He looked down at Loguire; the old man was out cold: the strain, and the long night ride, to say nothing of how long it had been since he'd slept.
Rod pulled hay over the sleeping lord to hide him. Looking for Big Tom, he saw shins and feet disappearing into the side of the haystack. The saddles and bridles had already disappeared into the hay.
The feet were likewise removed from sight; then there was a protracted rustling, and Tom's ruddy face popped out of his burrow-hole. "Thou must take tha'self from sight right quickly, master. 'Twill be sunrise ere long, and the peasants mustn't see us."
"They won't come near this stack?"
"Nay. This field is far from the keep, so 'twill be some days yet ere they take in this hay."
Rod nodded. He threw up his hands and jumped, sliding down the side of the stack. He turned to see Tom's burrow fast closing. He grinned. "Good night, Big Tom."
"Good morn, master," answered the muffled voice within.
Rod chuckled, shaking his head, as he went to the nearest other haystack. He climbed to the top, mashed the hay down into a bowl, and stretched out with a blissful sigh.
There was a soft mew, and the osprey dropped down beside him into the hay. It fell onto its side, its form fluxed and stretched, andGwendylon was lying beside him.
She smiled mischievously and began to untie the strings of her bodice. "Twenty-four hours, my lord. Sunrise to sunrise. You ha' said you would obey my commands for so long."
"But—but—but…" Rod stared and swallowed as the bodice fell open and was thrown away. The blouse began to inch upward.
He swallowed again and stammered, "Bu-but somebody's got to keep watch!"
"Never fear," she murmured. The blouse went flying. "My friends shall do that."
"Your friends?" In a detached sort of way, Rod noted that in this culture the concept of the brassiere was not yet developed.
Gwendylon was, though.
"Aye, the Wee Folk." Skirt and slippers joined the discard pile with one smooth, sinuous motion.
The setting sun turned the straw blood-gold as Rod's head poked up out of the hay.
He looked around, sniffed the cool, fresh evening breeze, and expelled a sign of great satisfaction.
He felt immensely well.
He thrust the covering of hay aside with one sweep of his arm and reflected that it had been a busy day, as his eyes traveled slowly and lovingly over Gwen's curves.
He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers for a long, deep kiss. He felt her come awake beneath him.
He drew back; her eyes opened halfway. Her lips curved in a slow, sultry smile.
She stretched, slow and feline. Rod was surprised to feel his pulse quicken. His opinion of himself went up a notch.
His opinion of her was altogether too high already. With a twinge of alarm, Rod realized he was regretting that he was a traveling man. He also realized something was gnawing at the base of his conscience. She looked into his eyes and sobered. "What saddens you, lord?"
"Don't you ever worry about being used, Gwen?"
She smiled lazily. "Do you, lord?"
"Well, no…" Rod frowned at his palms. "But that's different. I mean, I'm a man."
"I would never ha' guessed," she murmured, biting his ear lobe in the process.
He grinned and twisted, trying to retaliate; but she wasn't done with his ear yet.
"Men are fools," she murmured between bites. "You are forever saying what is not instead of what is. Be done with the night, and live in the evening while you are in it."
She eyed him then through heavy lids with a somewhat proprietary joy, looking him up and down slowly.
Oh, well, Rod thought, so much for my one attempt to be honorable… "Kamere!" After all, there was only one way to wipe that smug smile off her face.
Big Tom chose just that moment to call, "Master! The sun has set, and we must away."
Rod let go of Gwen with a disgusted growl. "That boy has definitely the greatest sense of timing…" He started pulling on his hose. "Up and away, my dear!"
"Must we, lord?" she said, pouting.
"We must," he answered. "Duty calls—or at least Big Tom. Onward for the glory of France! or something like that…"
Two nights of pushing the pace, alternating canter and walk, brought them back to the capital.
As they came to the bridge over the river that curved around the town, Rod was surprised to see two foot soldiers armed with pikes, torches flaring by their sides in the darkness of the seventh hour of night.
"I shall clear the way," Tom muttered, and spurred his horse ahead of Rod and Loguire. "Stand aside," he called to the guards, "for my masters wish to enter."
The pikes clashed as they crossed, barring the bridge. "Who are your masters?" retorted the one of them. "Be they rebels? Or Queen's men?"
"Rebels?" Tom frowned. "What ha' passed in the Queen's Town while we ha' been to the South?"
"The South?" The guard's eyes narrowed. " Tis the lords of the South that rebel."
"Aye, aye!" Big Tom waved the objection away impatiently. "We ha' been there on the Queen's affairs—spies, i' truth. We bear word that the lords of the South rise in revolt, and the name of the day that they march; but how has this news come here afore us?"
"What is this badinage?" snapped Loguire, riding up with Rod at his side. "Stand aside, sirrahs, that a man of noble blood may enter!"
Th guards' heads swiveled to stare up at Loguire; then both pikes jumped forward, their points scarce an inch from his chest. "Dismount and stand, Milord Duke of Loguire!" The first guard's voice was firm, but deferential. "We must hold you in arrest, on command of her Majesty the Queen."
And the other guard bawled, "Captain! Captain of the Guard!"
Loguire stared in disbelief. Rod nudged his way past the lord and glared at the guard. "Name the crime for which the Queen holds Milord Loguire in arrest!"
The guard's eyes flicked from Loguire's face to Rod's, and back; then, dubiously, he answered, "Most high treason to the body and person of her Majesty the Queen."
Loguire's jaw sagged. Then his lips pressed thin and his brows beetled down, hiding his eyes in caves of shadow. His face seemed bloody in the torchlight.
"I am most sternly loyal to her Majesty the Queen!" he exploded. "Be done with your impertinence and stand aside!"
The sentry swallowed and stood his ground. "It is said Loguire leads the rebels, milord."
"Soldier." Rod spoke quietly, but with the tone of an old field sergeant.
The sentry's eyes jumped to him, but the pike didn't waver.
"You know me," and Rod's voice held the veiled threat of non-com authority.
It had more effect than all Loguire's lofty phrases. The soldier licked his lips and agreed, "Aye, master."
"Who am I?"
"You are Master Gallowglass, late of the Queen's Guard."
"Still of the Queen's Guard," Rod corrected, still softly. "Sent to the South a week agone, to guard Milord Loguire."
Loguire's head jerked up; his eyes blazed at Rod.
"We ha' known that you were gone," the soldier mumbled.
"And now you know why." Rod kept his voice under careful control, managing to imply that the Queen's Own Wrath would fall on the guard's miserable head if he disobeyed. "My Lord Loguire cries sanctuary from his kinswoman and suzerain, her Majesty the Queen. She would be wroth to hear him detained. Let us pass."
The guard took a firmer hold on his pike, gulped, and thrust out his jaw stubbornly. "The order ha' gone forth that Milord Loguire be held in arrest in the Queen's dungeon, good master. More than that I know not."
"Dungeon!" Loguire thundered, beet-red. "Am I a tuppenny footpad, to be crooked from a hedgerow to a dungeon cell? Is it thus that the Queen would acknowledge her vassal? Nay, nay! The blood Plantagenet hath not ebbed so low! Knave, I'll hale thy lying tongue from thy head!"
His hand went to his dagger, and the soldier cowered back; but Rod's hand stayed the nobleman's.
"Calm yourself, milord," he murmured, " Tis Durer hath sent this word here before us. The Queen could not know of your loyalty."