Heather Graham (22 page)

But riding hard across the fields, Danielle didn’t feel it. Star was nearly twenty years old now, but remained a wonderful horse, as fleet and agile as she had ever been. Simon’s destrier was heavier and slower, and Danielle had always loved a race—and always loved to win. She led them all on a merry chase into the woods, with just Simon behind her as she entered into a sheltered trail where the world seemed green, covered by the duck branches of tall trees above.

“It’s glorious, isn’t it?” Danielle said as Simon caught up with her. He didn’t seem terribly pleased that it had taken him so long to catch her, and he didn’t respond to her mood. “Danielle, we must talk,” he told her.

“Yes, Simon, I am worried about you. You know that I care deeply for you. But—”

“Hear me out, milady. Jean is a good king, a good man, deeply loved here. Edward is a treacherous bastard forever reaching out his grasping hands for France!”

“For his own lands!” Danielle said softly, surprising herself with her defense of the English king.

“Jean is going to see that Edward is expelled from all these lands. Ah, lady! Do not go down with the English. King Jean loves you, as his father loved your lady mother. He is your kin. Break the bonds that hold you now to an unworthy enemy!” he said, his voice husky and trembling. “Bear in mind, lady, that no man loves you more deeply than I!”

Her heart seemed to catch within her throat, his words were spoken with such fervor. He was so charming, so earnest, so courteous, deferring to her in all things.

She closed her eyes. She was afraid, but not for herself. She was afraid that war was coming again, and she was afraid that men would die.

“Simon! I know King Edward. You mustn’t underestimate his power here, or his determination.”

“And you must realize that you are a part of his strength. But Aville is yours, those people are yours! Where your heart lies, Aville will follow!”

“Simon—”

“Danielle, I seek nothing from you. I am a rich man, a titled man. I would love you all of my life.”

“Simon, you are dear to me. I admire you, I enjoy your company, you have been the best friend I could find. But I must think—”

“Think with your heart! And remember this,” he added anxiously, “I would never hurt you, but time grows short—”

“Danielle!”

Her name was shouted vehemently from down the trail. Startled, she swirled Star around in time to see Daylin come speeding toward them. “Riders are coming, armored and armed, bearing down on us. Turn, milady, and race for your life back to Aville!”

“Riders? From where?” Danielle demanded as she quickly edged Star out of the copse of trees and saw what Daylin had seen. Over the hill, but coming swiftly toward their position, were perhaps a dozen mounted men. The ground seemed to tremble beneath them. Indeed, they wore battle armor. But they wore plain tunics and mantles atop their armor, with no crests, no badges or banners to identify themselves or their families—or even their nationality.

“Danielle, I beg you!” Daylin cried. “
You
must keep yourself safe.”

“I will ride with my lady and protect her to my death!” Simon cried. “He’s right. Danielle, come now, I beg of you!”

She hesitated. If she rode away, she left her men, not nearly so well armed, to face this strange force of riders.

“Go!” Simon cried, and he cracked a hand upon Star’s rump, causing the mare to rear and then plummet back to the earth at a wild run.

Danielle ducked down flat against Star’s shoulder and neck, all but flying into the field. The riders saw her and swerved. She bent low to race again, but just before she did, she saw that a second wave of men came over the hill, fast on the heels of the first.

She nudged Star hard. The ground thundered and rumbled beneath her. Behind her, she heart shouts, cries, and a tremendous clash of steel as her own people sped out to meet the attackers. She looked around her, anxious to see Simon at her side.

But he wasn’t there.

Her heart seemed to congeal in her chest. She reined in, swirling Star about to search for him, afraid he had been injured and lay dying. She had come far enough away that she could not see clearly anymore. The knights and men-at-arms fought a distance back from her, perhaps a hundred feet.

Someone had come upon Simon! she thought, and her heart ached with fear. She told herself that he was a brave and well-trained knight, and could probably best any wretched thief or rebel raider.

Then she saw that some of the riders had seen her pause, and she knew her own danger. She turned to race into the forest once again even as three broke from the melee to come charging after her.

She would not be caught by any such wretches, she determined, not when such good men fought to save her life. She tore into the forest trail, ignoring the branches that whipped against her. The green shadows brought darkness all around her. She slowed her pace, making her way through the tightening trail. She reined in, barely daring to breathe.

They were almost upon her. She slowed Star to a walk and stood dead still, her heart pounding.

She listened.

Someone was coming from her left. Someone else came from her right. If she could just remain still, they would cross in the shadows before her, never seeing her.

Then Star sneezed. The sound, in the forest, seemed as loud as an explosion, pinpointing her exact location.

Desperate, Danielle slipped quickly from Star’s back and hurried into the dense growth. She ran hard until she couldn’t catch her breath and her lungs were burning, and then she paused.

The two riders had come upon one another, and apparently they had
not
been hunting her together. She held dead still as she heard shouts and grunts—and heavy clashes of steel. Someone was defending her, giving her time to run deeper into the forest.

She started along the trail again, knowing that she couldn’t run forever. She kept running ahead, and suddenly burst into a clearing with a cottage. She paused, her heart thundering. The place had fallen into complete disrepair. It was dark and empty. The door hung askew.

She looked behind her and heard rustling in the trees. She paused another moment, but the rustling continued.

She ran swiftly across the copse, and into the cottage.

It was black as ink within. She leaned against the wall, blinking, trying to adjust to the darkness. It was a one-room dwelling, hearth to the far left, tattered, decaying bed to the right. She cautiously took a step and paused, her heart pounding as she heard the squeal of mice racing about. She swallowed and came around the bed and just as she did, she inhaled sharply and held her breath, ducking to the ground.

Someone else was in the cottage. Someone who had entered cautiously, silently, footfalls and movements unbelievably light.

How long, she wondered, before she was discovered? she earned a small hunting knife in a slender sheath at her calf, and she started to finger it. It was not much of a weapon against an armed knight—she would have to be very close to use it.

It could too easily be taken away.

Flat against the floor, she suddenly saw the farm tools leaning against the wall. There lay a spade, an axe, a scythe. The last, she might not manage to wield at all, for it would be too long at such close quarters, and the spade might not offer enough of a menace. But the axe held promise. It had been some time since she had picked up a weapon, but now she was in real danger.

She could hear breathing, she was certain. The slow, sure, heavy pounding of a heart. Her pursuer was close, so very close upon her.

The footsteps were now coming around the end of the tattered bed. In a matter of seconds, he would be upon her.

She reached for the axe, curling her fingers around its handle. She waited. The footsteps came around the corner. She would have one good chance.

She leapt to her feet, crying out with a mighty lunge as she swung her heavy weapon.

In the shadows, she saw only a towering figure. He was quick and agile, for he leapt back from the lethal swerve of her blade. A sword shone in the darkness, striking the axe with a power that sent it shuddering from her hands. For only a second she stood stunned, then she leaped atop the bed to escape across it. She all but flew back to the ground, racing for the door. She cast herself out into the green coolness of the copse, only to feel him upon her again, arms reaching out, fingers closing around her shoulder.

She shrieked and started to run again, but the fingers closed around the material of her tunic, pulling her back. She lost her balance and fell. Face down in a rich tuft of grass, she quickly drew her small knife from its sheath. When she found herself rolled to face her attacker as he straddled her, she was ready.

She screamed and aimed her knife for the man’s throat, praying for a weakness there. It did not touch him at all—his gauntleted hand waylaid her thrust, the crush of his fingers threatening to break her wrist.

The knife fell from her fingers as he stared down at her, and she stared up at him.

He wore a coat of mail. Atop it was a tunic with a heraldic emblem blazoned across it.

A lion above three leopards.

He wore a helmet and face plate as well, but she could see his eyes. Golden eyes she had long remembered. Staring down at her now with their blazing, warning glitter. Powerful eyes, taunting eyes, passionate eyes, and at the moment, furious eyes …

He sat back on his haunches. Her wrist was freed as he lifted his helm from his head. Thick red-gold hair, damp from its containment in the helmet, sprang about his face. A face she knew. Bronze, rugged, handsome—harsh. Small lines etched now around the eyes. The fullness of his mouth was taut, formed into a grim white line. She felt herself beginning to tremble, even as she stared up at him, even as she felt his touch.

“MacLachlan!” she cried out.

“Aye, indeed, lady!” he said, his voice deep, harsh. “Tell me, did you know my name before or after you tried to slash my throat?” he demanded.

She gasped, a hand instinctively flying for his cheek at the insult. But he caught her hand before she could strike, his fingers curling around her own. “How dare you!” she cried, her voice trembling. “You could have called out, you could have said my name, your name—!” She broke off, gasping for breath. Dear God, but her heart continued to pound; she couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs.

“I did call your name,” he told her.

She shook her head. She hadn’t heard a thing. Dear God, it had been so long since she had seen him. Once, she had been his enemy, and would gladly admit to her deeds. But he was no longer the familiar antagonist she so readily met in battle, but a powerful stranger. One she knew to grant no quarter once he had judged her guilty.

Her eyes narrowed. “If you called my name, I did not hear you. I was scared to death—how could I expect to see you? How can you be here? They were rebels coming for us, attacking us, I know that—”

“We rode in behind them, milady,” he said, still watching her. She had never felt his eyes so intently upon her, felt their piercing power as they raked over her. They brought a warmth with them, like the gold of their fire. He studied her as if she were a new weapon, a painting, a tapestry, something he had not seen before.

Then she realized that although his face had grown more taut and lean, he had not changed much since their last meeting. But she had.

She felt herself trembling again, and she wasn’t sure why. “But there was someone else in the woods—”

“A man thought to accost you there. I convinced him otherwise.”

“Daylin, Simon, the others—”

“One man has a broken arm, there are a few minor injuries, but we lost no men. Five of the rebels were killed—the rest took flight when they saw us arrive behind them.”

She exhaled on a long breath. Oh, thank God, none of her people had died!

“Then you arrived at a most opportune time, my lord.”

“No, milady, I arrived because of the known danger threatening English holdings here. Which God knows, you should have seen as well!”

Anger streaked through her, and she forgot that she lay beneath him. “Don’t you think you can come in here chastising and giving orders! You have ignored Aville these many years and I have managed exceptionally well.”

“Until today.”

“I was not doing so badly!”

“You are the one flat on your back, milady.”

“Perhaps then, you would be so good as to allow me to rise?”

He paused, and she could hear the grating of his teeth. But he rose, offering a hand down to her. When she stood, she realized her disarray. Her hair streamed out about her with bits or tree and grass entwined within it. Her rich, fur-trimmed habit was torn and ragged. She smoothed her hands over it nonetheless, trying to summon her dignity.

“I’m still at a loss, milord. After all this time, you have come here now, today. You couldn’t have come knowing that I might need assistance at this exact moment!”

“Nay, lady, indeed, that was indeed God’s own rare opportunity,” he replied, still staring at her. She felt the fire of his eyes, felt their full and very thorough assessment. Despite herself, she felt a flush rising to her cheeks. Warmth rushed through her.

“Then—”

“Alas, milady, I have come to take charge,” he informed her gravely.

“Of what?” she asked cautiously, eyes narrowing. She had controlled things quite well, or so she thought!

“Of you,” he said flatly. “And Aville, of course.”

“But the king must see that I have—”

“The king has sent me,” he snapped.

Enraged and offended, she retorted without thinking. “Perhaps another king can return you!”

Such rash, foolish words! She wished instantly, of course, that she could take them back.

She could not, of course. She wondered wretchedly where her mind had gone, how he had managed to strip all sense and wisdom from her in a matter of seconds.

He arched a brow, watching her for a moment, a slight curl to his lip.

“I did not mean that as it sounded,” she said, keeping her eyes steady on his.

“Perhaps not,” he murmured softly. “But then again, perhaps it is time for you to start to take great care, milady. And perhaps I made a mistake ever allowing you to come here.”