“My palfrey is lathered and blowing.”
“Leave the beast and take that one. Dienwald’s man needs it no more.” And Walter laughed, pointing to Ellis’ body sprawled in a ditch beside the dusty road.
“Nay, leave me the mare, just keep our pace slow for a while.”
Walter felt expansive. Everything had come about as he’d planned. Philippa was beautiful and she was gentle and yielding, her expressive eyes filled with gratitude for him. “I’ll grant you that boon, Philippa.” He rode forward to speak to one of his men. Philippa whispered in Edmund’s ear, “We must pretend, Edmund, and we must think. We must exceed Crooky’s most talented fabrications.”
“I will kill him.”
“Perhaps I shall be the quicker, but hold your tongue now, he returns. Say naught, Edmund.”
“We will ride until it darkens, sweet cousin. I know you are tired, but we must have distance from St. Erth.” He turned and looked behind them, and she knew he was at last worried that his men hadn’t returned to report Silken’s death. She prayed harder.
“We will do as you wish, Walter,” she said, her voice soft and low. “You’re right—we’re too close to the tyrant’s castle.” He seemed to expand before her eyes, so pleased was he at her submissiveness.
“Shall I carry the boy before me?”
“Nay, he is afraid, Walter, for he knows you not. He can’t abide me—he follows his sire’s lead and insults me and abuses me—but at least I am a known adversary. Leave him with me for the moment, if it pleases you to do so.”
It evidently suited Walter, and he turned to speak to a man who rode beside him.
“You act the flap-mouthed
fool,” Edmund said, his child’s voice a high squeak. “He cannot believe you, ’tis absurd!”
“He doesn’t know me,” Philippa said. “He wants to believe me soft and biddable and as submissive as a cow. Fret not, at least not yet.”
It wasn’t until late that afternoon that the two men who had followed Silken caught up with them. Philippa held her breath as they pulled their mounts to a halt beside Walter. She waited, still with apprehension. To her wondrous relief, Walter exploded with rage. “Fools! Inept knaves!”
“Silken escaped,” Philippa said into Edmund’s ear. “Your father will come. He will save us.”
Edmund frowned. “But he is your cousin, Philippa. He won’t harm you.”
“He’s a bad man. Your father hates him, and for good reason, I think.”
“But you mocked my father about him and—”
“ ’Tis but our way—your father and I must rattle our tongues at each other, goad and taunt each other until one wants to smash the other’s head.”
Edmund said nothing to that, but he was confused, so Philippa just hugged him, whispering, “Trust me, and trust that your father will save us.”
It came to dusk and the sky colored itself with vivid shades of pink. They rode inland a bit and stopped at the edge of a forest whose name Philippa didn’t know. It was dark and deep, and she watched silently as two men immediately melted into the trees in search of game. Two other men went to collect wood.
Walter lifted Edmund down and paid him no more attention. Then he wrapped his hands around Philippa’s waist and lifted her from Daisy’s back. He grunted a bit because she wasn’t a languid feather to be plucked lightly. She grinned. When her feet touched the ground he didn’t release her, but held her, his hands lightly caressing her waist. “You please me, Philippa, very much.”
“Thank you, Walter.”
He frowned suddenly. “Your feet are bare. The gown you wear, it is all you have? That wretched bastard gave you nothing to wear?”
She lowered her head and shook her head. “It matters not,” she said, her voice meek and accepting.
Walter cursed and ranted. To her horror, he turned on Edmund, and without warning, backhanded the boy. The blow sent Edmund sprawling onto his back on the hard ground, the breath knocked out of him.
“Foul spawn of the devil!”
“Nay, Walter, leave the boy be!” Philippa was trembling with rage, which she prayed her voice didn’t give away. She quickly dropped to her knees beside Edmund. She felt his arms, his legs, pressed her hand against his chest. “Oh, God, Edmund, is there pain?”
The boy was white-faced, not with pain but with anger. “I’m all right. Get back to your precious cousin and show him your melting gratitude, Maypole.”