He bid a grudging thanks to Sir Hugh, jerked his head at the other solider, and they headed for the door.
Stephen joined Macsen to watch the band gather in the muddy bailey then, finally, ride through the rickety gates. Not until the group disappeared from view did the two stride back toward the fire.
Evie followed Stephen’s movements, apprehension visible beneath the pleasant expression she wore for Sir Hugh. She ought to be concerned. He had plenty he intended to say to her. Their eyes met, and she shifted on the bench at Sir Hugh’s side.
She was safe for the moment, for Stephen wouldn’t take her to task in front of the others. But when he had her alone? By God, he’d talk sense into her stubborn head.
She rose. “Do we leave now, as well?”
“That you won’t,” Sir Hugh declared. “You must remain here tonight. Wait ’til tomorrow, let the roads dry a bit.”
The old knight had a point, Stephen admitted. He didn’t begrudge Evie a warm, dry bed, but he’d hoped to be farther along today. Still, the morning might see Matthew better able to travel. He hated to desert his friend now he knew the Brotherhood had been followed from Normandy.
“All right. But we’re leaving at first light,” he warned. “I’ll let the men know.”
“Wait,” Sir Hugh said, “didn’t I see a pair of holy men ride in with you? Bring ’em in. Bring ’em in. We can use a few prayers this night.”
****
The next morning, pale orange stretched across the eastern horizon, signaling a clear day ahead. Stephen checked on the supplies, then on Matthew, who’d been unable to keep a seat on his horse. Only after a third failed attempt did he consent to remain behind for a few days.
Evie, on the other hand, sat poised on her mount after kissing Sir Hugh on the cheek and submitting to a bear hug.
Now Sir Hugh hobbled toward him. “Be careful, boy,” he called, waving one of his sticks. “Don’t like for you to set out a man short. Let me send a couple of mine along.”
When told of the attack on Matthew, Sir Hugh had grasped Stephen’s unspoken concern immediately. “Whoever caused that trouble won’t stop.”
“No, sir, though I thank you.” Stephen clapped the man’s bony shoulder.
The heavy eyebrows slammed together. “Humph. Well, then, have a care. Though you’re your father’s son. If there’s trouble ahead, you’ll race right at it, instead of dropping back to marshal your forces. And tell your da I’m expecting him. The coronation, that’s the time. No matter which head the crown ends up on, he’ll have to come this way for the ceremony.”
“I’ll tell him, sir, and I’ll take care. See that you do the same.”
He raised a hand in farewell, wincing a bit when Sir Hugh wavered, then steadied between his walking sticks. His health had deteriorated dramatically since the last time Stephen visited. Now the painful knees kept his father’s friend confined to a chair in his run-down hall much of the time. The man didn’t take proper care of himself, what with only a handful of equally ancient cohorts around.
Hugh’s lady had died in childbirth before Stephen’s time, taking a stillborn daughter with her. Hugh never remarried. Like Stephen’s own father. Two men who remained faithful to the memory of their ladies.
Was he not doing the same? Remaining faithful to Sorya’s memory?
He glanced back at the slight figure in front of the hall. Would he end his days the same way?
Alone.
A rueful smile curved one side of his mouth. He’d likely not live long enough to die alone.
Evie turned in the saddle to give a last wave at Sir Hugh, who looked even more frail at a distance. He lifted a stick in salute, and her heart ached for him. So alone. He needed someone to look after him, but the old warrior would deny it. Perhaps he might be persuaded to come north for a visit. An extended one. Plenty of room at Chauvere.
In her heart, she knew he’d never leave his home.
Thin clouds stretched across the feeble sun. She shivered and hunched her shoulders.
“You said several friends lived along this road. Will we stop at a manor again tonight?” she asked Stephen.
He slowed his gelding to a walk. “Provided the roads aren’t mired in mud, we should arrive at Kensey Hall before dark.” As he spoke, his glance shot from guard to guard. Paused when it lit on Brother Claude. A muscle in Stephen’s cheek twitched when the monk gestured to him. He gathered the reins. “Remain in the middle of the company,” he ordered as he rode away.
Evie watched him lean in to talk with the monk Claude, then turn to look in the direction from which they’d come. Even at a distance, she made out his frown. He called something to Macsen, then cantered back down the road.
Had they forgotten something? Or perhaps someone followed. Surely he didn’t anticipate danger. The only person who knew they were traveling this direction was Lord Fulk, and he had ridden north.
An image of the rough band who had joined them at Sir Hugh’s manor rose in her mind. Dread streaked a cold trail along her spine, but she scoffed. Those men left much earlier. No matter their route, they had to be far ahead. She must not indulge such fanciful notions.
She glanced at Marie, who smiled and bobbed her head. The girl had chosen to ride beside Davy most of the morning, and Evie had been glad for the time alone. Although a pleasant companion, the maid chattered incessantly.
Macsen’s horse fell into step alongside. Evie asked, “Is there a problem?”
“No need to worry,” Macsen answered in his pacify-the-lady tone. “Sir Stephen wants to make certain we’ve not missed a turn.”
Evie blew out a breath and refrained from rolling her eyes. Had she not proven on this journey that she could manage adversity? Yet still the men treated her as a child. Very well, if he refused to answer that question, perhaps he’d answer a different one.
“Who were the men at Sir Hugh’s? The soldiers who came after we arrived?”
Macsen twisted toward her, sending his horse into a sidestep. The next moments were spent calming the mount, then the knight swerved to stare ahead again. He shot her a glance from the side of his eyes.
“Did they not say they were your betrothed’s men? And you nearly failed to tell them so. Why was that?”
“I felt no need to exchange personal information with strangers. You and Sir Stephen neglected to mention that fact, as well.”
“They were mercenaries. Lord Fulk’s men or no, not to be trusted.”
“Ummm.” Just as she’d thought. They were rough ones, for certain. One especially had made her skin prickle. The knight who stood near the door, with his protuberant nose, turned up at the end like a pig’s snout. She’d not felt the threat from the second man, the leader. Perhaps because his concentration focused on Stephen. But the other’s gaze all too often had turned to her. The expression on his face had left no doubt of his thoughts.
Sunk in reflection, she failed to hear the
whisk
of the arrow that dug a furrow across her mare’s shoulder. She stared in disbelief. Blood welled along the shallow trough of horseflesh.
Outlaws! Dear heaven. Evie bit her lips together as she struggled to control the injured animal. She must keep her seat or risk being trampled.
Armed men burst from the surrounding trees. In a blur, she registered curses, the scrape of metal against metal. Screams. Marie! Evie stood in the stirrups in an attempt to find the maid. There. The girl’s frightened pony bolted toward the woods in the opposite direction, Marie hanging on for dear life.
“Davy, see to Marie,” Evie shouted. She couldn’t locate the young squire in the melee but prayed he heard. She leaned forward to tighten the reins while she spoke calmly to her own mare.
Then Macsen appeared, swung around to shield her. He had blood on his face; what happened to his helm? None of the guards wore helmets, she realized, just their chain mail coifs.
Stephen. Where was Stephen? Why didn’t he come?
Two attackers engaged Macsen. Another came up on his blind side.
“Behind you,” she screamed.
Before Macsen could duck, the third outlaw swung a mace.
Evie watched in horror as the big blond knight toppled from his saddle.
The trio turned on Evie.
For an instant she froze in fear, then it dissipated as she realized this was no time for weakness. She had to help herself. But she had no weapon. Nothing for defense. She looked at the reins gripped in her hands. Desperate, she rose in the stirrups, separated the leather strips and slashed out at the nearest man. He took the hit across the face.
Before she drew back her arm again, one of the men grabbed at her waist and pulled.
Evie felt herself fly through the air, watched the ground come up to meet her. How slowly she seemed to fall. She looked around. The clash and curse and shout of battle seemed far away. Her guards were gone. Macsen lay still. As the ground came, she squinted up at her attacker. The face she saw snarled back, a red welt raising along cheek and chin.
In the breath before she hit the earth, she recognized him. The pig man from the manor.
****
Stephen found no evidence they’d been followed. Claude must have been mistaken when he thought he saw movement along the back trail. However, Claude had eyes like a hawk and seldom was wrong. He’d go further, circle to the smaller path, parallel to the party.
He’d nearly reached the turn-off when a lone figure slipped from the brush at the side of the road. Sword raised, he met the rider—and leaned to the side to avoid striking. What the hell?
Soaked through, the odors of wet wool and wet horse clinging to him like a houri, rode Geoffrey.
“In God’s name, I nearly killed you.” Stephen’s fury died the instant he saw the other man’s expression.
Geoffrey’s lips clenched before he sucked in a breath. “Matthew’s dead. All murdered.”
Stephen stared. Not Matthew. His friend lay safe at Sir Hugh’s, his wounds healing.
“How?”
“Sir Hugh’s manor. Attacked.”
Cold dread puckered along the back of his neck. “Sir Hugh?”
Geoffrey looked him in the eyes. “All dead,” he repeated. The skin around Geoffrey’s mouth whitened. “I left Brother Gerald and the others to bury them. I came ahead to find you.”
Stephen hunched forward, fists clenched on the saddle. Those damned, rickety old gates. They’d provided no chance of protection for the old knight. Damn, damn, damn. He expelled a breath he hadn’t known he held. He straightened.
“Tracks?”
“Led this direction.”
“They’ve come for us.” Cold fear gripped him “Good God. Evie.”
He jerked his bay around and set off at a gallop. Behind him, he heard Geoffrey follow.
Questions swirled in his mind. How had his men arrived in England so quickly? Geoffrey, Brother Gerald, and the rest should still be in Boulogne awaiting Bernard.
No time now for explanations.
As if reading his mind, Geoffrey shouted, “Bernard sent word to come ahead. He is delayed but said to beware the Dragon in England. I see we arrived too late.”
Stephen gave a quick nod but didn’t ease the pace. The ride seemed to take forever. Tension grew with each pounding hoofbeat. He overreacted, he assured himself. Evie was safe. Macsen would die before harm came to her, as would the others. They’d sworn to guard her, but their protection sprang as much from respect as duty. She’d managed to win them over, every one, with her uncomplaining bravery over the past days. And her kindness. And her sea-blue eyes. And her smile.
Maudlin, that’s what he’d become. The men and Evie were absolutely safe. The hoof beats picked up the word. Safe. Safe. Safe.
The attack on Sir Hugh must have come from outlaws. Marauders, who likely saw a chance for a quick raid at a manor protected only by ancients who couldn’t be bothered to keep the main gate in repair.
The massacre did not presage an attack on the Phoenix.
He couldn’t lie to himself. He’d seen this pattern too often over the past years. The brutal massacre of the undefended manor was no coincidence.
The Dragon’s men had arrived in England.
And he’d bet his life the strangers who took shelter at Sir Hugh’s earlier were part of the outlaw band. He should have heeded his instinct, detained or followed them. But he’d been certain the Brotherhood outpaced their enemy. The decision to leave Normandy came at the last minute. No one knew of the plan except the men who formed the group and the monks at St. Anselm. If Brother Michael weren’t missing, Stephen might suspect him of further betrayal.
No, there must be another explanation
At last he imposed some order on his roiling thoughts and motioned to Geoffrey.
“How do you come to be here?” he called above the noise of hoofbeats.
Geoffrey brought his mount closer. “News of John—couldn’t wait.”
Moments later, from ahead, came shouts and the thudding, clashing sounds of fighting.
Cursing, Stephen urged a last burst of speed from his mount. Movement at his side showed Geoffrey kept pace.
Around a curve they found the men fending off a handful of attackers. A lightning glance around the fray didn’t turn up Evie. Thank God. Surely Macsen had her hidden safe in the woods. But a spear of doubt lodged in his stomach.
With a shout Stephen bounded toward the fray, while a part of his mind assessed the scene. Four bodies dotted the churned road and the verge. Impossible to identify the dead, spattered as they were with mud.
Until he spotted the unmistakable form crumpled at one side. Macsen.
Evie! Macsen would never leave her side. Which meant the bastards had taken her.
Then his concentration focused on two outlaws who sprung out of the nearby brush. Had they been waiting for him? As he brought up his sword to block the attack, a lone question bored into his mind.
Where is Evie?
Aware that Geoffrey raged at his side, he slashed at the ambushers. In no time they finished the pair, then raced to aid the others. Faced with reinforcements, the attackers disengaged and faded into the trees. Geoffrey and Claude gave chase.
Stephen leaped from the saddle to kneel beside Macsen.
Please God, let him live.
The Brotherhood had been ridiculously fortunate over the years. Despite overwhelming odds at times, the troop suffered but a handful of deaths. Each time, Stephen felt the guilt of failure. But these deaths struck even closer to his heart. Again he’d been absent when needed. He’d let his friends, all of them, down.