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Chapter Seven
While the servantsfollowed his instructions without question, they cast curious glances at Ivy who followed in his wake. Their eyes widened when they spied the shackles binding her wrists and the chain he held in his fist.
Ivy said little as he made preparations. As it should be. She was his servant and now his prisoner. He knew nothing of her past connections or her intent. The answers she gave him were evasive and left him even more skeptical.
They waited near the postern gate for the groom the bring around the horses. He wished to keep their little adventure a secret for as long as possible. If it were revealed the king decided to follow a traitor into the woods to find his stolen queen, there would be chaos.
The woman beside him shifted, making the chain clink against his thigh. Ivy stood wordlessly behind him, but her gaze fixed on a point beyond his shoulder.
When he turned, he hoped to find the groom leading the horses. Instead, he found his mother staring at him from the small doorway off the kitchen. He recognized the patronizing expression on her lovely face as he had seen it often over the duration of his life.
She lifted her skirts delicately and approached.
Crispin gripped the chain to get Ivy’s attention. “Remain silent.”
Ivy tilted her head in acknowledgment, dropping her gaze.
“You intend to leave without explaining yourself.” Her statement was an admonishment, not an inquiry.
“I must see to this personally.” Crispin squared his shoulders. “I shall return in a few days.”
His mother’s loving eyes narrowed as they fell on Ivy and the chain linking them before pinning him with a questioning stare. “If I did not know better, I would say you are avoiding your responsibilities in order to engage in a fruitless search for Ruby.” She folded her hands and regarded him carefully. “However, we have nearly exhausted every possible recourse to recover both her and Henry.”
Crispin arched his brow in surprise but recovered quickly. “I have new information which could lead me to them. I cannot entrust it to anyone and must see it through.”
At his mother’s reluctant nod, Crispin relaxed, and confidence infused him.
“I shall convey your apologies to the privy council.” She inclined her head. “What shall I tell them when they ask why their king has taken such a task upon his own shoulders?”
“When those they love are ripped from their grasp and their lives burned to ash, only then will they understand the depths of my commitment.” Indignation burned hot in his gut. “I shall deal with them upon my return.”
“Very well.” His mother offered a smile, but it did not reach her eyes. A lingering sadness filled them when the groom approached, leading his dapple-gray gelding, Ghost. She watched in silence as he placed the leather bags over the back of the saddle and mounted the horse. When he pulled Ivy into the saddle before him, his mother’s expression hardened.
“I shall return. Mark my words.” He gathered the reins in his gloved hand and secured the chain to his saddle. “You must watch the kingdom in my absence.”
“May God grant you mercy, my son.” She stepped back as he nudged the gelding into motion.
Crispin resisted the urge to take one last glimpse of his mother before slipping through the postern gate. As the distance between them and the castle grew, the uncertainty faded into a dull ache. A newfound confidence imbued his soul.
Ivy shifted, rubbing against him.
He clapped his hand on her thigh and growled. “You will remain still, wench, and mark my words if you attempt to turn on me, I will not hesitate to slit that pretty throat.”
The woman stilled and remained silent.
