Kneeling, he spied a rent in the chain mail on Macsen’s back. A puncture wound, almost beneath his arm. Clean through surcoat and mail links.
Few daggers could claim the ability to slice through mail. Muttering curses, he ripped away the fabric to examine the hole. He had little doubt what kind of blade inflicted it. A mate to the one stashed in his own belt.
Gently, he turned Macsen, and his breath caught at the blood-soaked face. He dragged off a glove to shove three fingers at his friend’s throat, beneath the jaw. No throbs signaling heartbeat.
Then, beneath his hand, Macsen’s throat jerked in a cough.
His eyes did not open, but his lips moved. Stephen bent forward, ear to his mouth.
“From…manor,” came the choked whisper. “Took…Evie.”
Relief that Macsen lived mixed with anger at the attack. Both emotions weakened in the fear for Evie.
“Christ and all his saints,” Stephen ground out. But they couldn’t have gone far. If he hurried, he’d catch the mule-swiving, sheep-loving bastards.
As long as they hadn’t harmed his little shadow, he might let them live. He swung around and caught sight of the bodies scattered at the roadside. Then, again, perhaps he wouldn’t. Through clenched teeth, he roared at the wasted lives. Senseless, senseless cruelty.
He’d gut them, every one.
Geoffrey broke from the trees, sword clutched in hand, and dismounted to check the fallen members. Claude followed, left arm hanging limp.
“We’ll see to the others,” Claude called. “Go after our lady.”
Geoffrey ran to Stephen’s side. “Dead?” he asked, voice hollow.
Stephen shook his head once. “He took a blow to the head. That’s the source of all the blood. There’s a wound to his back. Examine it later.” He left the mysterious statement hanging, but his brother would understand the moment he glimpsed the puncture.
The two stood silently for a breath, then Geoffrey said, “We’ll get everyone back to the manor. Brother Gerald will care for the survivors. Go now.”
But at a groan from the ground, Stephen paused. If Macsen could speak, perhaps he had information to help in the search.
He knelt again, his hand gripping his friend’s. “You’ll be with Brother Gerald soon,” he assured. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Macsen’s hand tightened in Stephen’s. Weak. Brief.
On a slight sigh, he whispered, “Waiting…around bend. Counted…half score…and more.” He stopped on a choked cough. Claude handed over a wineskin, and Geoffrey lifted Macsen’s head while Stephen dribbled a bit of the liquid against the knight’s mouth.
“Easy,” he cautioned. “Don’t cough again. The bleeding might worsen.” It seemed like hours before the knight swallowed, then sucked in air.
At Stephen’s side, Geoffrey whispered, “The position of the wound is the same as Matthew’s. Angled for the lungs.”
Stephen grunted. At least the thin, sharp dagger had missed its target. Again.
Macsen forced himself to speak. “Like ghosts they came. From the trees. Half rode toward her.”
“As if she were the target?” Stephen prompted when the other man stopped speaking again.
“Don’t…know.” Macsen closed his eyes, but his breath continued, rough and light.
Stephen rose and turned to Claude. “They must be who you saw earlier.”
Claude frowned, rubbing the shoulder of his immobile arm. “If so, they trailed us a distance. Didn’t attack ’til after you left.”
“What did you see?”
“Not so much as Macsen. By the time I fought free, the lady had disappeared.”
“Did you recognize any of them?”
Claude shook his head.
“Did they speak? Call out names?”
Another short jerk, no.
Why would the Dragon’s men—if, indeed, that’s who they were—want Evie? Abducting her made no sense. If anyone, he, Stephen, made the logical target. When he rode off alone, they could have killed him easily. Yet they chose to take on six armed and armored knights, to make off with a lady. And with a loss of their own fellows.
Not all the bodies lying around belonged to the Brotherhood. In fact, one by one Stephen’s men were struggling to sit. Injured but alive. He felt his chest lighten, and he drew in a breath from the bottom of his stomach.
Geoffrey pushed him toward a horse. “All will be well here. Go now.”
He nodded. “I’ll find her.”
A crossbow bolt through her head. That’s what the pain felt like when Evie struggled back to consciousness. She blinked but found only blackness. Tried to turn but couldn’t budge.
Panic knotted her throat, and she fought to suck in air. She couldn’t see, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe!
She forced herself to calm. Forced herself to draw in short, easy breaths. Forced herself to think. And she realized a hood—no, a blanket—covered her head. Rope bound her wrists, and a hard arm squished her against a solid chest. The rough bounce—they were on horseback.
Then she remembered. The attack from nowhere. Her men never had a chance; they’d been so outnumbered.
Sir Macsen. She’d seen him struck from behind when he tried to shield her. Was he dead? Were they all dead? One of the black-clad outlaws had wrenched her from the saddle, and she’d hit the ground. No wonder she felt so beaten.
Where was Stephen? Had they attacked him when he rode off alone? A chasm opened in her stomach. No, she must not believe it. He was safe. An experienced warrior wouldn’t allow himself to be taken by a handful of outlaws.
There’d been many more than a handful.
Why would anyone attack a small traveling party without wealthy trappings? There was nothing to steal. And why abduct her? She knew no one in this part of the country.
Had the outlaws taken Marie as well? The poor girl depended on her for protection. Evie ignored the pain and lurched forward. The movement must have taken her captor by surprise, for she managed to wrench free and slide off the mount. Then wished she’d thought a little more about it when she slammed into the ground—feet, side, shoulder, head, nothingness.
Sound returned first this time. She heard heavy footsteps, the crackle of something—leaves, perhaps; branches. She was outdoors. A grunt, a thud, curses that she recognized, but delivered in an accent she couldn’t place. The stomp and blow of horses.
She sucked in a clear breath. At least the covering was gone from her head. Dim light filtered through the trees. Were they making camp for the night? She chanced a lightning glance but saw no one.
A thick rope looped around her stomach pinning her arms to her side. But her feet were free. She lay on the ground, on a small rock, to judge by the sharp jab beneath her left hip. Who were these brigands?
The pig man. How had she forgotten? At the manor, he said he traveled to meet Lord Fulk. But these were outlaws, not soldiers. Even so, no reason to kidnap his lord’s intended, to kill her guards. She recalled the carnage of the battle. Pain squeezed her chest, and her stomach balked.
Marie. Evie sucked in a gasp. If the outlaws had chased down the girl, she must be nearby. They wouldn’t kill a defenseless servant, would they?
Evie chanced a look again. Now she spied a few men moving about. A sound must have alerted one, because he strode her way. Her eyelids squeezed shut when a boot stopped in front of her head.
“Our bird’s awake,” a guttural voice called. “Come little pigeon, let’s see you.”
Huge, hard hands closed around her upper arms, jerked her up. A limp resistance proved no help, for he shook her. “Open yer eyes, pretty.”
The sharp movement snapped her neck forward and back, shooting pain through her head again.
“Stop that.” The strength of Evie’s voice surprised even herself and drew laughter from the men.
“Got yerself a smart one there,” called one jeering voice. “Bet ye can shut ’er up right fast.”
“Maybe we kin help ye,” offered another. That brought a second wave of chortles.
“Enough.” A flat, hard voice sliced through the coarse play. Just the one word sent a bolt of dread through Evie. From the way the others shot each other uneasy glances, she gathered this must be their commander. Her captor stepped away, but his bulk blocked sight of the newcomer.
“Where is she?”
“O’er there.”
Attention turned to Evie. Some of the men eyed her; others stared at the ground or into the trees. Much as she wanted to disappear, she had no choice but to stand under the weight of the stares. Well, by Saint Mary she’d not quail. She lifted her chin and nearly winced at the pain.
He strode toward her, his swarthy face emotionless, his bulky arms swinging at his sides. The failing light cast his eyes into shadow; a scruffy beard covered his lower face. No distinguishing characteristic set him apart from the other dirty, scraggly band. Until he came closer, and she noticed his left earlobe was missing.
A restless silence fell while he gave her a frowning examination. He swung away in dismissal. “Where are the others?” he demanded.
“Dead,” said one. “We killed them all. We brought the lady. As you ordered.”
The commander let out a string of curses that would curdle milk. “I ordered you to bring the captain.”
“He weren’t there,” volunteered another. “Godric and Varsio stayed behind to search.”
Uneasy looks flew around the group as the leader continued to scourge them roundly for their failure, their parentage, their stupidity, their unfitness to serve a great lord. By the time his tongue-lashing ended, the ruthless killers shifted uneasily. A few faces reflected fear.
Evie’s mind clung to what she heard. They had been ordered to capture Stephen but hadn’t found him. Perhaps he’d arrived after these men had dragged her off. Pray God he’d been able to help Macsen. But someone had said, “All dead.”
The thought of him lying bloodied on the ground struck her to the core. She knotted her hands to stop their trembling. He wasn’t harmed. He couldn’t be!
Panic made her head swim and her knees buckle. She staggered in an attempt to catch herself but failed, plopping heavily onto the ground. No one came to her aid. She scooted back until she felt the solidness of a boulder behind her and leaned her head against it.
The movement must have attracted his attention, because the commander stalked across the clearing and stopped in front of her. She stared at the ground.
“No one’s coming to help.” His flat tone made the words believable.
Evie
wouldn’t
believe them.
“My lord has a few questions you’ll be smart to answer.”
She at last looked up to meet the man’s cold eyes. “You do understand you’ve made a grave error.”
Ignoring her words, he turned to the others. “Keep your braies knotted. At least until the lord’s finished with her. Remember the last time. It does no good to deliver a dead woman.”
Muttering, the men went back to their chores. All but one. The pig man stared at her, his mouth twisted in a mean sneer, his small eyes glowing with hatred. He fingered a red mark across his face. Evie remembered how he got that welt. She shuddered. He spat on the ground at her feet, turned, and strode away.
If any doubt lingered about whom he served, his action settled it. Not Lord Fulk, because he’d never dare treat his lord’s wife-to-be in such a manner.
She leaned her head against the rock again. What information could anyone think she possessed? She’d been in Normandy for months, and before that, she seldom left her family’s demesne.
This unknown person didn’t really want her. Stephen had been the objective, but he had escaped or been killed, they said. Perhaps they thought she knew his whereabouts. That must mean they knew he lived.
Thank the Lord. She had no idea where he’d gone, but she knew he’d come for her.
What if he wasn’t in time? What if the threats to her became reality? Her eyes flew open in alarm. Then she calmed again.
Wherever these men planned to take her, she would not go quietly. And if no one came to rescue her, well then, she must rescue herself.
She’d memorize the route they traveled and slip away when opportunity presented, and it would, if she had to create it. When the time came, she’d know how to make her way back to the road they’d left, back to Sir Hugh’s. There she’d be safe until Stephen came. He would come. Her heart refused to believe otherwise.
The commander eyed her. “You have the wrong person,” she said. “I know nothing that could be of help to anyone. Unless you plan to design a garden or preserve meat for the winter. I can give you a recipe for removing fleas from a hall. “
He was not amused. His face twisted in a snarl. “You know all our lord wants, lady.”
“I’m simply passing through on the way north,” she tried again. “The soldiers you killed were escorting me home to my betrothed, Lord Fulk d’Ambrosie. Have you heard of him?”
The leader’s glance flicked away, and his jaw flexed.
“I should warn you. If I don’t arrive home, my brother will send many soldiers to search for me. He is not a man to cross, I vow that. But if you release me now, you can be far away before they arrive.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized her error. He turned with a narrowed stare. Tense expectation fell over the small, tight camp as the knight strode inexorably closer, thin mouth slashed downward, eyes cloudy with impersonal disgust.
“Just untie you and let you scurry away like a little rabbit, is that what you think we should do?” He snorted. “So your brother is a lord, is he?”
Evie set her mouth in a tight line and glared.
His chuckle sent dread skittering up her spine. “Maybe we have a hostage worth something when the lord’s all done with you.”
The man hunkered beside her, eyes level with hers. “What will your brother give to keep you safe, do you think? Looks like we’ll see.” He rose and nodded to the men. “If Godric and Vesio haven’t made it in by morning, we’ll take her alone. The lord will have to make do.”
The pig man sidled over, muttering to the commander.
The commander glared at him, then nodded. Giving her one last look of hatred, pig man stalked toward the horses and grabbed a saddle.
That ended any discussion, and the outlaws dispersed. She studied their faces as they moved around camp. Occasionally one threw her a guarded glance. Cold, impersonal, lascivious, not one showed sympathy. She caught a particularly vindictive look and insight dawned. They didn’t plan to ransom her, no matter what this mysterious “lord” said.