The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides) (39 page)

Boden lifted his gaze, and there at the top of the next hill, stood Haldane, watching her.

Rage and bitterness welled up. But she was safe, Boden told himself again. Safe.

And then, like a storm that bursts over the sea, a woman sprang from the woods.

Sara rose and spun toward her, but in slow motion, as if every moment was pulled along by the ancient strings of time.

The woman's ebony hair streamed behind her, and in her hand was a knife.

"No!"

Boden heard his own scream of terror like a distant death knell. He thumped his heels against Mettle's sides. The great horse lunged forward, but too slow. Far too slow, as if swimming against a violent tide.

The woman struck!

Blood, sprayed from Sara's throat. Her eyes—so blue and stark with terror, turned to him. To him!

"Sara!"

He awoke with a start, clawing at the bedclothes as he sprang to his feet. But one glance about the room told him there was no one there. There were no anguished screams, only the harsh, raspy sound of his own breath, and the haunting memories of his dreams.

"Sara," he whispered, and reaching for the door handle, leapt into the hall.

"Boden!"

She was there—like magic, collapsing against him, shaking and cold and terrified.

He swept her into his arms and without a moment's thought, bore her into his room and shut the door behind them.

"Boden! Ye are well! Ye are whole!" Her fingers were like velvet against his face, her voice like music to his soul.

"Aye." He couldn't hold her close enough. Couldn't kiss her fast enough. "I am well, sweet Sara."

"I dreamt... I dreamt..." She pushed away enough to look into his face. Through the thin fabric of her nightrail, he felt her fine body tremble. "I dreamt that she killed ye," she whispered and shivered.

"Nay. Nay, lady. It was you that I saw wounded."

"So again we share our dreams," she murmured. "But what are they trying to tell us?'' She shivered again. The room fell silent as she glanced toward the narrow window.

"All I know is that I must protect you, lady, that I would die to see you safe and happy."

Her face was pale as she turned her heavenly eyes to his, and in them he saw her terror at his words.

"How far are we from Knolltop?" she whispered.

"Perhaps two days journey to the north and east," he said. "But why?"

"Then Haldane could be here soon," she whispered.

"Aye." The word hurt his throat, and his fingers where they touched her, burned.

"Boden," she whispered, her lips inches from his, her breath soft and rapid against his face.

"Love me. Please. Afore tis too late."

Sara had no choice but to leave, for she knew Boden had spoken the truth. He would die to keep her safe, and she could not bear to be the cause. Better to die herself. But she must try to survive. She would travel as fast as she could. Alasdair, her half brother, lived far up in the northern reaches of Scotland. He would keep her safe at Hartmore Castle for as long as she needed to hide.

Thomas was silent when Sara strapped him to her back. And there, only a few feet away, Margaret lay, her small body curled up in sleep, her golden plait still looped about her tiny head.

Sara closed her eyes against the pain of abandoning her. She must leave before the child awoke, she thought and turned away.

But she could not abandon the child without even an explanation to soften the blow. Returning to the bed, she touched the girl's face.

She awoke with a start.

"Margaret." Sara whispered her name and felt her throat tighten with emotion. "I have to leave, tonight, while it is still dark, for I have promised a friend I would protect her babe. I have no choice but to go."

Margaret sat up quickly, but Sara touched her shoulder to keep her in bed.

"Ye must stay, wee one, for I cannot care for ye as I long to. But Sir Boden will." Her voice cracked. "He cherishes ye so. And someday mayhap we shall meet again. But for now I must escape to the Highlands."

"Nay," Margaret whimpered.

"Aye, I must, but I will be safe at Hartmore, and ye will be safe here. Ye must keep our secret between us."

Margaret tried to rise again, but Sara pressed her gently down.

"Please, lass, for me, dunna make this more difficult. Ye are all that is good, and I couldna bear to see ye hurt I shall pray for ye every day that I live," she whispered, and turning stiffly away, Sara slipped from the room.

"What do you mean she's not in her chambers?" Boden kept his voice low. She could not be gone, for she had left his room only a few hours before. She could not be gone. He knew it in his mind, and yet his heart said otherwise, making his stomach roil with panic.

"I knocked at her door. No one answered. Hence, I took the liberty of going in." The maid caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Only the girl was there "

"The babe?"

"Gone also. But surely there is no need to worry, sir. We are safe here at Avian. Mayhap she but went for a walk."

"Aye," he said. "A walk it is." But even as he said it his heart was racing like a panicked charger and he was flying down the steps to the courtyard.

She wasn't there. Nor was she in the stable, or the chapel, or the hall.

The door to the master chamber banged hard against the wall as Boden strode in. Margaret jumped as she turned from the window.

Boden skimmed his gaze about the room. It was empty but for the child and the weasel.

"Maggie." His tone sounded strangled and hoarse. "Where is she?"

She didn't answer, but her eyes were wide.

"Maggie." He strode forward, his steps loud on the bare floor until he dropped to his knees to stare into her face. "Where is Sara?"

Her eyes gleamed like pools of amber, not quite able to cry.

"Where?" he shouted.

She cowered away. "Gone." The single word was barely audible.

"Nay! She cannot be gone! She cannot be!" he raved, and rising, slammed his fist against the wall. He swung about, fists clenched. Twas then he noticed the tear that had crept down her cheek.

"Maggie." His voice broke as he swept the tiny body into his arms. Her arms entwined about his neck, soft as a butterfly's kiss, with a lifetime of loneliness in the embrace. "She could not have left you," he murmured. "She could not have left
me."

But she had. Margaret's tears felt hot against his neck.

"I will find her for you," he promised, squeezing the child. "I will find her, and I will bring her back." But where had she gone? And why? Did she trust him so little that she would flee to Haldane?

But no! No! A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind, a thousand memories as bright as tomorrow. "She would not go there," he whispered. "She goes home—to the Highlands."

He unwound his arms from about the child and set her aside. His course was set. Drawing a deep breath, he pivoted on his heel and hurried toward the door.

Behind him, alone and small, Maggie squeezed the marten to her chest and whispered, "Don't leave me," but Boden was already gone.

Twas still morning when Boden found the spot where Sara had climbed the wall and disappeared into the forest. Only moments later he lost her trail, circled back, searched, and galloped on.

The day wore away. David had sent nearly fifty men out to look for her. But now they had spread into the distance, and Boden no longer saw them. Frustration gnawed at him. She was heading north, returning to the Highlands. He was certain of that. So why couldn't he find her? He must!

Before it was too late. Before... But his mind refused to finish that thought.

Terror gripped him. Darkness swept in. But he couldn't stop! The night skimmed past in dark waves.

Surely they would find her. There were fifty of them, combing the woods, heading north.

But the others didn't know what they searched for. Perhaps they thought Sara was but a woman.

Perhaps they didn't know she was an angel. The others hadn't been healed by her touch, soothed by her beauty. They hadn't held her in their arms, in their hearts, forming a bond that would forever draw him to her, regardless of time and distance.

Mettle turned to the west. Boden stopped him. The horse tossed his heavy neck, yanking at the bit and walking on. Boden tightened the reins and pulled the animal about, but in that instant he knew the truth.

Sara wasn't north of him. She was to the west. He felt it in his heart. And he would follow his heart.

On the third day Boden found a faint trail made by three horses and heading north. He was now more than five leagues west of Avian, and so his theory made no sense, and yet, somehow, he knew he was right; twas Sara's trail he followed.

She was close. He was certain of that, though he didn't know why. Perhaps it was the dragon that had somehow bound their thoughts. Perhaps it was truly magical. But it mattered little. All that mattered was Sara. She rode a horse. Where she'd obtained it or who she rode with, he couldn't say.

All he knew was that he would find her, or he would die trying.

Danger followed her, just as he did, and he was determined to reach her first.

Night came again, surrounding him with its dark curtain. Slipping off Mettle's bridle and armor, Boden wrapped himself in his cloak and slept.

Dreams enveloped him, swirling, tantalizing, showing glimpses of Sara, her smile, her eyes. He chased her, breathing hard, needing to hold her, to learn the answers. But he lost her in the fog, and then he awoke! Cold sweat chilled him. She needed him! She needed him now!

Minutes later he was astride again, pushing Mettle relentlessly through the darkness. Miles flashed beneath his churning hooves, until finally Boden pulled the steed to a halt.

"Sara." He whispered her name, for she was near. He could feel her presence, just as he could feel her need. But he could also feel the approaching evil. Sweat slipped down Boden's back, but he pushed Mettle on.

Suddenly from up ahead, came the sound of galloping horses. Fear froze the blood in his veins.

Their hoofbeats thundered in his heart. She was riding into danger, into evil.

He must stop her. He set his spurs to Mettle. The horse leapt ahead.

Terror stabbed Boden's heart.

"Sara!" he screamed, and then, as if through a haze, he saw her. She was on the ground, trying to rise, to escape, but someone stood over her.

"Sara!" Sweeping the sword from his scabbard, he thundered toward them.

He saw her turn her hooded head toward him. He could not fail her. He swung his sword at the man standing over her. The brigand screamed and fell. In an instant Boden was off his horse.

"Sara!" He reached for her and she turned.

But it was Warwick who stared at him from the dark hood.

Boden reared back in horror. The black haze fell from his mind. Dear God, twas not Sara at all.

He'd been tricked. He spun away, but it was too late, for something crashed with white hot pain against his skull, and the darkness found him.

Boden awoke slowly. Cold fog filled his mind, and his head throbbed. He felt sick to his stomach, and within him there was a dread so deep it threatened his very existence. Better surely to die than to awaken, he thought. Better to die, but he could not. Not yet.

"So you are awake."

The voice sent a sliver of raw terror down Boden's spine.

"There is little need for you to feign sleep," the voice said. "Surely you must know that."

He did know it, for Warwick had captured him, and Warwick would realize the truth. Somehow he would know.

Boden lifted his head, then propped it against the tree behind him as he skimmed the area with his gaze. They were in the forest, that much he knew, though it was dark but for the fire that glared red and evil beneath the leaning branches. And then, right before him, out of thinnest air, Warwick appeared, nothing more than a narrow, dark shadow in the night.

Terror slapped Boden hard enough to make his head reel with it. But his hands were bound to the tree behind him, keeping him from escaping.

"Fear?" Warwick chuckled. "Already? And I have not yet begun. But what can one expect from a tanner's son?'' The dark figure turned. Boden drew a breath, finding he could only do so when the wizard's back was turned. "You were not meant to be a warrior," he said. His voice was soft now, soothing. ' 'You were not meant to be a knight." Boden's muscles relaxed as the wizard crooned on, his tone soothing, entrancing. He was not in danger. And no, he was not meant to be a knight. "You were meant to be a tanner. From this close distance I cannot fail to read your thoughts. You are a gentle man. A craftsman."

He was. He'd always been good with his hands, though his father had never known it.

"You want to return to your home, make useful things. Not..." The shadow turned.

Boden held his breath, but the wizard only chuckled. The sound was calming.

"You were not meant to kill, but to create," he said. "Is that not so?"

Boden nodded. They were alone, and he felt strangely small and helpless. But he was in no danger and the wizard was right.

"But of late, evil things have happened."

Yes, there had been evil. Boden scowled, trying to think. Hadn't the evil been somehow connected with this man, this wizard?

"I have tried to prevent them," Warwick said quickly. "I have done my best, but the woman..."

His tone was suddenly harsh. Boden hunched his shoulders and pressed against the tree. "The woman is wicked. She is wicked. Do you see that?" Warwick asked, striding quickly to him. "She has taken your lord's babe. Your lord to whom you have vowed fealty. And she will do evil things to the child if we do not stop her."

Evil! Yes! He could feel it!

"So you must tell me where to find her," Warwick crooned. "You must tell me before tis too late—for the babe. For you," he whispered.

Yes. He would tell.

"Good lad," Warwick purred. "Where has she gone?"

Boden opened his mouth. But suddenly he remembered her eyes. Heavenly blue, they were, the window to a soul so pure that even now he could feel the soothing effect of her presence. "I don't know." The words came unbidden. He watched the wizard's blue-white hand clutch to a fist, but when he spoke his voice was still soft.