Free Spring's Fury by Denise Domning Page A

My heart is set on Ashby for mine own reasons. You cannot dissuade me."
    "I relent then. But know I cannot bear you torturing yourself over the past." Rannulf lay a hand upon his shoulder and smiled, gray eyes clear of the bitterness that had haunted their relationship until only recently. "So, have you found yourself a wife, yet?'
    "Nay." Gilliam allowed himself a wry smile. "However, you may thank me for my good works. I've found you two thieves and one poor serf escaping his rural master. As this gate is the only one open and no tall women have exited I can only conclude that she must yet be within these walls."
    "My lord?" Walter's head appeared above the stairwell.
    Both noblemen turned. Gilliam called, "What have you found?"
    "This." He stepped out onto the tower roof, Nicola's gowns fluttering like pennants in his hand. Great gouts of filth marred them, leaving them utterly ruined. "And this," he opened his other hand and a long, dark coil of hair streamed out from his fingers.
    Gilliam drew a sharp breath, then whirled to look past the road to the dense forest beyond it. The boy who was his bride was no longer within sight. He turned to Rannulf, unsure whether he should scream in rage or jump for joy. He had found and lost her in the same instant. "Damn her, but she's wearing my tunic," he shouted.
    "What?" Rannulf cried. "No—she didn't—not even that vixen could be so brash." His face twisted at the repulsive thought of a girl dressed as a man. "You wish to wed this—creature?"
    "No matter how she dresses, she is still Lady Ashby, and Ashby will be mine. Damn, but she walked out right beneath my nose, with me staring at her because her garment reminded me of one I'd had at fifteen." He grabbed his brother by the arms. "Because it is the same tunic.
    "Jos, come with me," Gilliam called as he raced down the stairs, Rannulf and Walter on his heels. He stopped in the courtyard.
    "Gatekeeper, open your gates, our bird has flown," he shouted, then waved to a man to translate for him. "Walter, gather our men and have the horses saddled. Jos and I will be ready to ride as soon as we are free of our finery."
    "You will want your armor," Walter began, but Gilliam stopped him with a brusque shake of his head.
    "Nay, there's not time for me to arm. Have one of the men pack my mail for me. Bring also whatever decent clothing the lady has left behind in her cell. I suspect she'll have a need for them when I find her."
    "Why not let me send a man to fetch her back for you." Rannulf's tone was somewhere between a suggestion and a command.
    "Nay."  Gilliam gave a brief and scornful laugh. "Go, Walter," he said, signaling his man away before explaining to his brother. "Rannulf, I have had enough of your life with its politics and churchmen who reach beyond themselves. Let me collect my wife and be on my journey home. When we arrive at Ashby, the priest can wed us, doing the job just as securely as any other churchman."
    "What makes you think she'll wed you at Ashby when she refused you here?" Rannulf raised a brow in question.
    "The villagers accept me as their lord. I think that even if I had to bind and gag her, nodding her head at all the right places, they would aid me in seeking to make me their legal master. If they will not, I will keep her as you suggested, until she bears my child." Gilliam shrugged, but there was nothing comfortable about what he proposed. Forcing himself upon her would hardly win from Lady Ashby the cooperation he so desired.
    "Now, if you are still offering favors, you could send a man to your foresters. Have him tell the woodland folk to mark the passage of a party of three: a woman, one tall boy in faded green and a man dressed in cuir-boilli, leading  a poor steed. They should not stop them, else she might be driven to run. At the party's present pace, it’ll be an hour or more before they reach our borders and meet up with de Ocslade."
    "Easily done."
    As Rannulf spoke to his man, Gilliam stared