Elaine Barbieri (14 page)

“He will not allow you to remain there.”

Rosamund had turned sharply toward Dagan when he made his first comment. She was about to protest when he continued, “Your father is right. De Silva is using this opportunity to attempt to impress you.”

She had replied heatedly, “He cannot impress me with the power he commands in this shire because of the Saxon blood that he has shed, or with the wealth he stole from the farmers that he conquered so easily. He never will!”

“He is not aware of the extent of your loyalty. He believes he may awe you with his prowess.”

“Prowess? I know of no prowess. Even the most common Saxon farmer could hunt as well as he does if he were allowed to do so without fear.”

Hadley had insisted. “I will find an excuse so that you will not attend the hunt. I will tell the baron that I need you, that another day will hinder—”

A sound outside the hut had halted Hadley’s response the moment before a uniformed soldier had appeared in the doorway to say, “The baron has commanded that I escort you to the keep, where you will join those preparing for the hunt.”

“Tell the baron I will not allow Ross to come, that I—”

Stepping forward, Rosamund had interrupted Hadley to say, “I will follow you.”

Mounting up on the steed waiting outside the hunt,
Rosamund had followed the uniformed soldier without another word, leaving the two men standing silently behind them.

Though she still rode at the rear of the procession now, Rosamund’s positive thoughts wavered. She had not had the opportunity to tell Hadley that Dagan was aware of her true gender. Nor had Dagan spoken a word after the first messenger arrived. They had slept on their separate mattresses, only inches from each other, yet they had not touched. With the memory of Dagan’s strong arms around her, of lying close to him, of the unexpected wonder he had evoked, she had felt a deprivation unlike any she had experienced before.

Rosamund glanced at the hunters surrounding her. The baron’s knights practiced fighting whenever the weather permitted so they might be available on an instant’s notice when the baron summoned their expertise. When springtime came, however, they spent their time in the woods and fields, hunting with the hounds and hawks in order to maintain their form. She had had no trouble keeping up with them while they sang and made music as they traversed the wooded glade and waited for the hounds to pick up the scent, but that would change once the hunt began in earnest.

Through all the pomp and ceremony of the hunt, she had watched the faces of the peasants as hunters had wantonly trampled their fields and crops and forced them to supply refreshments from their small supplies of food. She had pretended not to notice the peasants who had been “poaching” on land that had once been their own and who hid from the unannounced hunting
procession, obviously terrified of being discovered and punished.

The hunting horn sounded unexpectedly, breaking into Rosamund’s somber thoughts as the hounds surged forward in wild pursuit of game. The horses followed instinctively, and the hunters leaned forward to accommodate their mounts’ sudden burst of speed as they leaped obstacles and chased at a pace that set her heart to pounding.

Rosamund gripped her mount’s reins tightly as it responded spontaneously to the increased heat of the chase. The animal nearly unseated her several times as it followed the rabid throng over hill and dale, through dense forest and brambles that tore at her borrowed hunting clothing and slapped at her face.

She gasped when she saw the mounts in front of her leap as one over a muddy ditch. Determined not to be defeated by the challenge, she gripped her mount’s reins tightly, only to hear the unexpected sound of a snap a moment before the reins broke, throwing her high into the air for long seconds before she hit the damp, leafy ground with a loud crack.

A darkness filled with the dwindling sound of the hunt enveloped her. She strained to open her eyes, hardly conscious of the deep, male voice in her ear…a familiar, well-loved voice…calling her back. Rosamund looked up into Dagan’s tight expression. He stroked her cheek and whispered words she could not quite understand, concern creasing his face as he gently probed her muddied scalp for signs of injury. Finding none, he systematically searched her body for broken bones.

When his gaze returned to her face at last, he whispered, “It appears you have no injuries. I was afraid that—” He hesitated, then continued hoarsely, “You shouldn’t have attempted to keep up with the other hunters. They are practiced at this sport. They know its rigors. They have—”

“Get away from him!”

Dagan’s head jerked up at the baron’s command. He did not move from her side as de Silva drew his mount to a sliding halt and dismounted with several men at his heels. “Leave him alone so he may mount his horse! He will continue with the hunt.”

Standing, Dagan faced de Silva coldly. “The equipment you provided for Ross was faulty. The reins broke, causing his fall. As a result, not only is Ross incapacitated, but his mount is unable to continue on. I will assist him back to his hut.”

“He is fine!” De Silva ordered harshly, “Get up, Ross. Show this man that contrary to his assessment, you are ready to mount up and continue on.”

Still disoriented but unwilling to allow the baron’s anger to fall on Dagan, Rosamund attempted to rise. She grunted as she stumbled back to the ground again.

Enraged, de Silva repeated, “Get up, I said!”

Immediately kneeling at her side, Dagan responded harshly, “He cannot get up. Neither he nor his equipment is equal to the chase. I will take him back to his hut so he may recover fully.”

Dagan attempted to help Rosamund to her feet, only to stiffen when de Silva rasped, “I told you to take your hands off him. What are you doing here, anyway? I did
not invite you to attend the hunt. To the contrary, I stipulated that Ross should attend alone.”

“Ross obeyed your command. However, you did not say that I could not follow him. In light of his inexperience, I was fearful that he might have an accident. I wanted to be there to tend to him.”

“Nay, you will not
tend to him
. Nor will you take him back to his hut. Instead, I will—”

“What is wrong here?”

De Silva turned abruptly toward Emile DuPree as the old man drew his mount to a halt beside them with unexpected skill. The baron responded, “I did not expect you to interrupt your hunt for so inconsequential a matter as a young man’s fall.”

Emile frowned at de Silva’s glance, responding, “When you disappeared, I came to find you. The hounds seem to have lost the scent anyway, so it did not matter.”

De Silva nodded. “Then it will be no difficult matter for the young man to catch up.”

“So, what is the problem?”

De Silva turned as Dagan helped Rosamund to her feet. He frowned when he noted her unsteady state and responded to Emile, “The youth fell from his horse at a jump, and this man claims the boy is done for the day. I do not ascribe to that defeatist attitude. It is my thought that he should remount and continue on.”

Emile replied impatiently, “This young fellow has obviously had a hard fall and is unsteady on his feet. I cannot imagine why he was invited to participate in the hunt, since he is obviously a novice, but this other man is willing to help him return to his quarters. Since my
time is limited and I am awaiting your direction to observe the perimeters of this hunting preserve, Guilbert, I would say this situation has an easy solution.”

De Silva lips tightened before he responded, “Of course, you are correct.” He turned toward Dagan to say, “Take the young man back to his hut, then. I will check on him when the hunt is over. In the meantime, I charge you with his safety.” He added more softly, “His
safety
, do you hear?”

When Dagan nodded and motioned Conqueror toward him, de Silva’s gaze narrowed. “This mount is yours?”

His expression wary, Dagan responded, “Yea, it is mine.”

“The animal has the look of a war horse…certainly no mount for a common man.”

“I found him abandoned and near death on the field of battle. I nursed him back to health, and his loyalty to me has been unsurpassed ever since.”

Hesitating at Dagan’s response, de Silva turned back to Emile. “On with the hunt, then.”

Still standing unsteadily in the curve of Dagan’s arm, Rosamund held her breath until the mounted entourage slipped from sight. Then she looked up at Dagan and said stiffly, “I would not have fallen if my mount’s reins had not snapped.”

“I know.”

“I am a good rider. My father made sure of that. I could have made it to the end of the day.”

“I know.”

“I would not have allowed the baron to believe he could best me in any way.”

His light eyes tight on hers, Dagan replied, “The baron did not best you. The equipment was at fault. In any case, you have other abilities that I suspect the baron could never appreciate…abilities that I value above all, and that I intend to help you develop.”

Color flooded Rosamund’s cheeks.

Dagan lifted Rosamund onto Conqueror’s back without another word. He attached a lead to her mount’s saddle so that the horse followed them and mounted up behind her. Leaning back against the broad wall of his chest, safe and content at last, Rosamund was somehow glad when he remained silent, because she realized there was no way she could respond at all.

Concealed in a heavy copse a little distance away, Martin watched as Dagan and Ross rode off. The object of de Silva’s attentions appeared to be only too content in the arms of his friend.

Martin had listened intently to their conversation after de Silva left. Ross’s voice had risen to a womanly pitch when he did not believe he would be overhead, and Dagan’s expression had been revealing. The way they had looked at each other…Somehow, Dagan did not seem to be the type to respond to a man’s appeal.

Brows furrowed, Martin considered the scene he had witnessed. He wondered…

The hunting horn sounded again, and Martin’s head snapped up toward the sound. The hounds had regained the scent.

Turning his horse, Martin galloped in the direction
of the sound, the puzzling events he had witnessed temporarily thrust from his mind.

“I am fine, I tell you.”

Having regained her senses after a silent trip back to her hut, Rosamund protested as Dagan attempted to help her down from Conqueror. She slipped to the ground, ignoring her aching muscles as she walked inside. Acutely aware that Dagan’s gaze followed her, she refused to limp. Each step was a test of her resolve, but she would not be coddled.

“You are stubborn.” His expression tightened as he followed her inside. “You have yet to learn that you are human and suffer the same weaknesses as others.”

“I have no weaknesses!”

Dagan considered Rosamund’s adamant statement silently before replying, “Yea, I stand corrected. You do not. Still, there is no shame in feeling sore after a hard fall.”

“I need only wash the dirt and debris from my body and I will be as good as new.”

“Perhaps.”

Fighting the desire to surrender to her aches and pains, Rosamund stated flatly, “I will go to the stream. No one will be there at this time of day, and I will wash away all trace of my mishap. I will change back into my own clothing and take my place at Hadley’s side as if the fall never occurred.”

“If that is what you want.”

Fighting a desire to cry as her soreness increased, Rosamund snapped, “I appreciate your concern, but
that is what I want. In the meantime, you may return to your own work. I am sure you have been missed.”

Taking up a cloth and a precious piece of soap, Rosamund started toward the stream. Satisfied that she was finally out of Dagan’s sight when she rounded a bend in the trail, she limped to the stream’s edge. After a glimpse around her, she shed the muddied hunting clothes with which she had been provided and walked naked into the shallow stream.

The cool water reached only to her knees, so Rosamund knelt to wash the debris from her hair. She splashed away the remainder of the soapy residue from her scalp and skin before attempting to stand.

Her sore muscles refused to respond. Rosamund tried again. It appeared that standing was more easily said than done.

She tried again to stand, and then again. She realized with a start of disbelief that her injured muscles had become frozen—that she was unable to move! She was stuck there, naked and helpless. She had guarded her gender so carefully, yet it was now visible to even the most casual eye.

Rosamund thrust back a heavy lock of fair hair from her forehead and again attempted to stand. She closed her eyes as the tears she had steadfastly withheld slid past her closed lids. Her eye snapped open again with a start when she was swept unexpectedly from the water and found herself held against Dagan’s broad chest as he waded back to the bank with her in his arms.

“Put me down!” Protesting hotly despite the tears
she had not yet wiped from her cheeks, Rosamund ordered, “I can walk.”

“All right, I will put you down.”

Dagan placed her on a coverlet stretched out on the stream’s bank and kneeled beside her. She frowned when he picked up a familiar bottle and poured some liquid into his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“You know what I am doing.”

“If I did, I would not have asked.”

Dagan’s mouth twitched with amusement as he replied, “This salve is your own. You used it on me when I needed it, and I will now use it on you.”

“That substance is precious. It is not to be wasted.”

“It will not be wasted.”

“I do not need it. I am fine.”

“Are you?”

Aware that her nakedness did not support her assertion, Rosamund raised her chin. “Yea, I am.”

“Stand up.”

Rosamund did not respond.

“Stand up…if you can.”

Rosamund raised her chin higher. “I am naked. I choose not to stand.”

Dagan whispered, “I have seen you naked before.” Rosamund flushed as he repeated, “Stand up.”

Her chin thrust even higher, Rosamund finally replied, “I cannot.”

Dagan’s amber eyes flashed at her admission and he replied hoarsely, “Lie back, then. I will massage away your aches and you will be as good as new again.”