The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides) (4 page)

"So you were just hired to nurse the babe?"

"Hired?" She shook her head wildly, desperately searching for a way to save herself and the babe. Surely her best bet was to distance herself from this entire nightmare. "I dunna know what you're talking about. I was not hired. The babe is mine."

"You lie!"

"Nay!" she whispered, scrunching back.

The woods were silent. "You are in leige with the men who killed the child's mother," he accused.

"Nay, I am not," she rasped. "My name is Bernadette, late of Shrewsbury." Her mind spun. "I was but traveling to Edinburgh to my father's house."

"You lie," he said again, but his tone was softer now. "No woman would be in the wilds of England alone."

"I was not alone. My husband..." A sob came from somewhere, bidden or not, she wasn't sure.

"My William died some months ago. Killed he was by a wild boar. I have no family here, so I had determined to return to my homeland. My maid was with me, and a small retinue of guards." He looked as if he would speak, but she rushed on, committed to this fanciful tale that might save her life and that of the babe she'd vowed to protect. "We were attacked by brigands. Mayhap even the same band that killed those women of whom you speak. That is the truth. I swear it." She sobbed again.

Thomas squirmed in the security of his pouch. "I swear it!" she repeated and fell to her knees to drop her face into her hands and cry.

Minutes ticked by. She continued to sob, softly, not trying to stem the flow, but thinking, planning.

Looking between her spread fingers, she watched him sheath his sword. His legs were covered in dark hose and his feet in high, leather boots. Nearby there was a rock the size of her fist. If he didn't believe her story, she would slam it into his knee and pray for strength.

He cleared his throat. She watched his feet shift slightly, as if he were uncomfortable with her tears.

He cleared his throat again. "Were they all killed?" His tone was still gruff, but there was uncertainty in it now.

"I dunna think so. My maid, Shona..." Not Shona! She shouldn't have used her cousin's name, for if this man knew of Caroline and the bairn, mayhap he knew something of
her
family, too. But it was too late to change her words now. "Shona's mount came up lame. We had to stop. Twas just afore dusk two days since when we were attacked. There were so many of them. They were all around us. I canna..." She hiccuped. Behind him was a hill. She would have a better chance against his greater bulk if she ran uphill, especially if his knee was broken. But that was a last resort. "I canna blame the guards for running off."

His fists tightened again. "Your guards left you?"

Glancing up, she saw his scar dance as his mouth quirked. But the insanity had left his eyes.

"They tried to fight. Edward, poor Edward fell, and then I... I'm so ashamed..."

"What happened?" His tone was flat, his expression inscrutable.

"I grabbed John and hid in the woods. I told myself..." Hiccup. "I told myself I had to save my child, but... But I know twas pure cowardice. And in the face of such bravery."

"Bravery?"

"Shona! Always so clever she is... was," she corrected softly. "She led them away from us."

He waited in silence.

"My steed was the faster. She had the best chance of leading the brigands afield if she rode Reul."

"She took your horse?" His voice was deep as he tried to assimilate her garbled story.

"Aye. And she hasn't returned. I'm so afraid for her. She may be dead or worse." Glancing up at his face, she grasped his sleeve. "Could ye... Could ye go find her?"

"Lady, I—"

"Please. My father is not a poor man." She stared up at him from her knees. It was a long ways up. "He will pay. Wee John loved her. She's so selfless and—"

"Aye." He scanned the clearing again, then whistled softly—one long note and one short. "She has probably selflessly sold your steed by now and is living well off the proceeds as you and your babe perish in the woods."

She raised her chin slightly as she wiped the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand.

"Shona would do no such thing."

He stared at her as he cradled his wounded arm against his chest. "And you are all kindness and caring."

"I must go find her." She hoped with all her might that he would believe her and let her go, because the chances of breaking his knee before he killed her were slim.

But in a moment he had caught her arm and dragged her to her feet, leaving the rock well out of reach.

"You'll do no such thing," he insisted.

The woman called Bernadette tugged, trying to break free of Boden's grip on her arm. He supposed she had some right to fear him. After all, he
had
threatened her life. But the death craze was fading now. Reality was settling in, dulling the memories of the horrors he had seen in the woods.

She'd had nothing to do with Caroline's death. Or so she said. And though he may be a fool, he believed her. If she were part of a plan to abduct Lord Haldane's child, she would surely be with her accomplices now and well on her way to demanding ransom for the child.

He had not been thinking clearly since he'd found the women's dead bodies, that much was certain. Had he been lucid he would have questioned the brigand he found, instead of killing him outright.

Bernadette's scream had done nothing to steady his thinking. Hope had surged through him.

Perhaps someone had survived the attack, he'd thought. But the woman had not seen him as a savior but as a villain, and had attacked
him.
Once again he'd been given no time to think, but only to react, to assume, and to act on those assumptions. And he'd been trained to assume the worst. Thus, in his mind, the woman had become an abductor. The theory held some logic. After all, he'd never found the baby's body, only scraps of cloth and patches of blood.

A noise crackled behind him. Survival instincts crashed to the fore. In an instant, his sword was in his hand and he was facing the onslaught. But his horse Mettle was the only menace that charged from the woods.

Boden released a shaky breath and returned Black Adder to its place at his side. "No need to fear," he said. Reaching into the pouch that hung from his belt, he brought forth a chunk of dark bread for the horse. There was little hope the great, dappled charger would come when called, and no hope that he would make such a spectacular entrance if a treat wasn't forthcoming. Little wonder he was so damned fat.

Boden turned his attention back to Bernadette. She stopped her backward retreat abruptly, her eyes wide. "Your ride is here," she said. "I'll just be on my way."

Boden almost grinned as he grasped Mettle's trailing reins. "You'll come with me, lady."

"I've done nothing wrong."

"So you've said. But you are a woman. Of that I am fairly certain. Tis my duty to protect you."

"Protect me? Is that what ye've been doing?"

He chuckled. "Surely a scrapper like you wouldn't let a few idle threats worry her," he said.

"After all, you got in more than your share of licks." He grimaced at the blood on his arm and tried not to think how his neck must look.

She winced as her gaze followed his. "They are... only flesh wounds," she assured him.

"True," he said. "But tis
my
flesh and I rather like to keep it intact whenever possible. Still, you're a woman and I'm a knight."

"A—a knight?"

He turned to see that her expression looked as surprised as her voice sounded. "Aye. And sworn to protect the... weak and the mild."

Her gaze swept to his bloodied arm again. Darkness had settled in with only the last remnants of dusk clinging to the western sky.

"You're a knight?" she repeated.

He frowned at her surprise. Surely it wasn't warranted. His sleeveless mail shirt evidenced fine Oriental craftsmanship. His sword was made of Spanish steel, his steed bred for a king. Without knowing the circumstances of his birth, why would she be shocked by his title? "Aye," he said, peeved by the thought. "Come. You'll ride in front."

"I... fear I must decline." She took a step back and shook her head, but he was fresh out of patience and snatched her to him.

"Come," he gritted through his teeth and pushed her and the child aboard the gray. "I owe you a kindness."

She perched with both legs on one side while he mounted behind her. Her body felt stiff against his. The saddle was too small for them both, but he dare not stay afoot much longer, for the memory of decaying bodies sat heavy in his stomach. The fact that two of them had been women had only made his anger greater. Admittedly, it had also made his reasoning less than sound.

After his initial shock, he had hoped the baby might have survived somehow. Even if the babe had been taken for ransom, it would have been a blessing. But such was not the case. The duke's heir must have perished and been dragged from his mother by a wild animal.

The baby cried suddenly, startling Boden from his thoughts. "Keep him quiet," he warned. He had seen only one brigand, but he had no reason to think others weren't close by. His motto was— keep your head down and don't court trouble. Twas a coward's motto, he knew, but so far as he could tell it was the only thing that had kept his neck between his head and his shoulders this long.

"Shhh, wee babe," crooned the woman, gently jostling the child in his strange sling. Her fair head was sprinkled with twigs and leaves and bent over the infant.

Whoever this woman was, she had endured a great deal in the past few days, enough to be willing to challenge an armed knight with nothing more than a small dirk and a tigress's maternal instincts. "Hush now, my love."

But the squalling didn't cease and grated on Boden's well-honed sense of survival. "What seems to be amiss?" he asked gruffly.

"He is hungry."

Boden found no words as the thought of what that meant came home to him. He wasn't the kind of man who was comfortable amidst women or the babes they nursed. But he knew enough to realize an infant this young was sustained by mother's milk alone. The idea of cradling this woman between his thighs while she bared her breasts sent all his blood pumping from his heart to more intimate regions. Regions best left forgotten until this woman was deposited somewhere safe. And yet, he could hardly allow the babe to go on squalling.

He forced himself not to squirm in the saddle. "Then feed him."

"I canna."

So whoever she was, she was still modest enough to be embarrassed by such circumstances.

The babe yelled louder. Looking over Bernadette's shoulder, Boden could see a small fist waving wildly in time with the screams.

"Tis not the place for feminine sensibilities," he said. "Such ungodly racket will draw every blackguard from here to the ends of Christendom. Feed the child."

"I canna," she repeated, then straightened even more, but the movement pushed her off balance.

She gasped as she slipped, babe and all, toward the ground.

Dropping the reins, Boden grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back up. Pain ripped through his battered body.

"Sit up proper!" he growled, and reaching about her, grabbed one thigh to pull it over the saddle's pommel. She straightened with her backside dead center against his hardening member. The pain in his arm was immediately forgotten as he ground his teeth and grappled to retain his senses.

For a moment she had grasped his sleeve and turned toward him in alarm. Her cheeks were flushed a wild-cherry red. Her eyes were wide and lovely, stirring sharp, defensive feelings Boden would have sworn were long dead. Her bottom, however, pressed firm and round against his nether parts, evoked feelings that had nothing whatsoever to do with defenses and everything to do with the kind of raging desires that could get a careless man killed.

The noise from the babe had not abated a whit.

"Feed him," he repeated, his tone somewhat hoarse.

"I told ye, I canna." Her voice was no more than a softly burred whisper, making him lean closer to hear.

He scowled down at her. "I think it would be
kinder
to consider the babe's needs than your own misplaced discomfort. I swear I won't look."

The silence lay heavy around them, but for the muffled clop of Mettle's iron-shod hooves.

"I do not have milk." She said the words in a rush without turning toward him.

He scowled. "So twas more refined to pay another than to see to the task yourself?" he asked.

Silence again, then, "I had no milk to give him."

He scowled at the back of her head, thinking. "So this Shona that stole your mount, she fed the babe in your stead?"

"She did not steal Reul," Sara corrected, peeved against her better judgment. "She was Scots and thus loyal to her death. She but went for help. And aye, she was wee John's nursemaid." She lifted the child, sling and all, to her shoulder, patting him gently. The squawks turned to whimpers.

Boden grimaced as he turned his attention to the top of the child's head so near his own. It was bald except for a few wisps of blond hair that scraggled out at odd angles. His face was a puckered, angry red, and just above his left ear there was an ugly splotch the size and color of a plum. Good Lord, he was a homely thing. He guessed it would not be wise to share that opinion with the mother.

His arm and neck were already pierced, best not to induce her to try for his heart.

"How long since you've eaten?" he asked instead.

"He's had naught but water since the day afore last," she said.

But that hadn't been what he'd asked. "And you?" he said.

"I found some watercress this morning."

Watercress and nothing else for two days. Could she be lying? But no. She had felt as light as lily petals when he'd lifted her onto Mettle's back.

Reaching behind him, Boden opened his saddle pack and withdrew a chunk of bread wrapped in linen. He pushed it toward her. "Eat this. Tis all I can offer for now."

She glanced up at him. An errant slash of sunlight found its way through the leaves beside the trail, and in it he saw that her eyes were an unearthly blue. "What do ye plan to do with us?" she asked.