But her delicate features had been tense with the need to see him. And that realization, more than anything, burned a slow trail through him all day. She’d defied all properness and modesty to come to him. She’d been unashamed of her desire to see him. And she’d willingly accepted his embrace and kiss.
He’d known the kiss was her apology along with her acceptance of his decision. And it had contained the depth of her feeling for him—something he was still trying to comprehend. Yes, he could admit his fondness for her was growing, different from the physical attraction that came easily. Was it possible she was experiencing the same kind of fondness for him?
The soggy ground slowed his mount. The mud in the beast’s hooves was thick and heavy. As he crested the rise of the hill, he motioned to his squires and slowed the horse, intending to dismount and pry loose the sludge. But as he tugged the reins and brushed a hand over the stallion’s withers, appreciating the powerful muscles of its neck and shoulders, a wisp of smoke in the distance snagged his attention.
The black curl drifted upward like a coiling adder. And it came directly from Chesterfield Park. The beating in Will’s chest silenced, and a deadly calm fell over him. Something had happened.
With a sharp jab to the horse’s flanks and a quick flick of the reins, he urged his mount to gallop. The closer his home loomed, the harder he pushed the stallion, moving well ahead of his squires. With each pound of the hooves, his chest pounded harder, until it hurt painfully.
The visions of Thomas’s body filled his mind’s eye. The vultures perched on his brother’s sightless head, the putrid body pieces in the ditch. The moment he’d recognized his brother amidst the decimated remains, he’d fallen to his knees and vomited until he’d had naught left.
He hadn’t been there to protect Thomas. And now, what if he was too late to protect his family? His wife. And his sons.
“God have mercy.” His breath came in quick spurts. Nausea crowded his throat, and he tasted bile at the back of his tongue. “God have mercy.”
As he charged through the open gatehouse, another thought assailed him. Someone among the ranks of his household must have betrayed him and opened the gates wide to a roving band of rebels. Who had done it?
He unsheathed one of his swords, his body rigid with the need to kill the one who had been disloyal. The grounds swarmed with men, looting his storehouse and stables and home. But even as he charged forward, his sword swinging at anyone close enough to feel its blade, his mind cautioned him against too much bloodshed, at least until he determined what had become of his kin.
At the manor entryway, he dismounted, slashing away the rebels who converged upon him in an attempt to capture him. He entered the house with long, angry strides, the blood on his weapon a warning that he would kill if need be.
As he stalked into the great hall, he repelled several more men. With curses, they fell back.
“Sire.” A familiar voice called out a warning. He spun to see Thad, his steward and friend, standing next to a stranger, who clearly, with in his simple garb, sun-bronzed face, and plain chaperon-style hat, was no nobleman. Yet, he held himself with the bearing of a leader, his expression hardened, as if he’d witnessed so much heartbreak that he’d lost his heart altogether.
Thad’s young face compressed with worry lines, and his gaze darted behind the stranger.
Will followed the glance, and his chest seized. Two men stood at Marian’s side. One was pinning her arms behind her back, and the other held a knife to her throat, which she’d arched in a desperate act to keep her skin from being nicked. But already blood trailed down her pale neck and pooled in the hollow at the base of her throat. Surprisingly, her eyes were calm, even angry. On the floor behind her, Phillip crouched low, shielding Robert in his arms.
“Sir William, welcome home.” The stranger offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Will sensed half a dozen men closing in around him. He lifted his sword in warning.
“If you be putting down your weapon”—the stranger glanced toward Marian—“then we will be putting down ours. But if you choose not to . . .”
Marian released a pained gasp, and the rebel holding the knife grinned as fresh blood trickled down her neck.
Instantly, Will’s dagger was in his hand, aimed at the man’s heart and ready to throw.
“Wait!” Thad stepped forward, his expression wreathed with urgency. “They’re here to seek peace. They mean you no harm.”
You. Not us. “So you are the one who betrayed me.” Will spat at the man who’d been his most trusted companion.
Thad shook his head, then cocked his head to the corner where Sarah stood with the other women, amongst them Will’s mother and sister. Thad’s eyes said it all. Whatever he’d done had been to protect Sarah and everyone else. Now Will must do likewise for the people he loved.
“Please, sire. ’Tis Wat Tyler. And he’s here to recruit you to be the sovereign captain.”
Wat Tyler? The leader of the rebellion?
Will examined the stranger again, taking in the smattering of gray at the man’s temple, the leathery lines in his forehead and at his eyes, and the sorrow—deep sorrow—etched into those lines. He didn’t know much about this man except hearsay from the knights who’d visited him earlier in the week. One of the rumors was that his daughter had been indecently assaulted by a poll tax collector. Seeing the sadness in the man’s face now, Will could almost believe it was true.
Even so, Will’s fingers tightened around his dagger, its lethal tip aimed at Marian’s captor.
Wat looked at it pointedly. “You’ve a brave wife, sire. She insisted that if we must be hurting someone, it be her and not your sons.”
Marian didn’t move. Every muscle in Will’s body tensed with the need to set her free. Could he impale her captor before the man slit her throat open?
“I’ve been hearing you’re a mighty warrior.” Wat’s voice echoed in the now-silent hall. “I be supposing you can kill my man Jack clean through quicker than a bat can fly. But my man Chester. Now he’s a fair shot with the arrow.” Wat nodded to the side of the room where a youth had his bow taut and arrow notched. It was aimed at Marian’s heart.
Will’s muscles twitched with the need to slay both rebels at the same time. But with only one dagger, he was at a disadvantage. The truth was, if he wanted to save Marian and his sons, he would have to play along with this crowd of miscreants—at least for the time being.
Slowly, Will lowered his blade and used it to point to the trestle table closest to the hearth fire. “Let my wife be, and I shall sit down and share a drink with you.”
Wat didn’t smile, but the tight lines at his mouth relaxed. He nodded at Marian’s captor, who released the pressure of the knife and shoved Marian behind him.
Marian knelt and gathered Robert into her arms. The little boy came to her willingly, clinging to her and burying his face into her bosom. Phillip lifted his chin at the rebels, as if to say they would have to kill him first before he let anything happen to his brother.
The boy’s ferocity reflected Will’s except that his encompassed both of his sons. And Marian. She kissed Robert’s head and held him tightly before meeting Will’s gaze. Her eyes reached out to him and seemed to tell him she was strong, not to worry about her, that she would take care of his boys.