Silverhawk (17 page)

When she returned, Giles was leaning against a corner of the cottage, arms crossed on his chest. There was no sign of Annie.

“She took the child inside,” he said as Emelin looked around.

She nodded. With a dipper of water from a nearby bucket, she washed her hands and face.

“You’re hungry,” he acknowledged, “but I won’t ask this family to share their meager supplies. I’ll find us food. Come.” He lounged away from the building.

Emelin tamped down a flutter of nerves. If they left now, how could she alert Garley?

“Wait.” She hurried toward the front. “I must thank Annie.” She slipped inside the door of the one room dwelling and spoke softly in English, “Others of our party should be along soon, Annie. Be sure to tell them which direction we took. Tell them to hurry.”

She stepped outside and called, “Goodbye, again, and thank you for your help.” To Giles she said, “Let’s walk to the stream. My legs need the exercise.”

He led the horses, and she strolled beside him. She was satisfied that Annie would deliver the message. Now all she had to do was slow progress to allow the rescuers to catch up.

Slanting a glance at her companion, she surprised a half-smile on his lips. Why must he be so tempting? His growth of beard had thickened, but instead of rough and unkempt, he looked dark and dangerous—and much too attractive. Was it soft or prickly, that beard? As she fought the urge to run her fingers across his cheek, she didn’t see the rock that sent her sprawling.

She jumped to her feet before he had the chance to reach her. “I’m fine.” She brushed the front of her skirt, her bodice. Not until he took her hands and turned them over did she realize she’d scraped the palms.

A look he flashed beneath his half-lowered eyelids sent her stomach into that now-familiar lurch. He was so…intense. With a quick shake of the head, he pulled her toward the stream.

She stumbled again, and he slowed. She had to get control of her thoughts. This muddle-headedness would not serve. Yet his questions to Annie kept playing in her mind. Why was he intent on the closest castle?

“Will we stop at Granville?”

He nodded. “I’m sure the lord there will provide us a night’s lodging.”

Once they gained protection of stone walls her opportunity for escape dwindled. She must find a chance to slip away before then. If only he didn’t watch her so closely.

The abstracted look on his face gave her pause. All at once, questions crowded her mind. Where
were
they going? And why, at the last two cottages, had he asked about a group of travelers? Had he not said he was taking her to safety from some supposed danger? If so, where?

It was as if she’d awakened from a long sleep. What on earth had she been thinking these past days? Rescue. Escape. But not the reason for her abduction. He had given some excuse about danger, but she knew he lied.

Judging from what he asked Annie and the other woman earlier, Sir Giles sought someone. That didn’t make sense. If he intended to join a group of men, would he saddle himself with a female? Perhaps he meant to hold her for ransom, had lied to her all along.

But perhaps the men he trailed worked with him, and they were to join forces. That made sense. Everyone knew mercenaries didn’t travel alone. Still that didn’t explain his friendship with Lord Henry, who was known to be close to the king.

Friends of the king. Perhaps they were part of the plan to thwart the Scots after all.

No, then Lord Henry and he would be together. They would not have bothered with her. Why her?

“Why me?”

He didn’t answer, didn’t bother with a glance. They’d arrived at the stream, and he pulled her to the water.

“Wash your hands in there. They’ll feel better. I have an ointment that will help with the scrapes.”

Very well. He’d talk sooner or later, Emelin could almost guarantee it. If he were like every other man, he’d have to boast of his accomplishments eventually.

****

Giles secured the horses and walked upstream a few paces. For a sharp-minded lady, Emelin was too obvious. Did she not realize he understood some of the native language? Of course, that was thanks to the poor Crusader he had rescued two years ago.

Good man. Bad injuries. The monks at St. Anselm saved his life, but the knight gave credit to Giles. Credit and English lessons on the occasions Giles stopped to visit. Except for Lord Henry, this Sir Stephen was the only Englishman he trusted. And Giles wasn’t too certain of Lord Henry.

Thanks to Stephen, he knew enough to recognize much of what Emelin said to Annie. Give a message to those who followed, indeed. If he hadn’t seen the scraped hands, he would wonder if she’d fallen a’purpose to delay them.

He pursed his lips as he recalled the look she’d thrown him, assessing, cautious. Devious wench. One side of his mouth curved upward. They’d make better time if she stopped trying to subvert him. Should he tell her the exact threat she faced from Langley and her brother?

She would not believe him. The lady might like his kisses, might want the feel of his body pressed to hers, but she didn’t trust him. A twitch prompted him to slap his hand against his cheek. Damned beard. Always made his face itch. At the loud sound, her head swiveled around. She smiled in obvious enjoyment of his discomfort.

The stream was loaded with fish and in a flash, Giles had knocked a pair onto the bank. Two would have to do; the rest had darted away. He had them cleaned and rinsed in cold water before Emelin had gathered enough twigs for a fire. Threading the fish on sticks, he set them to cook.

When he offered ointment for her hands, she refused. And when he gathered the water skins and headed for the stream again, she was right beside him.

As they walked, he mapped out a plan in his mind. It was likely this Paxton would try to enlist more support if he stopped at Granville Castle, so that’s where Giles would head.

Emelin would have to come along. They must be too far from Chauvere, and he had no time now to locate another safe place to stash her.

Left to her own devices, she would bolt back to the heart of danger. He couldn’t interrupt this mission to chase after her again. Right now, she was too tired to make an attempt. He wished they could stop longer, but there was little time. Once at Granville she could rest.

The men he trailed had been at Annie’s cottage night before last. They moved slower than he expected. Given when they’d left Langley Castle, the party should be farther ahead.

Perhaps they meant to visit every holding to rally support for an attack. If the king’s man thought an invasion of Scots was possible, he might alert the lords as he traveled north.

That story seemed reasonable. Yet why not notify those places along the route to Scotland, rather than go out of his way to contact others? That delayed what should be an urgent mission. Instinct warned of another factor at work. And Giles never doubted his instinct.

They ate in silence. Now and then, Emelin threw him fulminating glances. At last she spoke. “Why are you doing this?”

He sighed. Very well, he’d tell her. “You are not safe at Langley.”

She made a sound suspiciously like a snort. “You said that before and I told you, Sir Osbert is not a threat. He is desperate for an heir. He wouldn’t destroy a chance for one by harming me. My brother,” she paused briefly, “my brother has too much invested to allow any danger to befall me.”

“And what if your brother is the very one who would harm you?” Giles’ voice was deadly calm.

“
That
you’ll never convince me of.” Emelin sat straight, at once serious. “A plot against me? You must have misunderstood what you heard.”

She glanced down at herself with a rueful smile. “Until a few days ago, I lived at a convent. I had not even a bride’s portion. The only value I have is to my brother and to my betrothed. Each wants something from me. It’s doesn’t make sense either would want to hurt me.”

The words were matter-of-fact, but sadness lurked around her eyes.

“You have value to yourself.” Could she not see that?

She considered his words. “Yes,” she said in surprise. Her chin notched up. “I do. I had made a place for myself at St. Ursula. I was learning many things there. The nuns made lace and embroidery, and I—”

“You make lace?” Giles interrupted. He couldn’t see her sitting calmly, weaving tiny threads into intricate designs. That required more patience than she had yet demonstrated.

“Not exactly.” Emelin wiped her fingers on the grass beside them; her nose wrinkled. “I was learning the business of it.” She looked up, head tilted to one side. “I assisted Mother Gertrude. I took orders for the handwork, delivered them, and collected proceeds. I did well.”

He understood her pride. Still, her confidence in herself didn’t change her brother’s plan. Sir Osbert must be a party to it. Thus, she wasn’t safe with either man.

He surged to his feet. “We must start if we’re to make Granville Castle by tomorrow.”

One more night on the road. He tensed at the thought. Not that he feared another escape attempt. Now that she knew both Garley and Lord Osbert posed a danger, he assumed she’d stay close. He hated the thought of the sleeping arrangements.

He hardened at the notion of her soft body against his. Damnation. Being honorable was a pain in the arse. With a disgusted grunt, Giles tossed Emelin onto the mare’s back and shoved the reins at her.

The road was well traveled, and they were able to ride long past nightfall with no difficulty. Last night’s storm had not reached this far north, so there was no problem with mud and puddles.

Finally, he called a halt and directed the horses well off the road into a stand of trees.

As he settled the animals, his wariness returned. The air had a sharp edge. They’d need to share blankets again. How would she react to that news?

He glanced toward his prickly lady. The bright light of the moon revealed her kneeling in front of a flat rock where she’d placed the food bag, her gown drawn tight around her firm backside.

He flinched. He needed rest, but with those curved hips nestled against him, he’d never sleep.

Chapter Thirteen

Emelin lay immobile, alert to any change in the man beside her. This night, she had wrapped up in her blanket. No chance his body would warm hers as it had before. A soft rumble reached her ears. At last. A weakness. This dangerous, all-too-appealing knight snored.

The sound was endearing. She longed to gather him in her arms, brush the long strands of soft, midnight hair from his high forehead. It was not wise. The rescue party was near.

Occasionally through the day, she’d heard voices in the distance. Now the noises seemed nearer, to the southeast. She could steal away, intercept them before they stumbled upon camp.

Slowly, quietly, her body levered up. On her knees, she paused to study him. Silverhawk. Tenderness washed through her. How had he come by that name?

Watery moonlight bathed his face, skimmed over dark-as-night brows that could pull together in a fierce glance to weaken her knees. His wide, firm mouth was closed. Emelin imagined those beautifully formed lips touching hers. Perhaps all mouths were a perfect fit. She’d never kissed another man, so she didn’t know. Surely they must. Mouths were mouths.

She sighed. How she could be so drawn to this stranger was a mystery. At times she felt she’d known him forever. Once she’d surprised a look of yearning on his face while he gazed around, as if he sought something just out of reach. That expression touched her.

When he spoke of his early life, she sensed the lonely child he must have been. No family. Alone. She knew the feeling well. Perhaps that was their connection.

Heat from his body radiated through the tightly wrapped blanket. Her eyes closed for an instant as she reveled in the sensation. Here beside this man felt comfortable, safe. Right. But it wasn’t. She had to be realistic. She must escape, return to her betrothed. And to the child. How could she forget that little girl?

Why had no one caught up to them yet? Surely the trail wasn’t that impossible to follow, especially as Annie knew their destination.

There. Her head jerked around. The sound of voices.

Now was the time to leave. If the men discovered them, Giles was doomed. Fearsome warrior he might be, but he would have no chance against so many. When she returned to Langley, she would insist her abductor had fled to avoid retribution.

She grimaced. Silverhawk wouldn’t appreciate the name of coward. Still, rogue that he was, Emelin didn’t want him hurt. He believed her in danger, had acted out of good intention.

Again a sound wafted to her. Time to go. No horse for this escape. The voices were close enough she could find the men on foot.

This time she took a blanket. And never thought of a rock to the sleeping man’s head.

When their small camp was out of sight, she exhaled noiselessly. Clutching the warm blanket around her shoulders, she sped in the direction of the voices.

Once, she stopped to listen. An acrid odor of burning wood rode the air. But no sound. Fear flared in her breast.

Then on the next breath, it was there. A man’s voice just ahead. At last. Tears bleared her eyes.

“Garley,” she called, dashing forward. “Lord Osbert?” Emelin rounded a low bush and halted at the edge of a large clearing where three men dressed in rough tunics sat beside a small fire. None was Garley nor her betrothed.