Honor & Roses (31 page)

But when he began to shrug out of his shirt that he so recently put on, he stopped and shook his head regretfully. “We can’t. We must move on, find somewhere safe for you.”

“Just one more kiss,” she pleaded.

“One kiss will become one hundred, and then I’ll make love to you again. You’ll never get your gown on today.”

“I don’t mind.” Her cheeks were pink with both desire and shyness, a combination he found far more potent than he expected. “Lay with me for a little while. Just till we finish eating.”

He lay beside her, but didn’t make good on his threat to kiss her again. Instead, they bowed to better sense and ate what they could. The food was vanishing all too quickly. He would need to find a friendly place sometime today to get more.

“Cecily,” he said then. “I have an idea.”

“What is it?” she asked.

Alric took her hand in his, spinning his too-large ring around her finger. “You remember Luc of Braecon, who trained with me?”

“Of course.”

“He received leave this summer too. He can help us.”

“How?” asked Cecily.

“He has means—his family was always wealthy. He’ll never turn a lady away, and he’s sworn to help me as a brother.”

“Even if you’re accused of kidnapping an heiress?”

“Luc knows me better than that. He knows you too. He’d not betray us if we sought shelter with him.”

“Because of the oath you all took? Didn’t Rafe swear the oath too?”

Alric shook his head sadly. “Rafe is…Rafe. But Luc I would trust with my life, and yours, should it come to that.”

“Very well,” said Cecily. “Let’s find him. Perhaps we can even plead our case with the king. News of treason will make him listen to us!”

“That’s true, and the king has ever had a soft heart toward beautiful young ladies. He’ll let you speak if you reach his court.”

Cecily sat up once more. Her eyes hardened as she recalled the situation they were in. “If I’m to stand before a king, I can’t look like a beggar.”

“Then you should put on some clothing,” he suggested, handing her the purple gown. “Though I do enjoy you in your current state.”

She ducked her head, laughing. She dressed hastily and washed herself in the cold river.

They rode out soon afterward. Cecily kept pace with Alric.

“I can ride as well as you,” she said, “and travel just as far.”

Alric smiled to himself. Cecily had no idea of the physical hardships he endured as a soldier. But as he glanced back at the woman, riding a borrowed steed, he saw how straight her spine was, and how steady her gaze. As gentle as Cecily seemed, she had an inner strength that adversity brought into the open.

“What are you looking at?” Cecily asked.

“A lady used to all the comforts money can provide. Yet she slept in the woods and endured cold and hunger without a word of complaint.”

“How could I complain when I have you?” she responded, with a light in her eyes that made him proud she was his.

* * * *

Alric was trained to move through unfamiliar territory without attracting attention, and with its twisted, massive trees, and the strange calls of birds in the unseen heights above, the Ardenwood was certainly unfamiliar. It was more wild than most of the forests he’d been in. The woods around Hawksmere and Cleobury were well peopled and well managed. Either the king or the local lords kept foresters employed to maintain the game, coppice the trees, and to keep watch for illicit trade.

The Ardenwood seemed to have no such caretakers. The few trails meandered according to the whims of the deer that made them. Low brush and saplings grew so thickly in places that it was like staring into a green wall. But only a few miles later, they’d encounter a patch of ancient forest, where the ground was nearly bare and the trees grew fat, with wide trunks and branches broad and moss-covered. There, the lack of underbrush made the area beneath the green canopy open, seemingly empty of hiding places.

Alric knew that was not the case. All forests were made for hiding, and something was hiding from them. He felt the first prickle at the back of his neck around noon, and knew they were being followed. No matter what he did over the next hours, the feeling remained. Had some of Pierce’s guards picked up their trail?

He didn’t give away his suspicions, but he kept Cecily close beside him, or ahead, when the trail narrowed to a single foot-width. Alric kept going as if nothing concerned him, though he strained his ears for the slightest sounds of pursuit: the rustle of a leaf from an unexpected step, or the cry of a bird taking flight from one human too many in its domain.

It might only be a lone thief, waiting and watching. Perhaps he hoped Alric would let his guard down, so he could pounce upon them and steal what he could.

Alric said nothing to Cecily. He didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily. He subtly stretched his fingers and rolled his shoulders, to be ready to fight the second he loosed his sword.

Then, without warning, trees around them opened into a glade some fifty yards across. There was no explanation for why the trees gave way to this meadow of knee-tall grasses. But here it was, and lovely, a place where fairies likely came for their revels.

“I hear water,” Cecily said, after tipping her head to concentrate. “There’s a stream running through here.”

She pointed. A small, clear stream cut the meadow in half, looking like a channel of diamonds, bright and lively among the velvet green of the grasses. They both dismounted, tethering the horses to a low branch at the edge of the glade.

Cecily walked to the stream, then knelt to drink and then to refill the waxed leather water skin they carried.

Alric took the time to sweep his gaze over the whole clearing. He turned in a slow circle, openly looking; there was nothing unusual in that. He saw nothing, but his hackles raised even more. Still, he couldn’t find a reason for it, so he knelt and drank from the stream himself.

His moment of inattention was enough to damn them.

“Halt!” The voice echoed through the woods. “Don’t move from where you stand or I’ll put an arrow through you! Touch steel and you’ll regret it.”

Not knowing exactly where the voice was coming from, Alric had little choice but to obey. Cecily froze as well, her eyes wide with fear.

“What do we do?” she whispered to him.

“For the moment, whatever they say. But watch me. I’ll signal you if it’s safe to run.”

“Without you?”

“
Yes
, Cecily. Your life is far more valuable than mine.”

“No talking!” the unseen voice ordered.

They fell silent.

For a second, only the sound of rustling leaves could be heard. Alric stared in consternation as a figure emerged from the shadows of the woods.

It looked to be a young man of about thirteen or fourteen years, wearing clothing so common that he could be nearly anyone above a beggar and below a lord. His leggings were brown and patched, but not sloppily so. His capuchin was a little large, perhaps handed down from an older relative. It was of a darker, richer brown than the leggings, and worked to make the lad appear part tree trunk himself.

Above the folds of the capuchin, the stripling’s head was bare in the summer warmth. His hair was shorn close around his head. He had proud, confident eyes the color of gentians. He watched them without fear, for all that he was not much more than a child facing off against a knight and a lady of means.

His youthful appearance was belied by the bow he held quite competently in his hands. At the moment, his arrow was aimed squarely at Alric’s chest.

“Put your weapons on the ground,” the boy said. “No tricks, or my finger may slip.”

Alric unbuckled his scabbard slowly, and just as slowly laid it on the ground, the sword inside. His poniard followed. He straightened up, holding his hands out. “There.”

The bowman shifted his aim to Cecily. “The lady’s dagger too,” he ordered.

Cecily hastened to remove the dagger she wore at her waist, setting it down at her feet.

The bowman still kept his arrow trained on her. “Excellent. Now, when we leave, it will be west. You can see the trail between those two trees.” He jerked his head to indicate the direction.

Alric kept his eye on the bowman. “If you had any sense of honor, you’d point that toward me, not the lady.”

The bowman finally smiled. “Well, I don’t. I have a sense of survival. Any move from you and the lady will die.”

“You’ve no right to order us to go anywhere.”

The bowman cocked an eyebrow. “I am armed, and you are not. What other right need I assert?”

Alric was surprised at the boy’s fine speech. He wasn’t a typical rustic.

“You don’t know who you’re ordering around,” Alric warned.

“Nor do I care. I’m merely a messenger to my lord. And today, you’re the message. Step lively, or I’ll grow impatient.”

“Who is your lord?” Cecily asked. “Pierce of Malvern?”

The bowman only laughed. “Who is that? I serve the lord of the Ardenwood. No, don’t look at your blades, sir knight. I can see you thinking, for men’s thoughts are all alike. But try nothing. Your lady’s life is in your hands.”

“The sword is valuable,” Alric pointed out. He couldn’t bear to lose it in the middle of the woods.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. But it’s the value of your lives you should be concerned with now. No more chatter. Night will come before we reach our destination.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Alric snapped.

“Alric,” Cecily said softly. “He’s afraid, that’s all.”

“Afraid?”

“He’s not much more than a boy,” she murmured. “He’s only doing what he must.”

“Get your horses. Walk beside them. Attempt to mount up and I shoot,” the bowman ordered. “And no talking!”

The boy followed them at enough distance so Alric could not try anything before an arrow would fly towards Cecily. If Alric slowed, he got a sharp reprimand. His only consolation was that Cecily kept close to him, not speaking, but also clearly not frightened out of her wits.

The terrain was not difficult, but it was long. Alric just started to realize the bowman had been directing them in an ever-shrinking arc toward a particular low hill when he saw two more men materialize out of the woods. Alric and Cecily stopped short.

The guards, for guards they must be, looked them all over carefully.

Then one of them looked to the bowman. “What do you bring here, Robin?”

Cecily was even warier of
the new guards than of the boy who brought them here, but she held her tongue until she could know more.

“Speak, Robin,” the guard prompted. “Is this more mischief from you?”

The lad, so named, returned cheerfully, “No mischief! Here are two lambs gone lost in the Ardenwood. I shepherded them here, knowing our lord’s penchant for chatting with such lost souls. Take these two creatures to him. He’ll be glad of the distraction.”

One of the guards surveyed Alric with a dark look. “This one has a mind to give us trouble, I can tell.”

“He’s got no weapon,” Robin said. “I made them both throw their blades away.”

Cecily glanced sideways at Alric. He needed no weapon to fight. She’d seen him wrestle often enough, along with all the other men. She was sure he’d be able to snap this guard’s sword away…but only if doing so wouldn’t leave Cecily at the mercy of another fighter.

“We’ll go speak to your lord,” Cecily said, to redirect attention to her. “Take us to him.”

The guard nearest her straightened up. Perhaps he heard something in her tone, and understood she was noble.

“Aye,” he said. He turned to Robin. “Take their horses.”

“I’m not a stable boy,” Robin growled back.

“No, you’re a thorn in everyone’s side, Robin!” the guard snapped. “Now listen to an order for once and take the horses while we deal with the prisoners you dumped upon us!”

Robin sneered, but took the reins of the horses from Alric.

“See they’re fed,” he told Robin. “A starving horse is good to no one.”

Robin nodded absently, patting Rolande’s muzzle. “I’ll mind them. These are good creatures.”

Cecily saw the admiration in the boy’s eyes. He recognized high quality horseflesh.

Then she and Alric were escorted in another direction, and she saw what sort of place they’d come to.

At the top of the low hill was a permanent camp, not quite a village but certainly more than a makeshift shelter. They were led past a stockade wall that was concealed by trees and dense green shrubs on the outside. On the inside, several little buildings stood in a circle around a large, flat clearing. Enough people lived there that the clearing was heavily used, the ground worn down to bare dirt. One man minded a cook fire, and the smell of food wafted over on the smoke, making Cecily’s stomach growl.

A few men sat in front of another hut, each hard at work making arrows or mending bows. A young boy chased several chickens into a pen made out of a low wattle fence. Everyone was dressed much like Robin, in sturdy homespun tunics and loose leggings. Some wore leather shoes. The youngest among them went barefoot.

Cecily wondered if they’d been brought into a nest of thieves. Was this the menace of the Ardenwood? A gang of bandits that preyed on travelers, then disappeared back into this hidden camp?