Dark Champion Read Free Page A

She removed herself from the steward’s arms and forced herself to think, to lead.
    “No. That’s the road Warbrick will watch most closely. And who’s to say where the king is, or if he’s able to come to my aid? He’s likely still watching the coast in case his brother changes his mind again. It would take at least a week of walking just to reach London, and if Warbrick didn’t stop us, I fear some other hazard would.” She looked around. “Did any of my father’s men-at-arms escape?”
    “None that I know of, lady.”
    Totally undefended. Imogen had never in her life stepped out of her castle unguarded, and now she felt naked before the world, but she forced her voice to steadiness as she said, “We must seek aid closer by, then.”
    Siward shook his head. “But where, lady? To the north and east are Warbrick and Belleme. To the south is Sir Kyle. To the west is Cleeve.”
    Imogen shivered. Put like that it was a withering choice. “Sir Kyle would do me no harm,” she said, thinking of the elderly knight who held Breedon Castle for the Earl of Lancaster.
    “And little good, I fear, lady. You know well enough that he’s an old man and of a nervous disposition. He’s been secure, for no one had reason to risk Lancaster’s wrath, but you would be enough to tempt Warbrick to take the risk. If Warbrick and his jackals arrived at Breedon’s gates, old Kyle would hand you over.”
    “Surely not,” protested Imogen, but she knew it was true. She was fighting the obvious source of help. “You think I should go to Cleeve?” she whispered. “But it’s in the hands of the one they call Bastard FitzRoger!”
    “Cleeve’s your only chance against Warbrick unless you want to hide in the woods until the king comes.”
    An owl hooted and there was a scurrying in the undergrowth. Imogen felt like that small animal, frantically hiding from predators.
    She turned away that puling image. She was Imogen of Carrisford. She was a wolf at bay, not a rabbit. What she needed was an ally.
    “Is FitzRoger as hard a man as they say?” she asked.
    Siward rubbed his long nose. “He’s not been hereabouts long enough to tell, lady, only since January. And not about the place that much, what with helping the king establish himself and driving off the duke. All we know of him is rumors and gossip. You know he was maybe son to old Roger of Cleeve but raised in France. Came over with the new king and looked up his family, so to speak. That weakling brother of his was still lord then, but when Lord Hugh died without heir, the king gave FitzRoger the place.”
    Imogen did know this, and more. Rumor said the bastard had killed his brother. Lord Bernard had said little on the subject, however, and Imogen had been too busy teasing suitors to care. Old Roger of Cleeve and his son had been such an unpleasant pair that Carrisford had had nothing to do with them.
    ‘The local people must have some opinion of him,“ she said.
    Siward shrugged. “He’s a young man, they say, but well proved in war and tourney, and close to the king.”
    A man able to stand against Warbrick and Belleme, perhaps, but at what cost to herself? “I have heard he is a harsh man,” she whispered.
    “Aye,” said Siward. “He’s taken Castle Cleeve in a firm grip, sure enough.”
    A vision of Warbrick’s fist around Gilbert’s throat flashed through Imogen’s mind, and bile choked her. She forced herself to ignore it. “You almost sound as if you approve of him, Siward.”
    “It’s not for me to approve or disapprove, lady.”
    “What I mean,” asked Imogen impatiently, “is do you think FitzRoger is a lesser risk than Warbrick? You know my father sheltered me. I don’t know enough.”
    “There’s no risk with Warbrick,” said Siward flatly. “There’s just certainty of evil. From what they say, FitzRoger’s a hard man and a good soldier. That’s what you need right now, lady. He’ll likely help you, for Cleeve and Warbrick have long