A Rose in Winter (61 page)

Allan laughed as he met his opponent's sudden attack with his long blade but slashed empty night air with the short one when the night rider faded lightly away from its threat. "I do not know you now, my friend, but I shall look upon your face soon enough."

He lunged into his own attack in the second quarter but had to quickly retreat as it was effectively parried and the other's blade threatened his groin.

"Not as easy as Timmy Sears, eh?" the hawk queried with a sneer.

Parker almost stumbled but recovered quickly. "How..." "Who else would Timmy have gone to after I visited him that night? You are the thieves' captain, and naturally you would have been the one he went looking for to make his confessions. He was a fool to tell you what he had spilled. It cost him his life."

The blue blade began to weave a tighter pattern, and in spite of the sheriff's best efforts, which were considerable, its hungry tongue licked ever closer to his body. A sudden sharp pain stung his left forearm, then a tug sent the dagger sailing far into the high grass.

As he labored to protect himself, Parker was seized with the sudden belief that this relentless shadow could kill whenever the whim betook him. A light sweat glistened on Parker's face, and his upper lip trembled with stress of this new knowledge.

"Then there was Ben," the night rider continued. "Frail, no possible challenge to one of your skill."

Breathing heavily, Parker did not answer. An ache had begun to grow in his right shoulder as he beat down pass after pass.

"Did he put up much of a fight?" the hooded foe chided. "Or did you catch him in a nap?"

The sheriff panted, and sweat flew from his brow. For the first time in his life he knew he faced one who could kill him.

"You are too young to be the one I search for. There is another who keeps his silk trappings clean while you do his filthy deeds. Lord Talbot, perhaps?"

"You bas ... bastard!" Parker gasped. "Fight like a man! Show your face!"

" 'Tis death to see it, Milord Sheriff. Didn't you know?" His chiding laughter mocked the other.

Parker's gaze shifted momentarily behind his opponent, and he almost smiled. He found new energy and set upon his adversary in a savage fury. His heavier blade chopped, hacked, and stabbed, but was ever met and found no fragile flesh to flay.

Of a sudden, there was a shout, and two thieves launched an attack from the shadows where they had crept, but the night rider ducked beneath their assault. One of the flailing arms pulled the hood from his head before the two brigands came together with a crunch in midair and fell half stunned behind him. He locked hilts with the sheriff, meeting his attack, and they stood face to face.

"You!" Allan cried.

Christopher Seton laughed in the sheriff's face. "Death, Milord Sheriff. But later."

He shoved hard, and the man stumbled back into a full charge of an onrushing four, sending them falling in a tangled heap as Christopher wickedly slashed the air with his sword. A sharp, piercing whistle rent the night, and the stallion charged forward. Christopher thrust his blade into its sheath, and as the steed came alongside, caught an arm across the saddle. His feet struck the ground, and with the impetus, he swung astride his fleeing mount.

The sheriff scrambled to his feet and, with a snarled curse, clawed the pistol from his belt. He lowered the sights of the weapon to send a leaden ball in thunderous pursuit of the flying night hawk, but to no effect. He cursed again and glanced around. Another man was kneeling in the dust, leveling a long musket at the target. Allan snatched it from him and took the shot himself.

Christopher felt a searing blow against his right side before he heard the roar of the musket. The reins fell from his numbed right hand, and he lurched aside. The ground was a dark blur beneath him, ready to consume him, but he sought to keep his senses. He twisted his left hand in the flying mane and, by sheer dint of will, pulled himself upright. The pace of his mount seemed to slow as he slumped low over its back.

The sheriff let out a caterwauling cry and, with a loud command, launched his men to their horses. "After him, you fools! Don't let him escape!"

"Go, Saracen! Go!" Christopher grunted as each flying pace shook him to the core. "Show them your heels, lad! Go!"

The stallion was running free, but he held to the road as the easier course. A shout came from somewhere behind, and a bullet whined by close at hand. Saracen stretched out and fairly flew as the sheriff led his men in a headlong chase through the moonlit night.

The road dipped after it came over the hill, then wound through the valley, bending to the left as it began to meander across the low hills. Once the pursuers were out of sight, Christopher spoke to the stallion and coaxed him into a slow trot. He leaned forward and managed to catch first one rein, then the other and regained a better degree of control. He slowed the steed to a walk, then sent him scrambling down the bank into a thicket below. There he halted in the cover of trees and carefully tucked the cloak beneath and around a warm and sticky right leg, lest the blood from his side leave a trail that could be followed in daylight.

Erienne had fallen behind deliberately and let Farrell lead the chase. Realizing that the cloaked form was no longer trailing her, she paused on a distant knoll and searched along the road where she had just come, hoping he would soon appear. She was certain this shade of the night was the one she thought him to be. Tonight he had set himself against the lawless, murdering band as one bent on a mission of justice, and she had seen enough to convince her that his intent was for good and not evil.

The mare had forded brooklets and traversed dew-laden fields and dusty roads until her white stockings were well begrimed. She pranced, worrying at the restraint that held her in place, but Erienne gave the impatient steed no mind as she fought a battle of indecision. A gunshot had echoed across the moors, and then a heavier boom of a musket had followed. The second report was what frightened her, for the night rider had not been equipped with such a weapon. The questions blazed through her mind. Should she return to help? Could she assist him? Or would it be better if she was gone, giving him the freedom he would need to see to himself?

She peered intently down the road and tried to sort out the shadows cast by low, fleeting clouds for any possible movement of man or beast. For a moment her eyes betrayed her, and she thought she saw a man coming on a horse, but when the moonlight swept the road a moment later, there was nothing. Her head came up as she caught the sound of a distant rumble, and she listened until it became the thunder of mounted horsemen coming full apace.

Erienne reined the mare about and kicked hard with her heel to send the steed leaping into a fast run. Her cloak billowed out behind, and when the lawless band came over the rising, they raised up a hue and cry at seeing the black-winged figure fleeing ahead of them. The air cracked with a report of a pistol, but the shot whined harmlessly past.

Farther up the road, Farrell drew the gelding up short and whirled him around, finding his sister nowhere in sight. The shot had come a fair distance away, but the low rumble of noise that followed made him pull back in the darkness. He looped the reins around his useless hand and checked the loading of his weapons. Then after a word of caution to the girl behind him, he waited.

Erienne came into view a long moment later, and Farrell raised his pistol as he saw the group of riders racing behind her. He squeezed off a shot, and the band came to a skidding halt, raising up a plume of dust in the road. Farrell thrust the pistol away and snatched up the long musket. Laying it across the upper part of his crippled arm, he carefully sighted his target. The shot exploded and struck home, jerking a thief around with a loud scream. The man teetered for a moment in the saddle, then managed to turn his horse about and send him galloping down the road. His companions gave up the chase just as quickly, all except the stalwart sheriff, who shouted after them.

"Come back, you fools! We might lose a man or two, but if we keep together we can take him! Come back, I say!"

A rude contradiction was thrown back at him over a shoulder. "Ye're the fool if ye think we'll stay an' take the first shot from the blighter! Take it yerself!"

Farrell had taken up the second pistol, and he let fly another report. The lead ball winged past Parker's ear, and deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, he struck out after his cohorts, determining that it would be folly indeed to try to catch the night rider when that one was well armed and there was no way of accounting for what weapons his confederates had. The odds were definitely against him tonight, yet there would again come a time when the two of them would meet. He promised himself that much.

Erienne saw the last of the thieves heading off into the night. A flood of relief came with the knowledge that they had given up the chase, but she was plagued by a greater anxiety, that of Christopher's whereabouts. If the murdering band had set out after him, where was he? Was he wounded somewhere? Did he need her help?

Farrell rode beside his sister until they reached the familiar lands of Saxton Hall, then Erienne waved him on.

"Get the girl to the manor," she bade. "Aggie will know what to do to help her. I'll come along in a moment."

"Will you be all right?" he demanded. "The night rider may still be around here somewhere."

"See to the girl, Farrell," Erienne directed, taking on a tone of sisterly authority. "Quickly!"

She waited until her brother was out of sight before turning the mare into the woods and urging her in the direction of the cottage. The moon cast its light through the barren limbs, creating dark, tangled images on the leaf-covered sod and confusing the path. Erienne eyed the shadows carefully, half expecting some movement to startle her, and did not realize her tension until she reached the cottage. The windows were tightly shuttered, and no light escaped from between the planks to give any assurance of occupancy. Nothing stirred, nothing moved. No evidence of her husband's landau was visible. For the most part the place seemed deserted.

Keeping to the sod to muffle the noise of the hooves, she rode past the front of the cottage on to the far side. A snuffling snort came from one of the paddocks behind the shrubs, pricking her curiosity. If Saracen was here, then Christopher had to be around somewhere, and her anxieties would be relieved. She slid from the mare and pushed her way through the greenery. The gate squeaked slightly as she opened it, and the sound brought up the ears of the steed who stood in the paddock across from Saracen's. The horse watched her in alert attention and gave a low neigh as it reached its nose out across the fence toward her. Erienne scratched the steed's neck, giving him the attention he sought. It was too dark to see his coloring, and she went in search of a lantern. One hung against the inside wall of the stable, and running her hand along the shelf beside it, she found flint to strike. In another moment a tiny flame flickered at the tip of the wick and grew stronger. By its light she proved the animal to be Christopher's own bay stallion. Saracen's yard and stable were empty, firming in her mind the identity of the night hawk, but it did not ease her trepidations. She wanted to be certain that wherever Christopher was, he was safe.

The stallion began to prance up and down his paddock, and on the other side of the shrubs the mare responded with a nervous stamping and snorting. Then the bay suddenly halted and stood facing the shrubs with his tail erect, his ears cocked, and his nostrils flared. Though his reaction might have been caused by the nearness of the mare, Erienne did not dismiss the possibility of someone or something else being out there.

She slipped through the shrubs with the lantern and found the mare staring toward the trees. The light cast a meager glow over the first stalwart trunks, but beyond them the darkness was dense. As Erienne neared, a black shape moved there, and a snort came from the ebon shadows. Behind her, the mare flagged her tail and pranced with a showy sidestep at the end of her tether.

Taking heart from the lack of a threat, Erienne approached the trees. "Christopher?" she called in a whisper. "Are you there?"

No answer came, and her skin crawled on her nape. Perhaps it wasn't Christopher at all. Perhaps he was lying wounded or dead somewhere, and it was one of the highwaymen who had turned and followed her.

Her fear for Christopher prodded her forward. Regardless of what or whom she met in the woods, she was going to search until she found him.

She had taken no more than a few steps into the trees when she stopped and gasped, clutching a hand to her throat in sudden dread. The black stallion came forward trustingly, carrying on his back a tall, cloaked form that swayed precariously in the saddle.

"Oh, no," she moaned. She had no need to see the blood to know he was hurt. The light of the lantern showed his face drawn and ashen. The lids sagged over eyes void of their usual sparkle.

Christopher smiled with difficulty and tried to allay her fears. "Good evening, mad—"

The effort sapped the last of his waning strength, and the world lurched in a slow tumble and grew dark. With a frightened cry, Erienne dropped the lantern and leapt forward as he began to topple from the saddle. She caught her arms about him, but his greater weight bore her to the ground beneath him. For an anxious, fear-filled moment she cradled his tousled head close against her breast and sobbed, "Oh, my darling Christopher, what have they done to you?"