The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides) (28 page)

"But why have you come?" asked the sorcerer, his voice slow and steady. "To watch the woman die?"

Yes. To watch her die.

The old man laughed. The sound echoed against the stone walls. "You are not a knight!" he shrieked, raising a clawed hand. "You are nothing!"

He had to leave, escape! Before it was too late!

"Yes! Go! Leave now and your life will be spared."

Boden whirled Mettle about. Behind him, he could feel the old man turning.

"No!" Sara cried.

Boden's hands were shaking as he pivoted Mettle back around. "Leave her!" His voice was barely a rusty gasp. "Leave her be."

The old man turned back, and suddenly Boden realized his eyes were as white as winter, and yet it mattered little, for here lay a power far beyond sight.

"You, a leather-Wright's son, dare to challenge me?" asked the sorcerer.

No. He was nothing, insignificant, terrified.

"You dare?" roared the old man.

Boden ripped the fear aside. "Aye!" he screamed back, and spurred Mettle toward the wizard.

Boden swept out his sword, raised it, swung, and...

The blade snapped in two.

A whimpering cry fell from Boden's lips. The wizard reached for him. But in that instant, Sara's face flashed in Boden's mind.

"Nay!" he roared, and wheeled Mettle into the sorcerer.

The old man was slammed against Boden's leg, then fell with a hiss of anger. Pain shot through Boden's body like a thousand deadly spears. But Sara was there, on her feet, so near.

Mettle lunged toward her. She lifted her arms, reaching for Boden. Their hands met and clasped. Momentum and desperation swung her and Thomas up behind him.

"Kill him!" the old man shrieked.

Mettle wheeled about.

Men loomed in the doorway, swords drawn. The exit was blocked, and terror reigned anew.

Boden spun Mettle about, spurring the steed toward the window.

He heard the old man scream for them to stop, but already they were flying through the air in a moment of breathless anticipation. Then Mettle's armor struck the window. Glass shattered, spraying shards in every direction. Men screamed. The earth lurched toward them. Mettle stumbled and dropped to his knees, then scrambled in the mud, trying to regain his feet.

Sara's hiss of fear was loud in Boden's ear. Already the old man was behind them, like a wraith, his black cape swept wide, his cackle loud.

But Mettle righted himself. And they were off, flying down the rutted street, fear streaming after them. Hoofbeats sounded from behind. Terror rode them hard to the city entrance just ahead. They had to get through.

"Open up!" Boden yelled, though the gates were already spread wide. Two bodies lay crumpled in death across the road as onlookers stared in horror.

"Their eyes!" He heard the hushed words. "Their eyes are gone."

The moon was nearly full, showing the cart trail that led from the village. But it would also show their exodus. Boden urged Mettle to greater speed. Behind them, the hoofbeats drew closer, for Mettle was slowed by a double load.

Ahead, a river flowed silver gild beneath the moon. A bridge yawned across it. They thundered over the wooden planks with the noise of their crossing echoing around them. Thomas shrieked nearly as loud. Black forest stretched just ahead of them. They leapt across the final expanse of bridge, then at the last second, Boden wheeled Mettle about. They careened downhill well aware that the riders were nearly upon them. He could hear the pounding hoofbeats of their galloping horses. There was no time to turn back. No time to change course. Water rushed against Mettle's legs. He tripped on an unseen rock and nearly went down. But in a moment, they were beneath the bridge.

Hoofbeats boomed like heavy artillery above their heads.

Boden sat immobile, knowing he could not fight, yet prepared to do just that. But in an eternity, the hoofbeats dimmed into the distance and the night became still.

"Sara." He breathed her name as he turned in the saddle.

"I am well. I am fine," she said.

"And the babe?" He noticed now that she had somehow wrestled the child from her back and had managed to quiet him.

"I thought I had smothered him with my hand—quieting him. But he is fine."

He touched her hand and felt his heart fill with that one simple gesture. They were safe. For now. "You've the heart of a lion, lady."

"Me!" Her laughter sounded on the verge of hysteria. "Nay. Tis ye that saved us. Ye to whom I owe me life again."

Their gazes fused. If he had any balls at all he would ride north and keep riding and damn the consequences. She was his, and Haldane could rot in hell. But he would not do that, for without his damned knighthood, he had nothing.

Turning Mettle downstream, they stumbled into the darkness.

Some hours later they stopped in the midst of the dark, dank woods. Except for a few cuts sustained from their flight through the window, they were all unhurt. Fatigue was a heavy load and yet, after the terror-seeped events, the idea of sleep was ludicrous. Thus, they sat in the darkness, trying to pretend they were not afraid.

Thomas, however, had the very young's innate ability to sleep, and did so now, snuggled deep in his handmade sling.

"How did you find me?" Sara asked, fear making her voice tremble.

"I don't know." His words were slow and deep.

"I prayed ye would. I prayed you'd come!" Her voice brake. She could feel his gaze on her face.

"Why did you leave the inn?"

She rose stiffly to her feet, unable to remain immobile any longer. "I could feel the evil." Her hands were shaking again. She clasped them together and stared into the darkness, certain she saw eyes watching her. For an instant she couldn't breathe. But finally she realized the image was nothing more than the reflection of the moon shining off a wet rock. "I was so afraid," she whispered. Even now she could sense the evil, though it did not seem so close. "I could feel it coming." Sometime long ago she had heard it was helpful to talk about one's fears. What a crock! With every word, the terror seemed to creep in anew. "I could feel it like a hand on my throat," she whispered. "All I could think was that I had to find ye. I grabbed my pouch and Thomas and I ran. We hid but... I forgot his feeding gourd." Her voice broke.

"Sara."

"I forgot his blanket."

"Sara, come here."

A noise startled her. She jumped, turning to find it was only Mettle, wandering close to stare at them from the woods. And yet her heart hammered in panic.

It was Boden's hiss of pain that drew her attention back to him.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He winced, spreading his fingers over his right thigh as if he tried to hold back the pain.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Nay, you're not"

"Aye," he said. "I am well." He bent his leg and grimaced. "Don't trouble yourself."

But she hurried over and knelt down beside him. She had been a selfish fool, worrying about herself when he was the one wounded. "Is there ought I can do to make ye more comfortable."

"Nay. Just rest, lass," he said, forcing a brave smile.

"Please," she whispered. "Ye've saved my life, and Thomas's. Let me help ye."

"Well, I..." He shrugged. "I could use something to support my leg."

She was on her feet in an instant, hurrying into the darkness. In a moment she found a stout log, as tall as herself and nearly as big around. It took some effort to move it, but she did so, wrestling along with it between her legs.

"Here," she said, falling to her knees to push it closer to his thigh. "If ye can bend your leg, I will shove it under."

For a moment she almost thought she saw the hint of a smile.

"Boden?" she said, thinking it must have been a grimace of pain. "Are ye well? Do ye need help bending it?"

"Aye," he said. "A bit of help would be appreciated."

She hurried to do as requested, grasping his leg near the knee and gently lifting upward. Then, straddling the log again, she tugged it underneath.

"Better?"

"Much." He sighed. "Much better."

"What else can I do?"

"Nothing. You've done more than enough."

"But there must be something." She glanced around. Thomas was content and sound asleep.

"Well, my arm does hurt a bit."

"What can I do?"

"It feels better propped up. Perhaps, if it's not too much trouble,, you might... sit here beside me?"

She was there in an instant. He slid over an inch, allowing her back room against the rough bark of the buckthorn. Very gently, she took his arm and raised it about her shoulders.

"Better?"

"Could you scrunch down? Just a mite?"

She did so slowly, careful not to jostle him as she slid down so that her hip was cocked against the earth and her head rested on his chest. She blinked up at him. "Like so?"

"Just so," he said.

"Are ye certain this helps ye?" she asked. It seemed a ridiculously comfortable position for her to be in when she was intent on helping him.

"Absolutely."

They both fell silent. Far away a nightjar sang. The darkness stretched away. Sleepiness stole over her.

"Boden?" She could barely keep her eyes open, for through his tunic, she could hear the strong, rhythmic beat of his heart. "Were ye scared?"

He tightened his arm around her and closed his eyes. "I'm a knight," he rumbled as if that answered everything, and she fell asleep with a smile.

They were coming! She could feel the evil! But she couldn't run! She was tied down! Couldn't breathe! Her eyes! No!

Sara awoke with a smothered shriek. Boden jerked up from beside her, his hand already tight about the hilt of his sword.

Tilly bleated again and trotted out of the trees toward them.

"Addai's arse!" For a moment, Boden was certain he would faint, so great was his relief.

"Tilly!" Sara scrambled to her feet. "Tilly! How did ye find us?"

Boden just stopped himself from putting his hand to his heart to make certain it hadn't leaped from his chest.

Sara's sharp gasp brought him back to the present.

"I'm fine," he said, certain she could see the terror in his expression, but she was staring at his hand instead of his face.

"Yer sword!"

He glanced at the blade. It was broken off less than a hand's breadth from the hilt.

"Damnation!"

"How—" she began, but then memory flooded back and her face went pale.

"Damnation," he said again.

"Do ye still have the other blade?"

"Nay. Twas left behind."

He frowned then glanced at Mettle. The horse stood

not far away, his ears laid back irritably as Tilly tried to nuzzle his nose. Behind his saddle was the crossbow but it would do little good in hand-to-hand combat. Damnation.

"We must get ye another sword," she said.

Boden almost smiled, for she made it sound like she spoke of purchasing a wooden doll for a child.

"Where might you suggest?" he asked, sheathing the truncated blade. "I'm in no great hurry to venture into another village."

"But I fear we must," she said. "For I've no way of feeding Thomas."

It was the problem of the hour. Although Tilly was happy enough to be relieved of her milk, the feeding gourd was lost. Finally, they dipped a bit of cloth into the still-warm liquid and let the babe suck on the tip. But it was unsatisfying and messy.

By noon they were traveling again, skirting the road and heading north. They kept their minds open and their eyes sharp, trying to think of a new way of dispensing the milk. But it was no use.

Thrice more that day, they milked Tilly and repeated the entire procedure, but it was clear they could not continue like this. The process was slow and frustrating, for the child as well as the adults.

They spent a cold and hungry night with a fussy baby and a light drizzle. By morning they were moving again. The day was just as miserable. Towards dark, Boden shot a buck. Hunger drove them to chance a fire, and that night they feasted.

"If I'm not mistaken, there's a village some leagues ahead," Boden said.

Immediately, he could feel Sara's tension. And when he glanced at her across the fire, he could see that her face was pale.

"I'll go in alone," he said.

"Nay. I will go with ye."

"Twould be foolish to endanger us all."

"Then I am foolish," she said, and by her expression, he could see there was nothing he could say that would dissuade her.

Morning had passed by the time they reached the village Boden remembered. It was more a shamble of gray stone hovels than a town. Though enclosed by a wooden palisade, the gates were open and gave the impression that they had not been closed for a long while.

Two small boys played in the mud, their feet nearly as black as the soil in which they sat. A woman turned from the well, her face marred by the scars of a plague long past.

There was an oppressive feeling about the place.

Some way down the littered road was a long flat building constructed of the same gray stones as the rest as the town. Above its warped, arched door hung a sign slightly askew that showed a picture of a mug and a loaf.

Sara dismounted first. Boden followed, trying to ignore the ache in his leg as he scanned the street behind him. But if the dark wizard was there, they neither saw nor sensed any sign of him.

Inside the public house it was dark and smelled rancid. A woman cackled and a man swore.

Boden glanced at Sara, sorry now he hadn't tried harder to dissuade her from coming with him; but leaving her alone was unthinkable.

"And what might you be wanting?" The woman straightened away from the three men by the fire. They were a beefy trio, burly, bearded, intoxicated. The smallest of the three had buck teeth with hair the color of chaff showing beneath the cap that was tied below his chin. The other two might have been twins, matched almost identically in size and girth, though one was nearly bald while the other was thatched with dark, greasy hair. Who were they? Mercenaries? Brigands? Either way, the scenario was not good, Boden decided, for he was wounded and they were... alive.