Silverhawk (25 page)

Here she was, the sharp-tongued, stubborn Emelin who knew her duty, ignoring obligation. Choosing to remain at the side of an unknown, possibly traitorous, mercenary who would steal her virtue if she wasn’t careful. Her biggest concern: There would be no thievery involved. She feared she would gift him that virtue with a smile.

His long, thick eyelashes fluttered, eyelids lifted. Dull gray eyes were unfocused. His callused hand squeezed hers and his eyes drifted closed again.

He whispered, “
Ma mère
. Where are you?”

In his fevered mind, he called for his mother. Emelin’s throat tightened with tears. How could she comfort him? She slipped an arm beneath his shoulder, leaned her forehead against his and whispered, “Here, my child. I have you safe.”

As she moved away, her lips brushed the hot skin of his temple. Her tongue traced the faint taste of perspiration. When he moved restlessly, murmuring words she couldn’t make out, she placed her hand on his chest and stroked. If only this could ease his pain, calm his troubled spirit. How strange that when they touched, she felt comforted, as well.

All that afternoon, she remained by his side. She bathed his face and neck, urged sips of water as often as possible. When Sister Ressa returned to check the bandage, Emelin asked to perform the task. The wound showed no signs of putrefaction, although the site was red.

“Less drainage,” the nun observed. “A good sign. You have some experience with healing?”

“A little,” Emelin admitted. “I was learning more until…recently.”

“Then you may change the dressing later. I’ll leave the salve here.” The good sister reminded Emelin of a bird in her quick, precise movements. She was as small and thin as a bird, as well. Her face was serene, the fine lines and wrinkles that marked it hardly visible in the dim room.

“How do you come to be here, Sister?” Emelin couldn’t help but ask.

“It must seem strange,” the other woman agreed. “Lady Clysta is my younger sister. She asked me to come when Sir Daviess suffered a setback some months ago, and I received permission for a visit. I have remained because I am…needed. But soon I must return to Lincoln. My heart tells me it is time.”

The room was silent after the nun left. Missy was not there, so Emelin sat in the dim room, adding fuel to the brazier when it burned low, applying cool cloths, praying for the knight who lay before her.

Not long after the sun set, Giles became restless, tossing his head, muttering. Emelin managed as best she could. She didn’t want to tie him down again.

His movement became more erratic until she stood, draped an arm across his upper chest and grasped his opposite shoulder to restrain him. The touch to his shoulder triggered an unexpected response. His arm swung up. This time she ducked.

His eyes shot open, and he stared at her in recognition. “Emelin? You’re here? I’ve been searching for you. Be careful, love.” His arm dropped and he quieted again. After a few moments of silence, he said, “Emelin? Are you here?”

She squeezed the hand that was in hers. “Yes. Yes, Giles, I’m right here.”

“Good,” he mumbled. She leaned forward to hear his fading voice. “I told my mother about you.”

And then he was unconscious again. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she recalled what he had said. Both hands enfolded his hand she held; she bowed her head and prayed.

How much time passed she did not know when the stillness was broken by Lady Clysta, accompanied by Sir Thomas. The lady looked troubled. Still a smile played around her lips.

“My dear, I have been asked if we have word of a dangerous mercenary named Silverhawk, who swoops down upon his enemies and carries them off in the night. Do you know of any such frightening creature?”

Fear froze Emelin in place. “Why do you ask, my lady?”

“Because his squire has arrived. Sir Daviess conducted him to the kitchen where I believe the lad had an eye on the meat pasties Cook just baked.”

Giles traveled alone. Perhaps whoever sought him was trying a new trick. With a deep breath to calm her racing heart, Emelin asked, “And what is this squire’s name?”

“I believe he said it was Davy.”

Chapter Nineteen

There had been no squire with Giles when he’d been rescued from outlaws those long days ago. No Davy. Then she recalled the youth who seemed always underfoot at Langley. He’d been around the garden the night Giles carried her off. Was it he?

“Silverhawk, is it?” The older lady turned to her. “Would your knight be called by that name?”

She didn’t know what to say. Lady Clysta’s brow cleared, her eyes twinkled as she looked at Sir Thomas. “A hungry lad, is he? Bring him here after he’s eaten.”

When the captain left, she walked to the pallet where Giles lay. “Silverhawk. With eyes like his, I could understand the name. If, of course, it is the same man,” she hastened to add.

Emelin chose the wisest course of action. She kept her mouth shut. Chose instead to check the knot on the bandage, to pull the blanket higher on his chest.

“Don’t fidget, my dear,” the older lady murmured kindly. “It gives you away.”

Warmth spread up Emelin’s neck and cheeks. She raised her eyes, but the lady of Granville was studying Giles, who had moved his head to the side as if to follow their voices.

“Has he awakened?”

“Once, for a moment. Usually he is quiet until the bandage must be changed, then he tries to protect himself. Even unconscious, he’s aware of touch.”

As if prompted, he opened his eyes. His glance flicked from one woman to the other, fastening on Emelin like a lodestone. In a step she was at his side.

“I will bring you a drink.” She touched his forehead. “You’re not so hot as before. That’s good.”

He ran the tip of his tongue across dry lips and tried to speak. His voice was a ragged rasp. Lifting his head with one arm, she tilted a cup to his mouth. He drank it all, then managed to rasp, “Where?”

“We’re at Granville,” Emelin reassured him. “The men who found us were from here.”

“Are you…all right?”

She smiled at the often-repeated question. “I am well. You have been ill. The knife wound had a touch of infection, but it’s much better.”

He turned his eyes to the other side of the pallet.

“This is Lady Clysta,” Emelin told him. “She and her lord, Sir Daviess, have offered their hospitality.”

“Thank you.” The hoarse whisper sounded tired. Emelin touched his hand. He turned it up to clasp hers. His eyes closed again.

“I think he’s sleeping.” Did her voice sound as relieved as she felt? “Truly, he could have died, if not for Sister Ressa.”

The older lady nodded. “Yes, Ressa has been a Godsend these past weeks. We shall miss her when she leaves.”

The door burst open, and a boy of about twelve years dashed in still clutching a fragment of pasty.

“Lady Emelin.” He shoved the last bite into his mouth and swiped his crumb-laden palm down the side of his tunic. “I knew it had to be ’im,” Davy mumbled around the food as he took up vigil beside Giles. “Who else could strike down three armed outlaws and ’im with a dagger in ’is side?” His voice was full of pride.

Sir Thomas stood in the doorway. “So, your master is the famous Silverhawk, and this is him?”

“O’ course. I brought some things ’e left behind, too.” The lad looked right proud of himself, Emelin thought. Then the realization hit her. If a youngster could track them here, anyone could. Garley or Lord Osbert could be right behind.

They would see she got back to Langley.

They would kill Giles.

A cold chill gripped her and she shivered. “Davy, is it?” She caught his attention again. “How did you find us? Are the others far behind?”

“Naaw. No’but me. I followed Lord ’enry, but when I saw you’d left the trail, ’e said come ahead. ’E had to get ’ome.”

“Lord Henry allowed a child to fend for himself on the open road?” Emelin was incensed. “How could a knight be so unfeeling?”

Davy turned a red face toward her. “’E didn’t exactly tell me that.” The youth shuffled gangly feet, then stared at Giles.

Something didn’t ring true about his story. “Did he know you followed him?”

“Not exactly.” The lad had the courtesy to look shamefaced.

Chin lifted, arms crossed, Emelin caught Davy’s eye. “What ‘exactly’ did you do?”

His remorse evaporated in excitement. “That was some weddin’ of yours. Too bad you missed it. Thought the old lord’s moustache would pop a blaze, ’is face was so red when they couldn’t find you. They looked all o’er the place. When they decided you’d flown, ’e was all for callin’ out ever’ soldier there to track you down. Thought you was goin’ to do away with yourself.”

“Then why didn’t they follow?”

“That Sir Garley, ’e went lookin’ in the stables and askin’ around and Sam’l told. Said Silverhawk took off same time as you went missin’. Then Sir Garley—’e’s your brother, ain’t ’e? Well, we can’t choose our family. Anyway, ’e dragged old Lord Osbert aside, and when they come back, the lord sent some men out to track you. They took the south trail.”

Emelin had a hard time following Davy’s explanation, but one thing was clear. “You followed the men, didn’t you?”

Davy raised innocent eyes. “I never, milady. I followed Lord ’enry. ’E told Lord Osbert that ’e’d take care of gettin’ you back, a’cause ’e felt bad Silverhawk carried you off, ’im bein’ at fault for bringin’ a no-account mercenary along. Said ’e’d settle Silverhawk up fine.”

Mind spinning from the boy’s convoluted tale, she glanced at Lady Clysta. That lady was watching the interview with mouth ajar, amused wonder in her eyes. Sir Thomas stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. He didn’t look amused.

“I think we’ll save the rest of the explanation for later,” Emelin cautioned the boy. “As you can see, Sir Giles is wounded.”

“That’s what Sir Daviess told me. Three of ’em ’e took on to save you,” the lad said with relish. “I knew I was right to throw in with ’im. ’Ere.” He shoved a bag into her hands.

“Found this where you camped once. Lord ’enry thought you took the road to ’is home when ’e found the saddle you left. But I saw where you turned off and came a different way. I’m a good tracker.”

“Young Davy, do you mean to say you walked from Langley Castle?” Lady Clysta at last found her voice.

Without batting an eye, Davy said, “Oh, no, milady. I found a ’orse runnin’ loose.”

Emelin didn’t feel up to following that spike in the conversation. Later they could sort out what was true and what was not. She opened the bag. There it was—the ointment that had been lost, wadded in a shirt of Giles’. Praise Heaven. Giles swore by that salve. It would go on the next bandage she applied.

At last she recalled herself and introduced Davy to Lady Clysta. With that twinkle still in her eyes, the lady insisted the lad needed another bite to eat and sent him off. The twinkle faded when she faced Emelin again.

“Your story sounds more serious than I thought,” she said. “This requires some straight talk.” She looked at the sleeping Giles. Her face softened. “First, we must move this dangerous man out of here.”

Emelin’s stomach sank. What did Granville’s lady intend?

“Sir Thomas, have four of your men take Sir Giles inside. There’s a small chamber we once used for storage on the top floor. Put him there.”

Emelin closed her eyes in relief. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We haven’t decided what must be done.”

It didn’t take long to settle Giles in the new location. Emelin followed, fearful they would do him harm as they moved him. He didn’t help matters. As they bound him to a small plank gate for ease of carrying, he awoke and insisted he could walk. When the quartet refused to allow him to rise, he began to struggle.

Emelin had only to announce that Davy was here with the salve, and Giles stilled.

“Was he alone? How did he locate us? What news did he bring?” Questions rolled from his tongue like water over a rock. “Let me up, damn you.” That was directed at the burly soldier carrying the top of his portable pallet. The man had the audacity to grin at him, but the grin was a jolly one.

“Ye jest sit tight, Sir Giles. Have ye stowed away in no time. Carl’ll be right knackered he missed ye. And here I was raddled t’ be left behind. Ain’t no king’s man can beat meetin’ the Silverhawk, and that’s a fact.”

His eyes crisp and sharp Giles said, “What king’s man?” Then, “Satan’s backside, watch that step, man, you’ll break your leg.” Emelin hid a smile at his whispered mutters as the plank jerked a’right. She’d bet her best chemise he was swearing.

“Don’t complain,” she urged as she walked at his side. “This way there’s less chance you’ll damage what healing has taken place.”

Giles rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw. Indignation at being carried like a child rolled off him in waves. But he was quiet. And that was a surprise.

The chamber was tiny and dark, with no opening other than the door. A brazier had just been lit, the chill still prevalent as Giles was placed on a mattress-covered pallet. Lady Clysta stood in the corridor with Emelin. Until the men left, there was no room for anyone else inside.

“He will be more comfortable here, and out of the way should we have visitors. I’ll have a small table and some candles sent up.”

Emelin nodded. “Thank you. You’ve been very kind. I just hope we haven’t put you in danger.”