she has no dower lands.”
“What?” Gowain swayed. “That is impossible. They were wed.”
“They were not.” Ranulf sounded so certain, so smug.
“You lie. She was his wife. He…he called her wife.”
“Then he did so to humor her, for there was no marriage between them.” Ranulf smiled, his eyes cold, calculating. “No copy of their marriage lines could be found.”
“You destroyed them, then, you bastard.”
“I am not the bastard here.” Ranulf’s lip curled. “You are, entitled to naught, not even my father’s name.”
“Our father,” Gowain said firmly. “My mother was—”
“Was a clever little Welsh whore who inveigled her way into my father’s bed.” He stroked his chin. “Mayhap you are not even his get. You’ve her looks, and none of Warren de Crecy’s.”
“What have you done with my mother? By God, if you’ve hurt her…” Gowain cried, lifting his sword.
“He raises arms against me! Seize him!” Ranulf shouted.
Gowain’s bellow of denial was lost in the scramble as Ranulf’s men surged forward. Instinct saved him, prompting him to bring his blade up to counter the first blow.
Ten to one, they had him, but he’d spent the past six years fighting the hard, unforgiving French; these men had doubtless spent theirs subduing unarmed peasants.
With his left hand, Gowain whipped the battle-ax from his saddle and flung it at the foremost rider, catching him in the chest. The man screamed; his horse reared, slamming back into those who followed. The noise and confusion were horrific as men struggled to control horses gone wild.
Gowain wheeled his horse and plunged down the dark’ path toward the village. Mentally he calculated his next move. Did he go left, toward the rocks where his men waited? Or right, drawing his pursuers into the forest where he’d played as a boy?
Right.
He’d not risk a confrontation when there was a chance he could lead Ranulf’s soldiers away, lose them in the woods, then double back and get his people to safety. Where? Where could he take them that would be safe… even temporarily?
Behind him, he heard shouts. He risked looking back and saw he was pursued by six men. Ranulf was in the lead, weapon gleaming ominously in the gray light. Ahead, the forest beckoned. Dark. Mysterious. He plunged into it. The forest closed around him, swallowing him, wrapping him in quiet and shadow. The puny trail went right; Gowain headed left, into the thick brush. He couldn’t hide the signs of his passage, but if he could go far enough, fast enough, he might be safe.
Briars snatched at his clothes; branches tried to scrape him from the horse’s back. Ducking low over the saddle, he laid his face alongside the horse’s neck and watched the woods flash by. He’d had no destination in mind, or so he thought, but when he saw the clearing and tumble of chalky rocks, he halted.
Here he used to play with Maye and her brother, Rob. Slipping from the saddle, he led the stallion around behind the rocks, secured him, then crept back to watch. Faint light filtered in through the canopy of leaves. In the dimness, nothing moved. He could hear nothing, but as he pulled off his helmet and cocked his head, a twig broke behind him.
Gowain turned in one swift movement, crouching low as he brought his sword up.
“Gowain!” gasped a female voice. She stood a foot away, a peasant woman in coarse homespun. “Tis me.” She drew back the cowl of her cloak. “Maye,” she added when he didn’t speak.
Maye? Nay, the Maye of his youth had been slender and beautiful, a siren whose call he’d longed to answer. “Maye.” His voice was as unsettled as his pulse. “What do you here?”
“Waiting for you…same as always.” As she closed the distance between them, her features grew more distinct. Yet they were blurred in their own way, by six years’ worth of lines and extra pounds. Still, it was Maye. “We heard you’d died.”
“I’m too tough to kill.” He looked around. “You cannot stay here. Ranulf comes….”
“He’ll not venture far into the woods. Ranulf fears the dark. With good reason. ‘Tis the outlaws’ domain.” Her eyes moved over his face, no doubt finding the years had marked him, too. “You’ve scarcely changed. I saw you ride into the village and wanted to run out and warn you, but Rob feared I’d be reported.”
“To whom?”
“Ranulf.” She spat the name, then smiled. “When Rob’s back was turned, I came looking for you, and found your men instead.”
“Darcy and the others? Where are they?”
“Safely away where Ranulf’ll not find them, no thanks to that great, stupid bull of a man.” She puffed up. “That…that Darcy feared I’d betray you.”
“It’s happened before,” Gowain muttered.
“I’d never hurt you, Gowain.” She laid a work roughened hand on his arm. “Many’s the time I wished I’d gone off to France with you instead of staying to wed John the Miller.”
Gowain swallowed against the sudden tightness in this throat and looked away from her adoring gaze. In his youth, he’d lusted after Maye, but he’d never loved her. “Tis in the past,” he said gruffly. “Do you know what became of my mother?”
“Nay. She…she just disappeared. Rumor had it she was a witch who’d entrapped Lord Warren, and once he was dead, she turned herself into a raven and flew back to Wales.” She snorted. “I say ‘twas a bit of nonsense put about by Ranulf.”
“Aye. Likely she’s gone to Malpas Keep.” At least that’s where he hoped he’d find her. Gowain dragged a hand through his wet hair, more tired and dispirited even than he’d been in prison. “I’ve got to find a place where my men and I can rest till I decide where we’ll go.”
Maye smiled. “I know what you should do. You should join the others who’ve run afoul of Ranulf.”
“What others?”
“The dispossessed ones. Families he threw off the land after he became lord, soldiers who refused when he ordered them to kill, poachers who took his game rather than see their children starve last winter. There’s six score of them, at least, hiding in the caves. They’d fare better, did they have a strong leader to guide them.” She glanced at him as she used to, as though he were the moon and the sun.
“I’m no rebel,” he muttered. “And I’ll not fight my brother, no matter that he just tried to kill me.”
“You may not have much choice. Ranulf’s hatred of you has grown over the years. He’ll not rest till you are dead.”
“I cannot
