His Fair Lady (15 page)

Ana steadied her nerves and prepared herself
for her flight into sanctuary. Her thoughts suddenly dropped to her
boots, and she chided herself for having put them on again. There
would be no opportunity to remove them. But her feet had become
unexpectedly chilled without them while she rode motionless behind
the knight. Though the weather had been unseasonably warm for the
past week, the day had turned suddenly nippy as they neared the
coast, a heavy moistness hanging in the air. Ana assured herself
‘twould be more comfortable inside the church, something she’d soon
enjoy.

When at last the group came even with the
church, Ana brought her gaze from the sacred building and caught
the Scotsmen’s gazes. The flame-haired one gave her a subtle,
knowing nod as if to say “Be on your way,” he and his friend, Ian,
would see to the rest.

With that encouragement, Ana willed herself
to action. Loosing her hold on Sir Royce, she pushed herself from
her seat and leaped to the ground. Pain splintered through her
ankles as she landed with a solid thud and pitched forward onto her
knees. Catching herself with her hands, Ana lost no time but shoved
to her feet and launched herself in the direction of the church. A
shout sounded behind her, but she hastened on, fast as she could in
the blasted boots, which smarted with each step. She expected to
hear Hannibal’s hooves at any moment, eating up the ground behind
her. Instead, ‘twas not his hooves she heard, but the stallion’s
agitated squeal, followed by the brawl of male voices.

Ana snatched a glance over her shoulder,
catching a blur of the Scotsmen’s plaid as they converged on the
knight and rider. The man, Ian, trammeled the stallion’s reins,
while the other dragged Sir Royce from his saddle. Together the
Scotsmen fell atop the knight, the three of them dissolving into a
wild broil of feet, elbows, and fists.

Ana swallowed back her horror and restrained
an overwhelming impulse to hasten back to aid the knight. Instead,
she forced herself to turn from the sight and press on toward the
church steps. But Ana had covered little distance when, from
behind, came a mighty roar. Unable to ignore the clamor that
ensued, she glanced back once more in time to see the mound of
plaid cloth and limbs leave the ground as the knight threw off his
attackers and sent the Scotsmen flying through the air. Sir Royce
regained his feet, looking much like an enraged bear.

Ana’s bones went to liquid as the
knight turned his fury on her and drove after her. For a moment she
faltered, frozen in her steps. Then sheer panic took hold of her
and she compelled her feet toward the church steps. She
must
gain sanctuary. ‘Twas the only
thing that would save her now, save her from the knight.

Her heart high in her throat, Ana rushed for
the church porch, her legs burning, her boots tearing at her
blisters. As she spied an iron ring to one side of the entrance
portal, her hopes revived. Frantic to reach it, she stretched out
her hands before her, that her fingers might seize upon the ring
even before her feet arrived on the spot.

Just as she closed on the church steps, she
heard the knight bellow, his voice startlingly near. She shot a
glance past her shoulder and found him bearing down on her. As
their eyes met, he hurled himself at her, his feet leaving the
ground. Ana screamed, turning forward once more, but just then, his
hands clamped down heavily upon her shoulders and he dragged her to
the ground along with him.

Ana slammed against the earth’s hardness,
her breath vaulting from her lungs, the knight’s weight dropping
atop her. She writhed and scrabbled to get out from underneath him
and claw her way to the steps, just yards away. But he grabbed hold
of her and rolled her onto her back, pinning her to the ground, his
chest pressing solidly against hers. Together they heaved for air,
their breaths mingling, their faces an inch apart, their lengths
mashed together.

Besides the purply bruise that covered his
cheek, Ana saw that Sir Royce now wore a cut above his opposite
brow. She’d not be surprised if the gash on his arm had broken open
in the struggle as well — all due to her. Saints preserve her, she
thought shakily as he speared her with his gaze.

Abruptly, the knight pushed his weight off
her, then seized Ana by her arms and yanked her to her feet. He
spoke not a word, but dragged her along with him to where the
others waited by the road, watching the scene play out. The
minstrel, she noted, held Hannibal’s reins, while the Scotsmen
tended their battered faces.

Sir Royce muttered something unintelligible
beneath his breath as he continued to pull her along with him,
leading her toward Hannibal. Coming to a halt beside the animal,
the knight swung her up onto the saddle, then proceeded to tie her
hands to the horn with a leather lace. He then turned to Guy of
Lisors.

“Guard her well till I return, minstrel.
There is silver in it for you.” He looked sternly at Ana. “If you
value all that is most dear to you in life, lady, you will neither
speak, nor move a muscle, nor do anything other than breathe. Is
that understood?”

Ana gazed at him wide-eyed, fearful to
return even an answering nod. But she’d not the chance for scarcely
did the words leave Sir Royce’s lips than he pivoted on his heel
and strode toward the Scotsmen.

Ana’s heart slipped to her toes. She had
failed. Deep inside she knew the knight would allow her no future
chance to escape.

»«

Having reached Nouvion, the travelers took
lodging at the hostel there. It wasn’t the cleanest they’d
encountered, but as it had begun to drizzle, Ana welcomed the roof
over her head. At least there was that for which to be
thankful.

She and the knight shared a large single
room with the others, stretching out on pallets on the rushes
before a central fire. Shockingly, Sir Royce drew his pallet
against hers, then proceeded to take out a length of leather rope.
Her ire began to climb as he tied one end of the leather to her
left wrist, then the other to his, leaving a short span of rope
between them. He obviously trusted her not at all, Ana stewed, not
that she could fault him.

As Sir Royce reclined on the pallet, Ana
remained sitting and scanned the crowded room. It hadn’t escaped
her notice how, since the church incident, she’d been gaining dark
looks of her own from their companions, much like those leveled at
the knight earlier. Guy of Lisors was the only one who seemed
amused by the day’s events. He presently kept to himself in a
corner, plucking at his strings, fitting verses to the notes. Ana
held no wish to know what tales he wove.

As Ana netted another reproachful look, this
time from the tinker among them, her temper bubbled up. “Why do the
others look at me that way? Did you tell them some lie?” She
twisted in place to level Sir Royce her most accusing glare.

He stared back at her, dispassionate. “I am
a knight of the Realm, sworn to a sacred brotherhood. I do not lie.
Nor do I steal horses, nor tell untruths of others.”

Ana ignored the implication his words
contained and looked once more to the others. “You told them
something. You must have.”

“That I did. I don’t deny it.”

“Just what did you say to them?” she
demanded, indignant, ignoring the fact that she herself had spread
falsehoods of him. Of course, that had been for an honorable cause,
nothing short of her freedom. Likely the knight had spread stories
of her out of less noble motives.

Sir Royce held her eyes with his for a
prolonged moment then rose to a sitting position beside her. He
then transferred his gaze to their companions. “At my request,
these good people repeated what you yourself told them. I simply
clarified the details for them.”

“Which were?” she said hotly, then jumped
when his eyes sought hers, entrapping her gaze once more.

“I told them that your aged grandfather lies
dying across the Channel, his only wish in life being to see his
granddaughter a final time and give her his blessing. But that you
callously care naught for his pitiable plight, but only for
yourself and your own desires. That you’d willingly leave him to
die with a broken heart, so you might return to Chinon to marry
your cooper.”

Ana’s voice deserted her, so stung was she
by his bald observation. His words rang disconcertingly true. At
least they would for anyone who believed Lord Gilbert was her
grandfather. But he was not.

Ana gave herself a mental shake. The knight
was wrong in his beliefs, as well as in his assumptions. She had
reasons other than her cooper to draw her back to Chinon. Personal
reasons she’d shared with no one, not even dear Georges and Marie.
Ana lifted her free hand to where the silver cross lay, concealed
beneath her gown, and fingered its shape.

“How long do you intend to keep me tied to
you?” she asked at last.

“As long as I must.”

Sir Royce lowered himself to the pallet once
more and stretched his legs out.

“I told you, I’ve no intention of letting
you slip away. And if you’ve thought of enlisting the aid of the
MacGregors again, don’t bother. I’ve paid them handsomely to guard
us, both this night and all the way to Boulogne. You will find
beneath their untamed looks and manners, they are men of honor.
They’ve a keen sense of familial duty, especially where it concerns
aging patriarchs. Now lay down and let us to sleep. I feel greatly
in need of rest this eve, thanks to you.”

Ana glanced to the space beside him then
back to Sir Royce. “But, we cannot share a pallet together. ‘Twould
be scandalous!”

“‘
Tis two pallets, and we’re sharing
neither. There’s nothing scandalous about it. By order of the king,
I am charged to do what I must to deliver you to England. Now, to
sleep, lady.”

With a tug of his wrist, he drew her down
beside him. Ana turned to face away from him at once, but she next
felt him move closer, his position conforming to hers as he draped
his left arm over her waist. ‘Twas a courtesy she knew, for
otherwise she’d be forced to sleep with her arm bent backward.

Still Ana grumbled to herself for the
inconvenience, keenly aware of the weight of his arm, of his
nearness, of how his body had begun to warm hers. . . .

A lethargy soon overtook her. Drowsily, she
sank into the knight’s warmth and drifted into a deep sleep.

Boulogne-sur-la-mer, France

From atop the walls of Boulogne’s aged
fortress, Ana gazed numbly out over the waters of
La Manche
, the Channel, toward an
unseeable shore and an unseeable future.

A stiff breeze buffeted her, whipping her
pale hair about while overhead fork-tailed terns filled the sky,
whirling and crying out their harsh “kee-urr.” She watched as they
dove dramatically downward to skim the waters, then winged upward
again with beaks full of fish.

This place possessed a wild beauty with its
white chalk cliffs and sandy shores, with its dune flats sewn with
buckthorn and creeping willow. Leastwise, those were the grasses
pointed out to her. She’d never stood in such a place before. The
seaward views were a feast to her eyes, and the expansive sights
inland she found to be astonishing. Below the fortress figures
bustled about the crowded port and its lively fishing village.
Everywhere there were birds of vast varieties, her favorites the
comical gulls and the chunky little sandpipers that zigzagged
hurriedly over the shore.

Were circumstances different, Ana knew she’d
find the experience exhilarating. But circumstances were not about
to change. All hope of escape was truly lost to her. In roughly a
half day’s time — thirteen hours, the knight had apprised — she’d
be setting foot on English soil. Would she ever see her foster
parents or Gervase again? Her throat caught with an unvoiced sob,
the thought squeezing her heart.

Taking up the silver cross in her palm, Ana
stroked her thumb lightly over its length and texture. She ignored
the long strands of her hair dancing about her face and the damp
cold that shivered along her spine. Keeping a firm hold on her
emotions, she glanced toward the two guards who stood on the
rampart about a hundred paces away. ‘Twas Sir Royce’s doing. He’d
posted the men to keep watch of her while he went down to the
village to attend to matters concerning their departure.

Ana turned back to the battlement
wall, casting her gaze out over the waters of “the Sleeve,”
La Manche
, once more.

She and Sir Royce had passed the night
comfortably installed in the fortress, which perched high on a
cliff overlooking the port. To her surprise, they’d been instantly
welcomed past the gates. No doubt, ‘twas due to Sir Royce’s
knightly rank and noble blood. However, she’d observed how a number
of officials at the fortress seemed to recognize Sir Royce without
introduction. Possibly they remembered him from a previous visit,
she guessed when he’d passed through Boulogne’s port with the king,
perchance? After despoiling Le Mans?

Ana shut her mind to those thoughts and gave
herself to the vista before her. ‘Twas truly magnificent, unlike
anything she’d seen before. Suddenly a cacophony of birds sounded
directly above her. Ana sucked in her breath to see a legion of the
feathered creatures blackening the sky as they winged their way
southward.

Her heart settling back in place, she
lowered her gaze only to discover Sir Royce approaching on the
ramparts. He wore his armor, as ever he did, with the unflattering
coif drawn up. At the moment, his long scarlet mantle billowed
about him, filled with the persistent breeze. A second mantle
draped his left arm, she now saw, feeling a mixture of suspicion
and curiosity.