She was on her own. Well, their attention would lag at some point; opportunity would present itself, and she’d take it.
In spite of the occasional glower sent her way, the outlaws left Evie alone while they established the camp and prepared a sparse meal. No one offered her food, and eventually she dozed.
She awoke to darkness punctuated at the center by smoldering remains of the fire. Its acrid odor mixed with the smell of horses and the stench of poorly coordinated waste sites.
All around rose the sounds of a sleeping camp—snores, occasional grunts, snuffling animals. An owl sounded in the distance.
The rock still ground into her hip; she had to shift position. The ropes constricting her chest and arms had not loosened while she slept. Lips clenched against a moan, Evie flexed her hands. Numb. She rolled to the side in attempt to push up. She needed to relieve herself.
The movement’s rustle brought a grunt from her guard. “Be still.”
His unexpectedly close voice brought a squeak of surprise from Evie, but she quickly recovered. “Unless you want to clean up a mess, you’ll allow me some privacy.”
Had she really said that? Jesu! She felt no embarrassment at the crass, raw words however. Dire times called for dire behavior.
Grumbling curses, the guard lumbered to his feet. He grasped the rope around her, and when he hauled up, Evie bit back a gasp of pain.
“Hurry it,” he muttered.
“I can’t accomplish this with my arms bound.” Good. Her voice carried a petulant whine, not the cold fear she felt. Forcing her breath to even, she chanced a narrow glance at the surrounding darkness. If she could gain the trees, she could manage to lose herself among the undergrowth.
Provided he didn’t offer to hold up her skirts. Chill bumps popped out on her arms at the thought. But his silence told her he considered the problem she’d presented. With luck, he’d find the base workings of the female body repulsive. Finally he shoved her around to tug at the knot.
“Go behind the rock. And be quick about it.”
“But the rock is too close. Women need more privacy. I’ll go behind that tree.”
“Don’t be thinkin’ to gi’me the slip, me lady.”
Moist, hot breath warned Evie he was closer than she thought.
“Me woman ne’er needed privacy, she didn’t. Want me t’help ye?”
Evie ignored the crude remark as she attempted to rub feeling into her arms. All she got were needle pricks against the skin. With a sigh, she made her way around the rock one cautious step after another. Thank the Good Lord, it loomed tall enough to hide her from view.
Behind the boulder, out of sight from the campfire’s light, she measured the distance to the trees. And stifled a groan. Clouds obscured the moon, and she couldn’t make out the landscape more than two feet ahead. What chance would she have to run? None. Her legs scarcely held her, hands and feet felt only tingles. The stabbing needles had abated, but no chance she could outdistance any of the men.
She must wait. Leaning against the rock, still warm from the day’s sun, Evie fought back fear. She could do this. She could hold her own against these kidnappers and when the opportunity presented itself, slip away. Forcing her mind to consider ways of escape, she managed to regain control.
When she finished and rounded the rock, her guard sat propped next to her bindings, his eyes glowing even in the dark.
“Sit ’ere, me lady,” he said, a leer in his voice.
His words didn’t sound encouraging. In her sheltered life, she’d never encountered lecherous men, but nonetheless she knew what he intended. She paused. Instinctively, she knew not to show fear. Better to be on the offensive.
With narrowed eyes, she propped hands on hips and summoned the firm, commanding voice she used with workers at the castle who malingered. “I think not. Be about your duties, man. Your captain won’t appreciate having the lure gobbled up before the salmon arrives.”
He snorted in derision as he rose to his knees. “Wot he don’t know won’t hurt ’im.
“Shall we ask?” She sucked in a breath and screamed.
A faint, high sound pierced the night. Stephen paused. A scream? Blood pounded in his ears. The cry seemed to come from the north, but too far away for him to be certain. He pulled his mount to a halt, listened again. All he heard was a lone howl in the distance. A wolf. His horse tossed its head; Stephen patted its shoulder in reassurance. And strained to hear another sound.
Geoffrey had been right. Trailing in the dark was impossible. But he couldn’t wait until light. A thousand demons rode his back, reminding him of Evie in the hands of murderers.
She was an innocent in this battle playing out. He needed no further evidence to know the identity of the men he trailed. The massacre at Sir Hugh’s, the attack. These were no ordinary crimes committed by ordinary outlaws. Both had the marks of the Dragon’s men.
Stephen had no doubt whom they sought. The Phoenix—him and every member of the band. Geoffrey, too, if only they knew it. Together, he and Sorya’s brother had vowed revenge five years earlier as they knelt in the sands outside the bloody village where she’d made a visit of mercy. And where she’d died in a senseless massacre.
Now senseless violence threatened another innocent. God willing, this time Stephen would arrive in time. He knew the pattern the Dragon’s band followed, seen it too often these past years. Their motto: no witnesses. After today, Evie could identify them. So regardless of her family, she’d not be permitted to live.
The entire attack and abduction likely had been created to lure Stephen into their hands. He knew it. And it worked.
After moments of silence, he fisted the reins and set off at a walk along the narrow path northward. Earlier he’d followed signs leading from the attack site to the remnants of the first camp, where evidence showed a lone rider joined from the west. After that, when darkness made additional tracking difficult, he rode by instinct.
Now he considered the sound he’d heard, certain it came from his left. It could have been another wolf, yet that same instinct said differently. His heart hitched at the thought of Evie in enough danger to scream, and he sucked in a deep breath.
No, he couldn’t consider what such an outcry might mean. To do so would drive him mad. He must put it out of his mind, concentrate on finding the right direction.
Focus, man.
Perhaps the noise wasn’t so far off. Sound carried long on the still night air, but it also had a way of bending, muffling in the forest. He lifted his head and sniffed. Damned if he didn’t smell smoke. Old, stale. It wasn’t theirs.
He halted in a spot where early moonlight fought through the trees’ thick overhang. He swung out of the saddle, careful not to disturb any sign, then bent to examine the trail. A few leaves, undoubtedly victims of the recent storm, lay across the still-damp earth. No evidence of horses along here.
Leaning an arm across his bent knee, Stephen grunted in frustration. He was about to rise and head back to search for another track when he spotted what looked like a pile of rumpled leaves and mud just off the path. He rose to investigate. The disturbance looked too flat and too large to blame on an animal.
“Well, old fellow, what do you think?” he whispered. The bay’s snort was as quiet as Stephen’s voice. “I agree. Wish we could see better.”
He looped the reins around his hand and slowly retraced their passage. There, veering to the right, another trail. Narrow, but the sign of several horses became unmistakable. He forged ahead to find the ground tromped into muddy mush and the odor of their droppings strong.
Pausing frequently to make certain he’d not lost the trail, he followed the path. At last he emerged from the trees into clear land and better vision. He brought the gelding around and mounted again. Enough moonlight gilded the night to light the road ahead. She wasn’t far, he felt it. Anticipation itched beneath the calluses on his fingers.
He muttered a prayer that he’d be in time.
The moon was overhead when he whiffed smoke and a fading stench of burned meat. Ahead he made out a large black clump that signaled another patch of forest. His horse tossed its head, its mane flicking across Stephen’s hand as he reached down to pat the animal’s neck. The bay calmed as Stephen guided him off the road and headed for the shadows of outlying trees.
There’d been no attempt to hide the trail. Did they not expect pursuit? Or did they believe all the members of the party dead. Still, he’d best be on the alert for a guard.
Once he drew closer, he dismounted and crept forward. Now, especially, he thanked the uncharacteristic whim that made him leave his chain mail behind. Nothing rang through a dark night like an accidental strike of metal against metal.
It seemed half the night passed before the rustle of restless horses reached his ears. Dropping the reins to the ground, Stephen edged behind a huge tree. He peered around the trunk to see blanket-wrapped figures. Four.
No sign of Evie. Unless she was on the other side of the camp.
He’d concluded no guard had been posted when, from off to the right, came the sound of water dribbling. A grunt of satisfaction and a rustle followed. The invisible watchman.
Stephen reached down and grasped a fist-size rock. No use alerting anyone by drawing a sword. He faded into the shadow of the trees and waited until the other man resumed rounds and passed in front of him. Looming up, he swung the rock, then snaked an arm around the body to cushion it to the ground.
Caution made him pause, listen for a second guard. Hearing nothing, he chanced another step beyond the shadows, squinted toward the soaked fire. If they set up a means of cooking, they didn’t expect visitors, so perhaps just one had been set to watch.
A breeze whisked from behind him to spark stomping and blowing from the tethered horses. He stepped back into the darkness on the chance their noise might awaken the sleepers. Aside from a sharp rumble from the backside of a body or two, no one moved.
Stephen edged around the camp, his gaze flicking from one still mound to the next. All men. At the far edge of the camp’s rough circle, he stilled. A light snuffle drifted from behind a large boulder, then a sneeze.
Evie. Thank God. He covered the distance quickly to see her huddled into the rock. She slept, but they’d put her on the damp ground without a blanket. For a soldier toughened by months on campaign, a cool night was routine. But a lady unused to such conditions could sicken.
Stephen tamped down his anger. Escape now, revenge later. He had to get her away without a disturbance. He could handle four armed men. Many times he’d faced that number and more. But then, he’d had no lady to worry over. Tonight, he couldn’t chance the danger to Evie.
Soft ground deadened the sound of his boots as he crept toward her. When he was close enough, he grasped her shoulder and slid a hand over her mouth at the same time. Her eyes flew open, but she landed a hard knee to his thigh before she recognized him. Then he felt the suction of her indrawn breath as she grasped his wrist and squeezed. He could have sworn her lips brushed his palm when he removed it. He held a finger against his mouth signaling silence. She nodded.
She managed to sit but could move no further. A rope circled her waist and linked to a stake pounded firmly into the ground. Tethered like a horse. More, in fact; her feet as well as her wrists were bound. Stephen rocked back onto his heels, drew his black dagger from his boot, and went to work on the thick twists. In a matter of strokes, she was free. With a quick rub at her wrists and ankles, she crawled forward.
He peered around the side of the rock, then helped her stand. Instead of returning the way he came, he led her around the back of the encampment. Step by silent step they crept and had nearly reached the horses when Evie stumbled. The disturbance set the mounts to stomping, tossing their heads, whuffling. A shout rose from the cluster of sleepers.
“Damn,” Stephen muttered. He reached for the nearest horse and jerked loose the rope. Evie followed his action, slipping out the next rope. They managed two more before the sound of curses and running feet sent them into the night.
Stephen grabbed her hand, but again she nearly went down. “My feet,” she whispered. “Can’t run.” Without a word, he scooped her up and dashed toward the spot he’d left his own horse. A riderless mount narrowly missed them as it pounded past. Stephen’s grasp on Evie tightened. She clung, face buried against his neck, body tense. Behind, he heard hoofbeats draw closer.
The bay stood where it had been left, praise St. Jude. The horse was as faithful as any human friend. Evie turned her head and gasped, “Behind us,” the moment before Stephen tossed her into the saddle. He dragged out his sword as he whirled, blocked a blow then sent his blade into the rider’s belly.
Better attend to any others while he was prepared. Once he and Evie were away, he wanted no chance followers to threaten her. He hadn’t long to wait. Another horse galloped up, its rider flinging insults in time with his weapon. Stephen leaped forward to meet the mounted figure. Being on foot presented a disadvantage, but Stephen didn’t waste time with worry. He simply buried his sword in the other man’s leg. The spurt of blood told him the strike had landed in a crucial spot. Sure enough, the outlaw howled and disappeared back toward the camp.
Evie had managed to collect the bay’s reins and now urged the horse forward. Sucking in a deep breath, Stephen swiped the bloody blade across the grass, slid it into the scabbard, and swung up behind her. The bay stretched into a gallop before Stephen could give the command.
They rode, silent, for a long while. When he felt her shake, he simply pulled her closer and tightened his arms. Words of comfort filled his mind, and he might have murmured a few because she calmed after a time and burrowed further into his chest.
At last Stephen reined the bay to a halt, listened. No sounds of chase. Releasing a pent breath, he rolled his shoulders to disperse the kinks of tension. Evie pulled back to look into his face.
“I feared you were dead.” Her voice trembled in its whisper. Then, “I knew you would come.” Neither found the slightest irony in her conflicting words.