Taken and Seduced (15 page)

Adam tried to hold her away after a moment. “You shall be soaked through!” He spoke between gasping breaths, then bent over and began to cough.

She pounded his back. “You might have swallowed the whole river! You were beneath the surface so long, I thought—I thought—” But she couldn’t say what she thought, so much did those emotions terrorize her.

The little boy had stopped crying, and now was sucking on his thumb, breathing in little uneven breaths. He lay contentedly on his father’s chest.

Ralph Boorde put out his trembling hand, and Adam gripped it. “Sir Edmund, I will never be able to repay ye for what ye’ve done.”

Adam pushed his wet hair from his eyes. “No repayment is necessary. You would have done the same for us.”

“But whether we would ’ave succeeded or”—he eyed Michael—“thought of yon rope across the water, well, ye’ve taught us a fine lesson.”

“But we still have the rest to get across the river,” Adam said.

“We’ll tie the child to me. He screams somethin’ fierce, but he’s lost the choice.”

Not long after, the entire company reunited on
the far side, and Ralph’s sobbing wife held her little boy, who looked like he had no idea why his mother was hugging him so tightly.

Florrie watched Adam’s chagrin as everyone praised him.

At last, he looked down on her. “You are crying,” he said in surprise.

She quickly wiped away a tear. “’Tis glad I am to see a babe reunited with his mother. I feel the woman’s fear, ’tis all.”

But that was partly a lie. She felt her own fear, and knew a profound confusion. She had not wanted to lose Adam. That meant he was becoming too important to her. She never allowed such a thing to happen, not even with her own family.

They had their midday meal near the half wall of a sheep enclosure on the far side of the Nyne, and everyone was in good spirits. Adam wished they’d all stop thanking him. He felt so…exposed, as if these people would speak about him to others, and someone coming along would recognize him.

But it felt good to know he’d saved the child.

He found himself reluctantly entertained by Florrie’s antics. She offered to share some of their abundance of cheese with the other party, and as she limped to the two women, Adam knew that any suspicion on their part was long gone. She continued to play the part of his wife admirably, glancing at him occasionally as if he might need
her, bringing him the choicest piece of cold pheasant offered by the Boordes.

If they were going to play man and wife, he might as well enjoy it. In dry clothes now, he put his arm around her when she reached his side, even as he took the meat from the linen cloth and began to eat. She smiled up at him and coyly batted her long eyelashes.

“So women flirt with their husbands even after they’ve gotten the marriage they want?” he asked with amusement.

“They should.”

She relaxed against him, one muscle at a time, almost reluctantly.

He let his fingers gently play with her earlobe, then his thumb rode up and down her neck. “Am I doing this correctly?”

“I—I think so,” she breathed.

“Come, let me walk you over to the trees where you can see to your needs.”

Arms about each other, they walked past the rest of their companions, who smiled or nodded, even as they went back to sharing food with their families. More than one person was walking about, easing stiff muscles, so Adam had to lead her farther away than he meant to. The voices faded behind them.

When she would have pulled away, he held her still, speaking softly against her ear, where he could inhale the sweet scent of her. “When I am courting, how close can I be with a woman?”

She didn’t look up at him as she spoke hesitantly. “You should hold her hand.”

He kept his arm around her shoulders. “Might I lean near to her, so that I can smell the way she perfumes her skin?”

She didn’t answer. He tipped up her chin, forcing those mysterious green eyes to meet his.

His mouth was just above hers. “Am I permitted to kiss a woman whom I am courting?”

She watched his mouth, her own lips parted. “Here? Only in moments of deep privacy, with a woman he is already betrothed to, should a man—”

“But now we are pretending to be married,” he interrupted.

And then he kissed her, not with the passion and need she’d aroused in him at dawn. Now he wanted her sweetness, her goodness, and he could taste them in the gentle trembling of her parted lips. For only a moment, he let himself imagine that they were other people, not separated by warring families and revenge and opposite destinies. He was supposed to be a married man, with a child on the way, and he took full advantage, sliding his hand over her stomach as if to feel the babe—but letting his fingertips briefly brush a bit too low. She jerked in his arms.

He didn’t care who watched, for all thought them newly married, caught up in the joys of impending parenthood. But not Robert and Michael. That thought doused his passion, made him
glance up and see both an amused Robert and an impassive Michael watching them. Did Adam look as much the fool as he was suddenly feeling? Teasing Florrie served no purpose except his own amusement. She didn’t need this from him; she was only trying to help out of the goodness of her heart.

A wife, indeed. As if he were even thinking of such a thing, when his loins were overruling his head.

Or was he thinking about it
because
of Florrie? That was an unsettling thought.

Florrie put a hand on his chest, and he looked down at her once more. Her expression was be-mused, troubled, and he knew he’d done that to her.

“Ad—Edmund,” she corrected herself, then whispered, “I know not what you want of me.”

He didn’t know either, so he only kissed her hand, and led her back to their traveling companions, who were preparing to depart.

A
dam tried to devote his attention to the dangers of the road. According to Michael, they were entering Huntingdonshire, and they would soon cross Ermine Street, begun by the Romans over a thousand years before. It was the most heavily traveled highway in the country—the last place he wanted to be. If someone had spies looking for them, this road to London would be the perfect place to keep watch. But all they had to do was cross it quickly, and head farther east.

As they approached it, with its old Roman mile markers, Adam debated pulling up the hood of his and Florrie’s cloaks. But it was summer, and that might be even more suspicious. Going north or south, he could see several lone riders, perhaps messengers by the speed they rode, and a line of mule-driven carts loaded with covered goods. He felt tense as they rode onto the packed earthen road, letting the horse pick between the holes that pockmarked it from centuries of use.

Since they were nearing the wet fens, the ground here supported an abundance of trees. Someone could be hiding anywhere to watch the travelers. Adam felt like he had a giant target on his back. He must have held Florrie too tightly, for she looked up at him with a confused expression.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, looking up and down the road, then feeling relieved to leave it behind.

“’Tis very busy here,” she said. “Do you think we’ve been seen?”

He shrugged. “I hope the size of our party is misleading.”

But it must not have been, for an hour later, in broad daylight, Robert came riding up fast behind their party, chased by four men, their swords raised.

“To arms!” Robert shouted.

There were gasps and cries among the Boordes, and almost immediately, as if they’d known to prepare for robbery on dangerous roads, Ralph, Godfrey and their men-at-arms began to draw around the women and children, protecting them. Adam only had a moment to release Florrie to their care. He looked down on her anxious face.

“Oh, do be careful!” she cried.

He gave her a grim smile. “Others have more to fear. Trust me.”

She nodded.

He, Michael, and Robert, along with the two men-at-arms, rode away from the party to meet
the assault head-on. With a slash of his sword, Adam turned aside the first man, who lost his own weapon before tumbling to the ground.

Another villain avoided the main defense and headed for the women and children. Adam chased him, saw the man vault from the saddle, elude one of the Boorde brothers, and raise his sword as if he meant to harm innocents. To Adam’s shock and fear, Florrie came forward with her dagger raised. Adam was trying to get near, but with his focus on her, he didn’t notice that one of the attackers had come too close. He heard the movement of air as the sword slashed at him, and he flung himself from the saddle, feeling a sharp sting along his ribs.

But he was on the ground now; between the Boordes and him, they killed the coward who’d threatened the women.

Adam turned back to the rest of the battle. Michael had already sent his opponent fleeing on horseback. Another attacker fought Robert on foot with both sword and dagger. The last villain realized that he faced two men-at-arms and Michael. The element of surprise was obviously lost. He yanked hard on his reins, fleeing the scene while riding low over his horse’s neck, even as Robert buried his sword in the final man.

“Should we give chase?” one of the soldiers shouted.

Adam started to speak, then remembered he wasn’t in charge.

Ralph Boorde shook his head. “The cowards be dead or gone. We must flee this place soon before they return.”

In fury, Adam drove the point of his sword into the dirt and leaned on the hilt. How could such villains be from the League of the Blade? One had targeted the women and children, perhaps even Florrie herself! Or would her own father instruct his men to do such a thing? He had to know one way or the other.

“Master Boorde, take your families and move on,” he said. “My men and I will see to the bodies.”

“We cannot ask ye to bear such responsibility alone!” Godfrey Boorde replied.

“I would feel better if you were all safe. We needed to turn away from this eastern path eventually, and will take the opportunity now. If we split our party, this might confuse any returning villains.”

“But after all ye’ve done for us—”

“Nay, please go with God, and know that we have appreciated your company.”

Though the children cried and the women looked wide-eyed with shock, at last the Boorde families rode away. Adam turned to Florrie, who stood with her arms about her and looked almost lost.

She looked at the two dead men and shuddered. “Thieves?” she asked weakly. “Surely they could not be Bladesmen.”

Michael and Adam searched the two bodies, then shook their heads to Adam.

“What were they looking for?” Florrie demanded.

He sighed. “Identifying tokens that mark them as Bladesmen. They carry none.”

She put a trembling hand to her throat. “Then they’re from my father…?”

“Nay, we cannot say that for certain. They could very well be thieves.”

“And with all the travelers just behind us, they choose
us
?” she demanded bitterly.

“The road was crowded, but we had left the safety of its numbers.” He put an arm around her shoulders, and she let him draw her against him, though her body remained stiff with tension. “You know not their purpose, Florrie. Even if they work for your father, they are far from London and his control. They might not care who they killed as long as they were paid, and he could have no say in that.”

Biting her lip, she nodded. Suddenly a frown lowered her brows, and she stepped away from him, looking down at a smear of blood on her upper sleeve. Adam stiffened. How had she been hurt?

“What is—” she began, then touched his side. Her fingers were stained red. “You are bleeding!”

Adam looked down at the gash in his tunic. “I barely felt it,” he said. “I will help Robert and Michael hide the bodies, and then—”

“Nay, you will not,” Robert said sternly. “We’re near the fens, and surely it will be easy to weigh down two bodies and have them sink. You let Florrie see to your wound. We’ll return quickly, and then we can depart.”

Annoyed, Adam watched Robert and Michael put the bodies across a horse, then ride away, disappearing into a path between trees.

Florrie was already picking at his tunic where it stuck to him. “You need to remove this.”

“Not right in the open. We’ll ride to the trees.”

Only when they were sheltered from prying eyes, did Adam reluctantly remove his tunic.

“I do not have many garments,” he said in disgust, as he saw the tattered, bloodstained slit.

“I will mend them,” she said distractedly. “Now remove the shirt.”

He was tempted to tease her about such an order, but her expression was so full of concern and determination—and guilt.

He took her arm, made her look at him. “Florrie? What causes you such pain?”

Her eyes welled up. “Is it my fault they found us, Adam? I insisted on going to the inn.”

“Nay, do not fear, my lady,” he murmured. “We already suspected we were followed. The inn might have given us one more day free of attack. I fault myself, for not realizing they would so boldly attack by day. I could have cost those good people their lives.”

“You did not know!” she protested.

He caught her face in his hands. “Neither of us could know. Do you understand?”

They stared at each other for a moment, and at last she nodded. “Very well, then. Remove your shirt.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line to keep from teasing her. When the shirt was gone, she made him hold his arm up so she could better see the wound. It spanned across his ribs, front to back.

“The blade skittered across bone,” she said, shaking her head. “One inch higher or lower…Tell me, do you have herbs with you, perhaps yarrow?”

He shook his head.

“We could find the nearest monastery and purchase some,” she said with hope.

“Nay, we are not alerting anyone else to our presence. We will wash the wound and bind it. I’ll tear up the remains of the shirt for bandages.”

After he’d made strips of cloth for her, he laid back on the blanket she’d spread for him. She soaked several in wine and began to dab at his flesh. Her fingers were cool and gentle, and she worked over him with a faint furrow in her brow. She was born to nurture others, but it made him almost uncomfortable, as if he were a child.

Or was it that he could see her caring for a child? The child she’d never have?

Robert and Michael returned during her ministrations, and Robert gave him a smirk. At least his brother resisted teasing him right in front of Florrie.

“The blood yet flows,” she finally said, looking up at him with concern. “Binding it might not—”

“Then burn it,” he said.

Florrie inhaled sharply, her mind suddenly full of images of Adam’s charred flesh. How could he bear the pain? Then she remembered the other wounds upon his body—the wounds upon his soul. He’d borne terrible pain his entire life, more than she could imagine.

And yet he was going to add more pain to his soul by trying to kill her father. She was trying so hard to lighten his life, to make him happy. Yet always his ultimate goal never left his thoughts.

Without speaking, Michael built a fire.

A grim Robert set out their meal of dried apples and cheese. “I’ll see if I can snare a rabbit,” he said. “Food will help heal you.”

Adam only nodded, expressionless, as he stared at the fire. Florrie followed his gaze and saw Michael put a dagger into the flames.

She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She had performed this very technique herself; what made this different? Perhaps because Adam wouldn’t have been wounded at all if he hadn’t been trying to save her life—again.

Michael came forward, and under the gloom of the trees, the dagger seemed to glow in his hand.
Florrie stayed at Adam’s side, and when she tried to take his hand, he gave her a strange look.

“I—I want to be of help,” she said, feeling that it was a lame excuse. But she had to do
something
.

“I might grip you too hard,” he said, refusing her touch. Then he looked at Michael. “Do it quickly.”

With precision born of practice, Michael laid one side of the dagger along half the wound, and Adam stiffened, throwing back his head. He made no sound. Florrie only heard her own tortured gasps. Michael laid the other side of the dagger on the rest of the wound, and it was done.

The flesh was charred, and the bleeding had stopped. Adam breathed deeply through his nose, eyes closed. His rib cage expanded and contracted powerfully. Florrie wanted to gape at him, to twist her fingers, to beg him to say that he was well. Instead she used the wine-soaked linen once more on the wound, and flinched when he flinched.

“I wish we had a salve to protect it,” she said, shaking her head. After covering the injury with linen, she wound several strips around his waist to hold it in place. “You need to rest now.”

To her shock, he sat up, then got to his feet. He didn’t even stagger, although his jaw was obviously clenched.

“Nay, we must go,” he said through his teeth. “Will you bring me another shirt, Florrie?”

“But…Robert is bringing you a rabbit. We need to cook it, and you need to eat it.”

Michael put up a hand. “We can spare an hour. We are hidden in the trees. If the villains return, they’ll assume we fled.”

Adam obviously wanted to disagree, but Michael was already ignoring him, beginning to build a wooden spit for the rabbit. While Florrie helped him into another shirt, Robert returned with the promised meal. During the time it baked, little was said, and Florrie found herself glancing repeatedly at Adam.

He looked at her at last, and gave a tight smile. “Aye, my lady, it hurts, but I will survive.”

She rolled her eyes melodramatically, hoping to amuse him. But inside she couldn’t help her worry. She needed her healing herbs, and felt panicked that she’d had none for a poultice to draw out the bad humors.

“Should we…wait until the morn to leave?” she asked, looking up at the darkening sky, and the faint pink streaking out from the setting sun.

“We’ll go south for several hours tonight,” Adam said. “There are no clouds to block the full moon.”

When no one protested, Florrie stifled her own worry. The roads they’d been journeying on were terrible, and they did not improve. After only a few hours traveling by moonlight, Michael’s horse stepped in a marshy hole and broke its leg. They had to kill the poor animal, leaving them with only three horses. As they made camp, Florrie tried not to watch Adam with too much worry,
praying he would not be unable to go on, like the horse. Once more they slept entwined, and he fell asleep immediately, which she was thankful for. He needed to heal.

She herself found it difficult to relax at first. The worry she was feeling was new to her; she was usually so good at taking things as they happened, not creating new fears in her own mind. But for so long she’d thought of Adam as invincible, a man trained to do fantastic feats.

But he was human, and a sword could bring him down. Once again, she reminded herself that they were using each other for specific purposes, that when this was over, they would separate. She couldn’t care too much, couldn’t need him this much.

When Florrie awoke in Adam’s arms, she felt the deep dread of something wrong. She lay still, trying to sort through her confusion; and then she realized that Adam felt too warm to her.

Instead of healing, his wound was becoming inflamed, and his body with it.

Sitting up, she rolled him onto his back and tried to pull his tunic up, but it was held in place by his hips.

Groggily, he opened his eyes. “Florrie, what is amiss?” Then he gave a crooked grin. “My charms have at last succeeded in captivating you.”

Robert came up on his elbow to blink and stare. Michael was gone, keeping his turn at the watch.

Florrie smiled at Adam as naturally as possible. “I need to see your wound.”

He grimaced. “Cannot a man rise to face the morn first?”