tiny village. She thought she recognized it.
Could she be right? Surely, that was Spelling Mylen? Nothing more than a cluster of small, thatched cottages and one rambling mill house along an inlet of the River Dee. If it was the place she recalled, then Fawlsend, the Mowbry estate, could not be far away.
She could hardly contain herself. Her fanciful idea of getting Bee to help her might just be possible.
Bee. Her clever, resourceful sister would surely consent to helping Lily escape an unwanted marriage? Or at least provide her with sanctuary while other courses could be pursued.
Lily clapped her hands over her mouth to stop herself from blurting out her excitement. Her aunt sent her an inquiring look but said nothing and soon nodded off again.
For the next several hours, Lily plotted silently. Slowly but surely, all the pieces of her plan slotted into place. She did not dare dwell too much on the risks. It was more daring than anything she had ever contemplated, and it left a persistent knot in her stomach.
Don’t be a coward, she kept telling herself. Mentally, she counted the many reasons she ought not to attempt anything so audacious, but in the end, she ignored her own good sense. She would escape. She simply had to.
A mount would help, said the newly awakened bit of mischief inside her mind. It surely would.
First things first, Lily told herself once she’d accepted the challenge of escape.
Observation, she decided, would be necessary.
She must know all there was to know about the routine of Black Raven’s camp.
Who went where, and who did what, and so on.
She needed to see the pattern of things.
Next, she had to identify the obstacles to her success.
As far as she could see, there were two major issues.
First, her guard. One or other of the earl’s knights almost always stood guard outside her tent. Sometimes there were two of the men-at-arms instead. No matter. They changed hands every four hours. The solution required a touch of imaginative thinking. Lily believed she had the perfect distraction.
Secondly, she needed a head start if she hoped to put distance between her escape and the discovery that she was missing. The answer to that lay in front of her eyes.
As dusk descended, Lily studied the horse’s enclosure where the grooms and guards were busy with their charges.
There were a good many. Rouncies, a few destriers, rarely used except for warfare, and coursers for the knights.
Also, a few dozen or so pack mules. Lily prided herself on being an excellent horsewoman.
She’d certainly find a mount to her fancy.
And she needed a good one, one that could give her the advantage she hoped for.
Now, how to get hold of the horse and escape without being seen, that was her problem.
I’ll have to wait ‘til dark, she told herself. That will give me cover.
“Hem, what? Whatever are you muttering about, my lamb?” asked her aunt.
Lily looked at her regretfully. She’d become a consummate liar. Fibs and half-truths simply danced off her tongue. Appalling!
“I-I said, this tiresome journey seems to have no end.”
Her aunt regarded her with a twinkle. “You don’t have to look so sorrowful about it, child. You are young. Life is an adventure, don’t you know? Grasp it, I say, grasp it with both hands.”
* * *
As if fate had decided to give her a boost, two bits of luck came Lily’s way. That afternoon, they made camp earlier than usual, giving her time to prepare. Also, Aunt Celestria decided to retire early, saying she had a headache.
Nothing could have suited Lily better. She searched among the small squares of vellum in her paintbox for the image she needed for her ruse.
She found it, secreted away at the bottom of the box.
An imaginative but daring image of a bathing nymph in a forest glade.
She’d painted it several years ago, being inspired by Ovid’s tale of Diana and Actaeon.
Foolishly, she had been so proud of it, she’d shown it to Lambert. His reaction had shocked her. He’d turned all sorts of colors and spluttered and hissed, clearly in some sort of extremis. Indeed, he had almost struck her, shouting at her to get rid of it before their mother discovered it.
She ought not to have kept it. Lily knew, and yet, she simply could not throw it away. It expressed something romantic about the lure of forbidden things.
She intended to use it as a distraction. At least she hoped the guards would react as emotionally as Lambert had done.
Finding the right spot to hang it proved more of a challenge.
It was routine for the ladies, accompanied by their two maids, to be allowed privacy in a spot away from the main camp site.
That afternoon, Lily waited just long enough for her guard (today it was Sir Dunstan) to walk a distance away and turn his back to her.
As soon as he did, she picked up her skirts, avoiding the other women, and raced back toward her own small pavilion.
Quickly, she identified the bush on which to hang the four-inch square of vellum. It was a matter of minutes to hide the long thread of ribbon attached to it in the tangled branches. Lastly, she secured the end of the ribbon under the tent flap, a mere three steps away.
So far so good, she told herself proudly, and dusted bits of leaf and debris from her fingers.
Lily waited until the camp finally settled down for the night. She’d worried that the earl would return for a nocturnal visit, but thankfully, he did not. Indeed, other than a brief glimpse early that morning, she had not laid eyes on him since he’d kissed her under the starlight.
On this night, Sir Lanval stood guard. Cockcrow watch would start soon.
It was time.
With one last regretful look at her sleeping aunt, Lily took hold of the anchoring ribbon attached to the vellum and shook it. The small square hanging in the bushes a little to the right of her tent jiggled as she pulled it.
Sir Lanval seemed not to see it. He stood, leaning his back against a nearby tree, his arms crossed over his chest, staring out across the Black Raven’s camp. He yawned.
Once again, Lily shook the ribbon, and the square danced. Again and again, she jogged the ribbon.
Finally, it caught his eye. Lily let out a sigh of relief. The knight stamped a heel into the sod. He gave his head a shake. She watched him straighten and then make his way to the tree.
Lily shook the ribbon one last time.
The vellum beckoned once more.
The moment he grabbed the vellum and yanked it off the tree, Lily sprinted away.
She made for the hazel copse that rimmed the campsite on her left.
In her dark grey cape, her face well hidden inside the deep hood, she seemed almost invisible.
Keeping to the tree shadows, she gave wide berth to the fires along the perimeter.
Unsurprisingly, she met no challenge. Looking back, she could see a group of men gathered near her tent, absorbed in their captain’s find.
The night watch, who surely would have hindered her progress, had drifted over, and soon the minor commotion she’d instigated took shape. Her little nymph was drawing off the threat to her escape. She could hear the rumble of ribald comments peppered here and there with masculine guffaws.
Excellent. One hurdle down.
Carefully, Lily made her way to the corral where the horses were kept.
Sticking to the fringe of the wood, she crouched down to watch.
The hem of her underskirt caught in the brambles, and rather than trying to release the thorns from the fabric, she tore it free.
Stealthily, she crept closer to the corral.
Ah, she thought, warming to the task, there’s the guard, and he’s alone. Usually, there were at least three, but Lily suspected they had gone to discover the nymph for themselves.
Luck was with her again, for the remaining guard had moved off and made himself comfortable on the side furthest from the trees. His head was turned away, she could see, and he was gazing off into the night, barred with swift-moving clouds.
Lily crept even closer. She stood there a while, allowing the nearest horses to catch her scent. The beasts shifted as she came closer, but one nickered softly, allowing her to approach.
Fortunately for her, there were only patches of fitful starlight and the thin rind of a moon. Just enough for her to see by.
She quickly caught up the horse who’d offered her a greeting and laid her hand on its proud neck. Then, taking the halter, she lifted the cordon as high as she could and slipped under it, taking the horse with her. In minutes, she was leading it up toward the trees.
So far so good, she told herself.
On the brink of the wood, she paused. Something made her glance back at the sleeping camp.
She sensed rather than saw a ripple of silver running between the black trunks ahead and spilling back toward her where she stood, now beckoning her, now fading to nothing.
A wavering line of uncertainty and seduction.
“But I must get away,” she whispered, dismayed. Edward had turned her into a traitor—a traitor against herself, for some part of her didn’t want to leave.
She felt it. The sharp tug on her heart, and she knew precisely whence it came, for its sinews lay behind her and emanated from the stern knight who had offered succor.
She heard his words again. “I have you… be easy,” he had said to comfort her in Glumfell.
“Farewell, my lord,” she whispered. “I pray you someday forgive my trespass.”