The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides) (34 page)

And Thomas was crying sporadically from the loft. Glancing quickly about, she scampered from her nest to find her clothes hung to dry on a nearby peg. She snatched them down and donned them with all due speed. The mare was still munching hay, she noticed, as she hurried up the ladder.

Thomas grinned at her from his bed, but she realized suddenly that Margaret was gone.

Panic washed over Sara. Snatching up Thomas, she rushed back down the ladder. Where was she? Had she run? Boden would find her. Sara pushed open the door, ready to call his name.

Mettle was there, tied to a ring in the wall. On the far side was Tilly and...

"Margaret." She breathed the name in relief.

The child lurched to her feet, spilling a few drops of milk she'd been pouring into the bladder.

"Margaret," she said, realizing immediately what was happening. Hearing the baby cry, the girl had hurried down the ladder, tied Mettle just so to keep Tilly happy, and made certain the mare was out of sight so that the nanny wouldn't feel threatened by her presence. "Ye meant to hurry and feed Thomas," she said. "Why?"

The girl stepped backward, her eyes wide.

"Do ye think we'll be angry if the babe cries? Do ye think we'll hurt him?" she whispered.

Margaret swallowed, her eyes wider still.

"We'll not hurt him, lass, as we'll not hurt ye." Sara took a step forward.

Margaret spun away.

"Please," whispered Sara, coming to a halt. "Can ye not trust me?" she asked. But now memories swooped in. The girl had little reason to think herself safe with Sara. Not after what she had seen. "I had no wish to hurt your mother." The girl turned back. "I am sorry. But I could not bear to see ye bartered off like..." She shook her head. Painful emotions tightened her throat. "I meant only to help."

The girl turned away again, but Sara called her back.

"Please, dunna go. I need help feeding the babe."

The child stopped, chewing her lip and debating. But Sara knew better than to wait for an answer. Striding back into the barn, she sat down on the horsehide where she'd slept and settled Thomas onto her lap. The spot was still warm.

The door creaked open. A tangled mass of hair appeared, and then a face, wide-eyed with fear.

Sara remained very still. Margaret crept forward, her small hands clutching the fat milk bladder.

"Sit down," Sara urged. It took Margaret a moment, but she did so, looking cautious and flighty.

"I must go find Sir Boden, if you're able to feed Thomas."

The girl chewed her lip. Sara rose slowly to her feet. The weasel peeked his nose above her neckline, then disappeared back under for an extended nap.

Every step Sara took, the child looked more nervous, but finally Sara was able to place Thomas in her lap. The tiny girl hunched her shoulders as if expecting a blow, but remained seated.

"You've seen me feed him," Sara said, indicating the milk bladder. "Do ye need my help?"

Margaret shook her head frantically and set the bladder to the baby's mouth.

He gurgled with glee and fell to feeding.

Sara's heart lurched. Her children. Her babies.

The door opened again. Margaret gasped in fear and glanced toward the noise as Boden stepped inside.

Sara's heart wrung with longing. Her family, if just for the moment.

"Good morningtide." Boden's husky voice felt as soft as darkness against her ears.

"Good morningtide," she said, unable for the life of her to think of anything else.

For a moment they were both speechless, and then, "The mistress sent this to break the fast." He lifted a basket covered with a loose weave woolen.

"We are in her debt," Sara said, and taking the basket, motioned to the straw some yards from Margaret and Thomas.

They dined on dark bread and honey, washed down by fresh goat's milk. The marten, ever hungry, slunk from Margaret's sleeve and darted over to steal a crust. Although Sara wanted nothing more than to sit in peace with her family, Boden soon rose, saying he would see to the horses.

Thomas fell asleep in a short while. Gathering the remainder of the meal, Sara brought it to Margaret and reached for the baby in exchange. For a moment, she thought the child might not give him up, but finally, she drew her small hands back and let Sara take him as she sat stiff as a board upon the chaff.

Though Sara was careful to keep busy and not look directly at Margaret, she knew the child ate as Sara strapped the baby to her back.

"Are we ready?'' Boden asked, stepping into the barn.

"Ye must ride the saddle this day," said Sara.

"Aye," agreed Boden, "and you shall drive the cart."

"Cart?" She stepped outside into the uncertain morning sunshine and stared in surprise as she saw Mettle hooked up to a humble, wooden tumbrel. "However did ye come upon that?"

"I found some wheels behind the shed. The farmer had no objections to me using it so long as I could salvage the parts."

"And the harness?" she asked.

"The harness I bartered for."

"But, why Mettle?'' she asked, eying the huge destrier bound to the humble cart. "Why not the mare?"

"She took objection to the idea."

Sara slanted her gaze up at him. "He is yer charger, sir, ye should not have to sacrifice him for us."

"Tis of little regard if it makes your journey more pleasant."

Pleasant? She skimmed her gaze to his. She had not expected this journey to be anything but arduous and yet, with him beside her, it was more than pleasant at times.

"My thanks," she murmured, and though she knew she was a fool, she hoped he would kiss her.

They stood unmoving. The barn door opened. Margaret stepped out.

Boden tore his attention away. "Mistress Maggie," Boden said, bowing slightly toward her. '

'Today you will ride in comparative comfort."

Margaret flicked her gaze nervously from him to the cart.

"Tis safe enough," he assured her. "Lady Sara and the babe will accompany you."

Still she seemed uncertain, but Tilly was not. Trotting up to the cart, she nibbled the straw that littered the floor and then hopped in, happy as a clam.

This must surely be the depths of humiliation, Boden thought. His sword had been broken. He couldn't walk without limping, and his noble steed had been reduced to cart horse status.

He watched in silence as Margaret finally scrambled aboard and Sara settled the babe in the child's eager arms.

Aye, the depths of humiliation—so why did he feel such elation?

The morning slid slowly toward noon. Near a stream, Sara spied a wandering patch of dewberry bushes. While Boden unhitched the cart, she laid wee Thomas on a blanket in the shade and showed Margaret how to gather the fruit.

After a drink of sparkling water, the horses rolled in the sandy soil, then ambled onto the grass to graze.

Twas a lovely morning. The sun shone on a world of color so bright it all but hurt Boden's soul.

Untamed flowers grew in bunches of whites and yellows. The grass was green, the water silvery blue and the sky, a spotless expanse of azure. Evil seemed a million miles away, and Sara, laughing as she wiped juice from the corner of her mouth, shone like a jewel in this perfect setting.

Boden knew he should stay away, but the sight of her thus was too much to resist. Thus he wandered like a small, lonely boy to her side.

"Boden." She smiled up at him. "Here. Taste." Reaching up, she popped a berry into his mouth.

It was seedy and sweet, but the sight of her smiling face was far sweeter still.

"Another," she said, and fed him again.

It seemed only right, somehow, that he pick a few and feed her. It was sensual and soft, nearly touching, but not quite, until he felt he could not go another minute without pulling her into his arms.

"Sara." His voice was throaty when he reached for her, but she slipped away, turning her gaze to Margaret and thus warning him to be good.

"Hungry?" she asked, and picking another berry, tossed it at his mouth.

He caught it in his hand, and she laughed.

"Tis not how the game is played," she said. "Open yer mouth."

Foolery. And he was a knight. But God, her eyes were so blue. He opened his mouth. She tossed another berry. It grazed his ear.

"Very good," he said.

She laughed. "I am out of practice."

"Ahh, so this is an art that you must practice for."

"Aye, long hours by the banks of the Burn Creag with my cousins," she said. "Open again."

He did so, because he was a fool and she was enchanting.

The berry hit him squarely on the nose.

Her giggle was infectious. "You're too far away."

"That I can agree with," he said, and strode quickly around the brambles to reach for her again.

She pushed his hand away and skipped back, just out of reach. "There now. Stay. Open, and..."

She tossed the berry. It hit his mouth dead center. He chewed.

"Tis my turn," he said.

"Have ye practiced this?" she asked doubtfully.

"Nay." He hoisted the berry. "But don't forget, I'm a knight."

"Ahh, well then..." She smiled. "Fire away."

It missed her by a half a foot. She laughed, nearly doubled over, not like a lady at all, but like a guileless child.

His own chuckle sounded rocky beside it.

"Here. Let me try again," he insisted.

"You are certain you're a knight?" she asked.

"Aye. Sir... No-blade," he said. "Straighten up and open your mouth."

She did as ordered. The berry shot from his hand in a beautiful arch, soared through the air and landed, dead center, down her bodice to lodge firmly between her breasts.

Her eyes went wide. Her mouth fell open. Boden remained frozen dutifully to the earth while a thousand wild thoughts rampaged through his head. He cleared his throat.

"I've never been quite certain what knighthood entails, but surely tis my duty to remove that seedy projectile from its lodging," he said and took a single step forward. Twas then he realized Margaret was laughing. He and Sara turned in unified shock.

For a second no noise was heard but the silvery sound of childish laughter. But just as quickly as it started, it stopped. The girl's eyes went wide. Fear sparked there again, but in a desperate attempt to hold it at bay, Sara spoke.

"So ye think tis funny do ye?" she asked, and turning, fetched the berry out of her bodice and tossed it lamely at Margaret.

It arched well away from the child, who looked nothing but startled.

"A pathetic attempt," Boden scoffed. "Here." He opened his mouth, then gestured to the child.

"Teach Lady Sara how to make a decent throw, Maggie."

Margaret's startled expression turned to shock. He ignored it. "Come on then, toss away."

She stood frozen in place.

"Hit him in the nose," Sara said in a stage whisper.

Boden sent her a scornful look. "She would do no such thing. Right here," he repeated.

And to everyone's amazement, the tiny girl actually threw one. It wobbled a short distance through the air and landed halfway between them.

"Not a bad attempt," said Sara.

"Not bad? The marten could do better," said Boden. "Come on, right here," he goaded.

Margaret bit her lip, scowled, and obviously drawing forth every whit of her courage, threw the next berry.

It was sheer luck that made it careen into his mouth to land in his throat. He started, coughed, and then coughed again.

Sara laughed. Margaret still looked surprised.

He coughed again, grabbed his throat, and then, seeing Sara was still laughing, staggered about.

"Boden?"

There was a smidgen of worry in her voice. Twas good to know she wasn't entirely without a conscience.

He staggered some more and fell to his knees.

"Boden!" Sara ran to him, slapping him on the shoulder with a good deal of force.

He fell to his palms.

"Boden!" Her voice was panicked now, and he took mercy.

Slipping onto his back, he caught her in his arms and rolled her with him.

"Now that was a good throw," he said and winked at Margaret.

There was a moment of petrified silence.

"Ye were teasing!" Sara gasped.

He nodded.

"I thought ye were a gentleman."

He laughed. "Twas but a rumor."

"Spread by ye."

"True enough," he said and moved to kiss her..

But she was out of his arms in an instant and pelting him with dewberries.

A wild fray followed, with no one being entirely free from the barrage. Even Margaret threw a few. The marten hid in the bushes, and finally, after a brief but exhausting battle, Boden and Sara removed themselves to wash up in the stream.

Although Margaret at first resisted the suggestion, the marten's enthusiasm for the water finally drew her in.

The adults settled back on the shore to watch her timid first attempts at play by the edge of the stream.

Finally, when even the marten tired of the water, Sara tried to convince the girl to remove her gown and let her wash it. But to no avail.

Early afternoon found them traveling again, a kettle full of berries tucked in the back of the cart.

Evening came with cooler temperatures. They camped by the same stream near which they had found the dewberries, nestled deep in the woods and far from sight or sound of the road they had followed.

With no questions asked, Margaret milked Tilly. Twas amazing how little fuss the goat made when parked between Mettle and the mare. While the girl fed Thomas, Sara built a fire, and Boden saw to the horses. Then, digging out his hook again, he found two likely branches and tied a string to each.

"Let's have at it then, Maggie," he said.

She stood up quickly, her eyes typically wide.

Sara stopped in the process of changing the babe's swaddling.

"The way the marten eats, you'd best do your part in catching the fish," he said.

The girl turned her wild stare to Sara. But Sara only smiled. "Go on then, lass."

Boden set off toward the stream as if assuming the girl would follow.