“And how was I looking at you?”
“As if you were deciding whether or not I had just insulted you. ’Tis not my intention to cause any insult.”
She shrugged, uncomfortable with the ease with which he had guessed her thoughts. “I am well aware that I am not what most people would consider a lady.”
“That is nothing to feel ashamed of.”
Saxan heard the bite of bitterness in his deep voice and fought to hide her knowledge. He had clearly had some dealings with one or more of those ladies who hid a mean-spirited whore beneath silks and fine manners. Someone had hurt him. She wondered how deeply that hurt went.
“Then I need not change,” she said, meeting his frown with a sweet smile.
“Saxan, you are eighteen, a woman grown. In truth, you should be wed. Has nothing been arranged for you?” he asked, tensing for her reply.
“There was a choice or two discussed, but the men died ere anything was decided. My father did not believe in marriage bonds arranged at cradleside. Do you intend to introduce me to some suitable gentlemen?”
“I mean to see that you become acquainted with life outside your tight circle of kin.”
“Outside?” she asked with growing suspicion.
“It will need your brother’s approval, but I plan for you to come under my mother’s gentle guidance. For that you must stay at Regenford.”
“It will take you time to gain Hunter’s permission, so I will return to Wolfshead Hall until then.”
“Nay, you will come to Regenford. Your uncle has assured me that your brothers will agree to my plans.”
“Has he? If I need leave Wolfshead Hall to become a lady, then I will stay a heathen brat.”
“Do not be so foolish. You cannot mean to spend all your days at Wolfshead Hall.”
“Aye, I do, until a better place comes along and brings a good reason for me to go there.”
“You cannot continue to run wild.” He tried but failed to keep his rising annoyance out of his voice.
“Far better to do that than to prance about on embroidered slippers, smiling as I lie and flirting heartlessly with all and sundry simply to stroke my vanity.”
“My mother would never teach you such things. That is the type of foolishness you can teach yourself if you choose to.”
“Well, I do not choose to learn any of those useless skills. I have no need of them. What is the purpose of them?”
“To make you a woman.”
“You find it easy enough to see me as a woman now.”
“I can see any as such if they possess breasts,” he said, surprised at the nasty tone of his voice and at how quickly she could stir his usually even temper.
Just as Saxan took a breath to spit out a scathing retort, she heard a sound that pushed all thought of their quarrel from her mind. “Shush,” she ordered him.
“I will not shush. This matter must be resolved. I—mmppff.” He was stunned when she abruptly put her hand over his mouth and wondered if there were no limit to the girl’s impertinence.
“Will you be silent? Just listen. Someone draws near,” she added in a whisper, taking her hand away from his mouth and smiling at him as if they were not in any danger, but still talking, blissfully unaware. “You have enemies, my liege?”
“Mayhap it is the Scots,” he replied in an equally soft voice.
“ ’Tis a wee bit far south for them, but, aye, it could be they.”
Their confusion was ended a moment later as two burly men charged from the concealing bushes to their left. Saxan cried out as both men raced toward Botolf, their swords drawn. She quickly rolled out of the way, allowing Botolf to meet the attack armed and ready to fight. Saxan leapt to her feet; but, before she could call for help or run back to the camp, a third man stumbled out of the thick bush and grabbed her.
Botolf saw the third man wrap his thick arms around a cursing Saxan. Suddenly, he was fighting as fiercely as ever he had before, desperately trying to break free of his assailants so that he could rush to her aid. The sight of her being so roughly handled enraged him.
He knew he was risking a misstep, which could easily prove fatal, but he kept glancing toward Saxan. When she managed to turn in her captor’s arms enough to drive her knee into his groin, Botolf winced as the man screamed. The men he fought with were also diverted, which insured that his own inattention did not cost him too dearly. They also suffered from the overconfidence that comes from outnumbering one’s opponent. Botolf knew, however, that he was losing a perfect opportunity to cull the number of his adversaries when, an instant later, he joined them in gaping at Saxan. She pulled a knife from inside her soft boot and plunged it into her captor’s unprotected back. He saw the brief look of horror that crossed her pale face as she retrieved her knife and turned toward him.
The effect on his attackers of losing one of their number was immediate. Botolf found himself hard pressed by their united, fierce offensive. He cursed, realizing he was using up all his strength simply to hold them back. He was contemplating a rash move to end the stalemate when Saxan leapt onto the back of one of his opponents.
Howling and swearing, the man frantically tried to shake Saxan off even as she fought to plunge her dagger into a suitably vulnerable spot. Botolf pressed the man facing him while he still reeled from his surprise over Saxan’s entry into the fight. One on one at last, Botolf quickly went from defense to offense. Just as he plunged his sword into his foe’s chest, Botolf heard a chillingly familiar gurgling sound. It did not come from the man he had just cut down. Suddenly terrified for Saxan, he yanked his sword free and spun around only to find himself gaping in astonishment yet again.
The man Saxan had been fighting was slowly collapsing to the ground, his throat slashed. A white-faced Saxan leapt clear of him even as he fell. The girl certainly knew how to use her knife, Botolf thought dazedly as she flung herself into his arms. He held her close, burying his face in her tousled hair. It was a moment before he realized that her whole body was trembling.
As he tightened his hold on her, he wondered where her people were. They should have come looking for them simply because he and Saxan should not have been alone, not for this long. Edric should certainly have the sense to notice. The man had been keeping a close eye on his niece since her abrupt arrival at the Boar’s Head Inn.
Botolf pressed a kiss to the top of Saxan’s head as he asked with concern, “Are you hurt? I can see no wound.”
“Nay, I am not injured.” Saxan continued to cling to him, finding that the pleasant feelings his nearness invoked helped to ease the horrors of the last few moments.
It had been frighteningly easy to take a man’s life while caught up in the heat of battle. As soon as the threat to Botolf and herself had passed, she was too painfully aware of what she had been forced to do. She could not stop thinking about how her hands had cut short the lives of two men. It was a memory she desperately wished to banish.
“You tremble,” Botolf whispered.
“I have just killed a man,” she replied.
“Two.”
“Aye.” She shuddered, bile stinging the back of her throat.
“I could grow very weary of being rescued by Todds.”
“Are you going to knight me?” she jested in a weak voice.
“I cannot knight a female.” Cupping her face in his hand, he turned it up toward his own. “Howbeit, some reward is certainly due.”
Saxan knew he intended to kiss her again and she smiled faintly. “A reward? Last time you called it a forfeit.”
“You talk too much.” He brushed his lips over hers and watched her slowly close her eyes.
“So I have oft been told, but ne‘er so sweetly,” she whispered against his mouth. “Silence me, m’lord, if you dare.”
He ended any further pertness from her with a kiss. She tightened her slender arms around his neck as they both reveled in the simple pleasure of being alive. Botolf pressed her so close to his body he was surprised she did
not cry out in pain. Instead it was a deep, rich voice that jerked him back to his senses.
“I had expected at least some of this,” drawled Edric.
Botolf hastily ended the kiss and fruitlessly tried to appear calm and unaffected as he turned to face Sir Edric. “Which some do you refer to?” He noticed with relief that Saxan’s cousins were paying little attention to the confrontation.
“Not the dead bodies.”
“This one still lives,” Kenelm announced as he crouched by the man Saxan had stabbed in the back.
Gently setting Saxan aside, Botolf hurried to kneel by the dying man and demanded, “Who sent you here to murder me?”
“I do not know,” the man replied, his voice a hoarse, thready whisper. “I never ask questions.”
“What did he look like?”
“You. He looked like you. Odd,” the man said even as he breathed his last.
Hissing a curse, Botolf rose from the dead man’s side. “Cecil, curse his eyes. He still hunts me.”
“Cecil?” Saxan stared intently at Botolf as she recalled her dream. “Does this Cecil look like you?”
“Aye. We share not only looks, but the year, month, day, and hour of our birth. In a small way he is my twin.”
“Except that Cecil has a scar above his left eye.”
“How do you know that?” Botolf demanded.
“I saw it in a dream but a few nights before I received word that Pitney was dead. I fear it was easy for me to believe you had killed him, for I thought I had seen you in my dream holding out your hands, which were soaked with blood. I believed it was Pitney’s blood. Later, the morning after I tried to kill you, I recalled that the man in my dream had a scar above his left eye. You see, I had the dream again and it confused me. Then I realized that it was not a warning about Pitney, but about you. ’Twas your blood on his hands,” she whispered, chilled by the thought.
“He certainly craves the spilling of my blood. Howbeit, I do not intend to give him the chance to dabble in it.”
“You do not question my dream?”
“Nay. My mother has had one or two herself.”
“And,” interrupted Edric, “we have all had a feeling that has led us in some way. We can see no clear reason to heed that sensation, yet it usually proves to be right.”
“I get such feelings quite often, Uncle,” Saxan said with a faint smile. “They are most unsettling.”
Botolf suddenly noticed that Saxan was trying desperately not to look at the bodies of their attackers. She was also still too pale, and he quickly suggested, “Kenelm, Olan, take your cousin back to camp. Your father and I will search the bodies, although I do not really expect to discover anything useful.” As the youths led Saxan away, he added, “And do not speak of this to Lady Mary. There is no need to upset her with such ill tidings.” He frowned at the look which briefly crossed Saxan’s wan face. As soon as she was gone, he asked Edric, “Why did Saxan look at me so strangely?”
“Mayhap because you asked her to keep something secret from Lady Mary,” Edric replied as he began to help Botolf search the bodies.
“My mother does not need to hear about yet another attack upon me.”
“Saxan will understand that once she pauses to consider the matter.” Edric scowled down at the last body he had searched. “There is nothing here.”
“Nor here. There is no armor save for a padded jupon. They were poor assassins.”
“That may explain why there were so many of them. An unrelenting attack could be your enemy’s plan.”
“True. Even the poorest of swordsmen can eventually score a hit if he lunges often enough.”
Edric nodded. “The question one must ask is, does he have the funds to hire the best when and if he chooses to?”
“He can get them if pressed to it.”
“And these attacks have increased?”
“Aye. Since the day I left Merewood to wend my way here, there seems to have been an attack at every comer I turn.” Botolf dragged his fingers through his hair in a gesture of frustration.
“He hopes to kill you ere you reach the safety of Regenford. To try and attack you there will require men who ask more than he can afford to pay. I know this man is your blood kin; but would it not be wise to try and grab him ere he attacks again? Mayhap ’twould even be best to kill him ere he kills you.”
“It took a long time for me to seek him out, but I have recently done so. The man is very elusive.”
“He also leaves you no proof so that you may bring what laws there are to bear against him.”
“I fear not. This man’s statement is the closest I have come to grasping the proof I need that ‘tis Cecil who hunts me. Howbeit, ’tis not enough.” Botolf sighed and shook his head. “And I must consider my mother with each step I take. It would cause her untold pain to have it heralded far and wide that Cecil tries to murder me.”
“Let us return to camp then or she may guess that he has been at it again.”
As they started back, Botolf realized that Edric had made no reference to his discovering him and Saxan in a heated embrace. Botolf knew the man could not often have found Saxan in such a compromising position. Concerned that the man restrained himself because he feared insulting or angering his liege lord, Botolf decided to speak up. He needed to clear away any misconceptions.
“I mean your niece no dishonor, Sir Edric,” he said.
Edric’s tone was cool as he replied, “A kiss is a long step from dishonor, m’lord.”
“It could lead there quickly enough.”
“I am not so old that I do not recall that. Howbeit, you are an honorable man, m’lord. If you trespassed, you would atone for the insult. I rushed to the stream when I realized my dimwitted sons had left her alone with you in a state of undress not to stop what might pass between you and her, but because of the consequences of it.”
“The consequences?”
“The shame Saxan might feel. The marriage that might be forced upon her by such an incident. Even the outrage of her kinsmen.”
“And there would be a vast amount of outrage,” Botolf murmured.
Edric nodded. “I fear so. It would not be just her brothers, either.”
“I assumed not. It has been clear to see that your clan is tightly bound.”
“Aye. Some of that is bred of the land we live in. It would badly weaken our family if we fought amongst ourselves, and the weak do not long survive out here. The fighting never really stops near the border.”
“Nay. My father often remarked upon that. Is there never any peace?” Botolf asked as he stepped over a fallen branch.
“Oh, aye, but the watching ne’er stops. Not on either side,” Edric added somberly.
“It does not seem to. Well, you may put your army of kin at ease concerning Saxan. I truly mean your niece no dishonor.”
“May I be so bold as to ask what you do intend for her?”
“I cannot answer that yet. I will say only that I have already sent word to her eldest brother, who stands as her guardian. I have requested a meeting with him.” Botolf frowned as he entered the camp and saw his mother immediately hurrying toward him. “My mother looks displeased.”
“Saxan would not have disobeyed your request to be silent, but I cannot promise that she did not stir up mischief,” Edric said, smiling faintly as he shrugged.
“Botolf,” Lady Mary said, nodding briefly at Sir Edric, who made a hasty retreat. “I wish to speak to you, son.”
“Here I stand. I would guess that you are displeased,” Botolf said.
“Displeased? Botolf, that poor child Saxan returned to camp wan and clearly shaken in spirit. I pressed her for the cause, and she finally told me that the two of you had fought.”
“She did, did she?”
“Now, I realize ’tis not my business to know all that passed between you, but it cannot be wise to put the girl in such a troubled state.”
“You are, as always, quite correct. It is not. I will spea
k to her,” Botolf said and bowed to his mother as he added to himself, “aye, I will speak to the brat—right after I strangle her.” He strode toward the cart Saxan shared with Pitney.
“Here he comes,” Saxan murmured, looking at Pitney.
Pitney shook his head. “I think you forget that he is our liege lord.”
“Some of that is his fault. ’Tis not easy to recall he is my liege lord when he calls me wench or little one or by my given name.” She smiled briefly at her brother’s surprise, then turned to greet Botolf as he stopped in front of her.
“Could you not have thought of something to tell my mother that would soothe her instead of enraging her?” Botolf demanded.
Saxan fought to look sublimely innocent as she met his scowl. “I fear I did not have the time to be clever.”
“I think you were very clever. And I have already heard you spin a tale with great skill in the blink of an eye.”
Sighing, Saxan stared down at her feet. “I did not want to lie to Lady Mary.”
“I do not like to lie to her either, dearling,” he said in a soft, gentle voice as he placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up toward his. “This constant threat to my life greatly upsets her. I simply wished to avoid adding to that.” He glanced briefly at an intensely curious Pitney, including him in the conversation as he said, “I wish this trouble to remain a private matter.”
“A Todd can be as silent as the grave when it is required,” Saxan vowed dramatically.
“The Cecil who tries to murder me is my half-brother, my father’s bastard.”
“But you said the two of you share a birth date—the hour, year, and all,” Saxan blurted out, then flushed for the sins of his parents were none of her concern.
Botolf smiled, caressed the color that touched her high-boned cheeks, and savored the feel of her silken skin beneath his fingertips. “Cecil was born late, and I was early. My parents were betrothed as children. My father knew whom he was to marry, but did not know his bride. Cecil’s mother was my father’s leman at Merewood for many years. She died birthing Cecil, and my mother took him to her breast. We were reared as brothers.”
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