Sharon Schulze (21 page)

“Aye,” Padrig said. “’Tis closest, and Lord Rannulf’s there, with plenty of men to mount an attack on Winterbrooke should that be necessary.” He bit into an apple so hard, juice spurted out all over his chin. Swiping it away with the back of his hand, he added wearily, “And I’m certain it will be.”

“Most likely.” Rafe took a bite of cheese and chewed, focusing his attention on the fire. “What of your lady?” he asked, shifting his gaze back to Padrig. “Will you leave her here with us?”

The sound of loose stones crunching underfoot caught their attention. Padrig looked up and discovered Alys standing on the other side of the fire, watching them. “He shall not leave
her
anywhere,” she said, swiftly making her way round the fire pit and stopping in front of him. “I’m going with you. There’s naught you can do to stop me, Padrig, so don’t even bother to try.”

A
lys glanced from Padrig to Rafe and back again. She clearly hadn’t surprised either man.

Rafe’s expression held a tinge of amusement. Indeed, she’d wager he was trying not to laugh.

Padrig’s reaction was more difficult to decipher. She gazed down at his face, trying to judge dispassionately, without allowing her feelings for him to taint her assessment.

Admiration mixed with a bit of resignation, perhaps?

He watched her as though uncertain what she might do or say next, that much she
was
sure of.

She reached for the apple he’d been eating. He gave it up without comment. She watched his face as she brought the fruit to her lips and nibbled at the edge where he’d bitten into it. The flavor burst upon her tongue, the sweet juice beading on her lips. She licked the moisture away, smiled, and handed the apple back to him.

He took it from her absently, his gaze never leaving hers. Her heart beat hard in her chest at the desire dark
ening his eyes to indigo. She’d teased him apurpose, curious to know whether the night past had been enough to sate his desire, or as in her case, had merely whetted his appetite.

She found the results of her test most pleasing.

And arousing, which she’d not expected since they weren’t alone. She kept smiling, all the while praying her legs wouldn’t give out on her. She took a calming breath and stepped past Padrig toward the open space between the two men. “Is there time for me to eat more than that before we go?” she asked, hoping her audacity would hold out long enough for her to sit down and compose herself.

“Dear God, but I hope so,” Rafe muttered, looking offended when Padrig glared at him.

Alys, meanwhile, wanted to slink back to the other cavern. She hadn’t considered how her actions would appear to Rafe.

’Twas a different matter entirely, to tease her lover in private. Her boldness with Padrig surprised
her,
for he brought out a side of her she hadn’t known existed.

She glanced up through her lashes and found Padrig was watching her. He caught her gaze, his mouth curving into a teasing smile, then brought the apple to his lips and took a bite.

Rafe made a rude noise and turned to look the other way. “I’m glad I’ll not be making the journey with the two of you,” he said dryly. “’Tis too much for a man alone to bear.”

Alys’s face felt so hot, ’twas surely blazing red. Leaping up from her seat, she wended her way past Rafe’s pallet and moved to the other side of the fire.

They’d not be able to see her face past the fire, she
hoped. Glancing up at the sky, she could see ’twas brighter than when she’d entered the cavern but a few moments ago. They would be leaving soon.

Then, thank goodness, she and Padrig would have other things on their minds than what they’d done the night before.

They’d barely left the passageway from the Devil’s Lair and entered the forest before Padrig shouldered the pack he was carrying and caught Alys by the hand to slow her headlong stride over the uneven rocks. In the misty light of the dawning day, ’twas difficult to see where they put their feet. “I know we’re in a hurry to be gone from here, love, but you’ll wind up bouncing down the hill on your backside if you’re not careful.”

She jerked her hand free and, gathering her skirts out of the way, got two steps away from him before he grabbed the back of her gown and tugged her round to face him. “Alys, what’s wrong?” He captured her chin in his hand and gently forced her to look up at him. “Did you want to stay with Rafe and Dickon after all?”

That notion sent a shudder of humiliation through her. “Absolutely not,” she told him, shaking her head. “I couldn’t wait to leave.”

He let go of her gown and reached up to smooth his hand over her hair. “So I saw,” he said with a rueful laugh. “I just don’t understand why.”

She shifted her gaze, staring over Padrig’s shoulder as the rising sun revealed a large, dense thicket below them. “You heard Rafe. I’m sure you know what he thought,” she whispered. “What I did there by the fire…I’m embarrassed.”

Padrig sighed. “Rafe thinks I’m a fortunate man,” he
said. “Truly. He told me so before we left. He believes you are charming and honest. ‘A rarity among women,’ he said.”

She didn’t bother trying to hide her scorn over that obvious falsehood. “’Tis not how a noble lady ought to behave.”

“Not in public, mayhap,” he conceded. “But in private—” He grinned suddenly. “Milady, you may be playful as you like with me, any time you wish. If ’twill preserve your modesty to save your boldness for when we’re alone, I’ll not complain.” He bent and kissed her, hard and fast, then released her before she could respond in kind. “As long as you don’t hide it away completely.”

Breathless from his kiss, she stared at him. “Do you think, once we get back, we’ll ever be alone together again?”

He touched her cheek. “If you wish it, sweeting, we shall.”

She noticed sudden movement from the corner of her eye, something large and dark in the thicket on the slope below Padrig. “Hide, quickly!” she cried, grabbing the front of his surcoat and tugging him down with her.

Padrig wrapped his arms about her, cushioning her with his body as they hit the hard ground. He rolled them so he could peer down the hill, yet shield her at the same time. “What did you see?” he whispered, fumbling to free his dagger from the sheath on his belt.

“I don’t know.” Craning her neck, she tried to look over him, but all she could see was the tangle of branches atop the thicket just below them.

However, the greenery was shifting wildly, as though some large beast were crashing through.

“I don’t think it’s a person,” she added. “From what
little I saw, ’tis large and dark.” Something was poking her in the side. She reached beneath her and shifted her belt until her embroidered pouch was safely out of the way. “Could it be a bear?”

“I hope not!” Padrig rolled clear of their tangled clothes and limbs and knelt, still screening her with his body. “I hear something,” he murmured. “But ’tis no bear.” He drew his sword from its scabbard, the deadly blade hissing quietly as it slid free, and rose to a low crouch. “Stay here,” he ordered.

Hoping Alys would obey him, Padrig raced down the hill toward the thicket, a blade held tight in each hand. As he reached the edge of the trees, a horse shot out and dashed past him, squealing frantically, a large boar hot on its heels.

The horse kept running straight toward Alys, but the boar halted abruptly and turned to face Padrig. Head shifting as it caught his scent, wickedly curved tusks gleaming in the morning sun, it dug at the loose dirt and stone with its hooves and let out a fearsome sound.

“Padrig!” Alys cried.

He could tell the moment the boar’s beady eyes focused on him. Now he needed to keep them directed his way.

If Alys caught its attention, however, it could just as easily be her the beast went after next. “Stay still and be quiet,” he told her without turning to look at her. Instead he shifted sideways, so she wouldn’t be in the animal’s line of sight.

He’d rather not waste time dealing with the creature, but knew the chance of it ignoring them was nonexistent now that it had caught their scent. “You’re mine,” he muttered to the beast, drawing in a deep breath.

And then he charged toward it as fast as he could move.

The added impetus of running downhill let him leap onto the animal, crashing into it with such force that they tumbled together into the underbrush at the edge of the trees. He tossed aside his sword as he leapt, for ’twas of little use in these circumstances.

Padrig somehow managed to wrap his arm about the boar’s neck, narrowly avoiding a slash across the face from the razor-sharp tusks. Gripping his dagger tight as they pitched backwards, he thrust it into the flailing beast’s chest and rammed it up into the heart.

Blood gushed everywhere, hot and stinking, yet still the animal squirmed in his hold. Finally the flow of blood slowed and the beast went lax in his arms. Breathless, Padrig slumped back against the ground, the ungainly body draped over him.

Suddenly his sword blade came into his line of vision. Tilting his head back, he followed the blade up, to the foolhardy wench gripping the hilt tight in both hands, and felt his blood go as hot as that of the beast he’d just killed.

Shoving the carcass off him, he stumbled to his feet, his dagger still clutched in his hand. “What are you doing?” he demanded, barely retaining enough sense to keep his voice pitched low when what he really wanted was to roar the words at her like a weapon. “I told you to stay—”

“What if you’d needed help?” she tossed back. Her arms shook, making the sword blade waver, but she held it at the ready. “Rafe’s not here to watch your back. Someone had to do it, and I’m the only one here.”

Still gasping, he took the sword from her and rammed it into the scabbard. “Don’t
ever
do that again,” he growled.

As soon as her hands were empty she flung herself into his arms, heedless of the pig blood spattered over him from head to toe.

“I was so afraid!” She held him tight for a moment, then stepped back far enough to look at him. “Is any of this abattoir from you?” she asked urgently.

“It could just as likely be from you.” He pointed to the front and sleeves of her gown. The green cloth was splotched with darker patches of blood where she’d been pressed against him. “But no, none of it’s mine.”

He bent and wiped his dripping dagger on the grass, scouring away the blood before he slipped it into its sheath.

Alys went to stand over the boar, nudging it with her boot, before glancing over her shoulder at Padrig. “You could have been killed,” she said quietly.

“I wasn’t.” He stood beside her and reached up to wipe a smear of blood from her cheek. “We’re both alive to live another day, Alys.”

He leaned down and rolled the boar into the bushes, scraping away the worst of the blood-soaked grass with a stick and tossing it into the trees. “I doubt anyone from Winterbrooke will venture this way,” he said. “But in case I’m wrong…”

Alys watched him work in silence, then took his hand and turned him to face back the way they’d come. Their packs lay abandoned upon the rocky ground, the contents scattered about.

And standing just above them, reins tied to a spindly tree, stood Alys’s mare.

“’Twas Arian who almost ran you down,” she said, smiling and starting up the hill. Padrig walked by her side, his attention on the liveliness of her expression. ’Twas something he’d seen all too seldom of late.

She’d had so little to be happy about.

“I’m doubly glad the boar did not get her, for she’s a fine horse,” she said once they reached the mare. Her hands gentle, she stroked Arian’s tangled mane. “I was certain she’d be too frightened to let me catch her, but she stopped running as soon as she saw me. Poor lady, she’s had such a terrible journey since we left l’Eau Clair.”

Padrig swiftly examined the mare. Other than several scrapes on her withers and rump, and a rip in the saddle, she and her accoutrements appeared to be in good shape. Excellent shape, when he considered what she might have endured since she ran off yesterday.

He straightened from tightening the girth and paused to rub Arian’s ears, hopefulness settling in his heart. “She might have had a terrible journey here, but she’s going to ensure that we have a much faster journey back.” He grinned. “Even riding double, it should take us no more than two days to return to l’Eau Clair.”

Smiling in return, Alys headed for their scattered supplies. “Come help me, then, milord,” she said, gathering everything up in her arms. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll be back to help the others.”

Pausing only to scrub the worst of the blood from their clothes and Padrig’s armor, they set off for l’Eau Clair before the sun had climbed much higher in the sky. They’d a long journey ahead of them, one he’d like to complete as swiftly as possible. Every day they were on the road was another day their people trapped in Winterbrooke Manor would suffer in captivity.

They couldn’t push Arian to any great speed, but the mare was hardy and fleet of foot, and she made the jour
ney less arduous for Alys. Padrig alternated leading the mare with riding her, but he refused to allow Alys out of the saddle except when they stopped to rest the horse.

They made the trip back to l’Eau Clair dogged by a sense of urgency; Padrig and Alys both so tense they scarcely spoke a word to each other till they stopped to eat and rest at midday. For Padrig’s part, revisiting the area where they’d suffered the storm’s wrath was difficult.

Judging by Alys’s wan face and pain-filled eyes, she’d rather be anywhere else but there.

He led them through the destruction as quickly as possible. By the time the sun was high overhead, they’d passed through the worst of it.

The mare was flagging, as was he, when they paused near a stream. He lifted Alys from the saddle and settled her upon the grass-covered bank of it before loosening the saddle girth and leading Arian to the water to drink.

Once he’d tended the horse and hobbled her nearby to graze, he returned to Alys’s side bearing food and a mug of cool water. He found her curled up on the soft turf, her hair spread about her and her eyes closed.

’Twas a pleasure to see her so relaxed, the tension gone from her face, a tinge of color riding along her cheeks. Mayhap she felt the weight of his scrutiny, for he’d not been there long when she slowly opened her eyes.

She met his gaze and smiled. “Come here, milord, and take your ease,” she invited, sitting up and holding out her hand to him.

He set down the food and drink and joined her. “’Tis a shame we cannot stay here long,” he told her regretfully. “It’s a beautiful place.”

Alys placed her hands on his shoulders and drew him down on the grass, his head upon her lap. She
smoothed her cool hands along his brow, stroked them over the aching muscles of his neck. If he’d been a cat, he would have purred his pleasure at her touch. “Mayhap we could return someday, when we’ve the time to linger here.”

Catching one of her hands in his, he pressed her palm against his neck and shifted so he could look up at her face. “Do you believe we shall ever have the chance to be together once we return to l’Eau Clair?” His heart thudding hard in his chest, he added, “Do you want us to be together?”