She made an agonized sound beneath her breath, though she said naught more.
Angus leaned closer and watched her breath catch, her lips part. He planted his thumb across her lips, noting how she shivered at the caress of the smooth leather. He bent and brushed his lips across her brow, not failing to note how she trembled at such proximity to his scars.
His words fell more harshly than he intended. “We will ride forth in silence from here, my beauty. ’Tis your choice to be silent willingly or to be gagged.”
She swallowed beneath his touch, her eyes wide and very green. “Silent,” she whispered behind his thumb, her voice husky with terror again. His gaze fell to the flutter of her pulse at her throat and compassion stirred within him at the sight of her vulnerability.
But she would be ransomed soon enough and he would never see her again. Angus bent and hastily hefted her into his arms. “’Tis time enough we were upon our way.” He cast her over his shoulder, so he would not have to gaze upon her fear, and began to stride through the woods once more. It did not take long to draw near the tethered steeds.
“I would not have thought it a shortcoming yours to be ignorant of women, not until you had this fool plan.” Rodney did not seem to think his theme exhausted, though Angus did not encourage him with a reply. “Did not sample every whore in Jaffa?”
Angus lifted the woman to his saddle, knowing full well that she was listening avidly.
“Ah, but I recall the truth of it now.” Rodney snapped his fingers in feigned recollection. “You did not linger with a one of them, boy, which is clearly why you know naught of their true, manipulative nature. ’Tis no surprise at all that the lass tricked you. A man who knows better would never trust a woman.”
Angus slanted a glance at his smug companion. “Yet you imagine that you can see the intent of women beforehand?”
Rodney had a talent for wisdom that was crystal clear in hindsight, though he imagined that he saw much in advance. ’Twas not usually an annoying trait, though in this moment, Angus found it irksome.
“Aye. I would have guessed that she would deceive you. There is no other way for such a beauty as she to have her way, and beauties have black hearts as a result. ’Tis clear enough that you noted her many charms...”
“But you did not trouble yourself to warn me?” He swung into the saddle behind his captive, and she stiffened before him. “’Tis some fine comrade you make.”
Rodney huffed with indignation. “You would not have listened to me, boy! You have listened to naught of my advice from the moment you spied the flag of another fluttering from...!”
Angus drew his steed up short, then whirled on his companion. “Enough! The woman is not struck deaf!”
“I merely said...”
“I heard what you said. We shall discuss the matter no further.”
Rodney gave him one look, then had the wits to hold his tongue.
Angus blindfolded the woman once again and she did not so much as murmur in protest. They rode in silence back to the road and Angus forced his temper to cool. He had never told his friend how the welcoming courtesans of Jaffa had not welcomed him. Most had averted their faces in horror. He had lain with far fewer of them than any had imagined.
The woman before him seemed to have ceased breathing. Was it because of his anger? He would not apologize for that! If naught else, she remained blessedly silent and still.
’Twas better for all of them this way.
He looked around himself as he rode, noting the peacefulness of the woods, the darkening sky stretched overhead, the road that had never been stained crimson with the blood of slaughtered men. He shivered in the chill of his wet tabard, knowing he would never look upon the world in the same way as he had all those stolen years ago.
He was not thinking merely of the effect of his lost eye upon his vision. The puckered skin on his chest itched in recollection of what it had endured, his eye patch seemed to burn. He had yet to sleep a full night when he found himself enclosed by walls of stone.
But he had had high hopes of his homecoming. Angus had expected matters to be so different here at home, here where he had known such peaceful days. He had expected to come home to find his family living happily in prosperity, untouched by all the wickedness he had witnessed.
He had found a travesty of his memories. His family were all dead, killed too soon. Now he wondered whether some sickness had infected men all across Christendom, compelling them to seize what was not theirs to take, to shed the blood of others without remorse, to rape and pillage and kill. Even his hand fell more quickly to the hilt of his sword than it had once.
And women shrank from him in terror, when once they had welcomed his attentions. He felt not only scarred but tired, tired clear to his bones, his earlier certainty that his scheme could not fail suffering as a result.
He spoke aright when he said this woman confounded his expectations.
After long moments, Rodney passed a hand over his brow and sighed. “’Tis not the ends I question, Angus, but your means. You should have let the woman flee.”
“We could not abandon her to the forest, Rodney.” Angus spoke firmly, for this he knew to be unassailable. “’Twould compound my errors if I were to abandon her after my intervention in her fate.”
“’Tis those cursed knightly vows complicating our days and nights again,” Rodney grumbled but there was a thread of affection in his tone. “Naught good will come of this course, boy, mark my words.”
“Naught good would have come of our abandoning the lady.”
“’Twas her choice to flee.”
“A bad one and one made impetuously.” Angus did not explain his conviction that ’twas her fear of his damaged features that sent her fleeing, nor his resulting sense of responsibility.
“There are wolves in these woods and few dwellings where she might find shelter,” he continued, as much for her own edification as anything else. “’Twas my fault that she is not protected as her family desired and my error to amend in retrieving her. I care naught for her personally, as you well understand. The lady, after all, is but a pawn in the greater game, and her health should not suffer.” He gave her waist a squeeze, in no doubt that she attended his words. “Do you not agree?”
“I would have willingly faced the wolves instead,” she muttered with unexpected spirit and Rodney laughed.
“And now?” that man prompted.
Angus smiled. “I may know little of women, Rodney, but I know much of men. The only way to persuade a man to relinquish what he holds dear is to offer something or someone he holds more dear in exchange.” The woman shivered as he pulled her closer and he knew ’twas not just the evening air against her wet clothes. “She will not have the chance to escape me again.”
* * *
He would never so much as loose her bonds again.
Jacqueline knew the truth of it with every fiber of her being. She was captive and there was naught she could do about the matter. No one knew where she was—even she could not fathom a guess—and none certainly would know where she was going. Angus had a definite purpose, for he did not hesitate and it seemed to her that he rode in a reasonably straight line. He had a destination, though she did not know where ’twas.
And she did not doubt that her situation would be more helpless once they arrived there. She had angered him and he would take his vengeance. Worse, he would take it in a way that would not leave a visible mark, and he would do so in some remote place where none could come to her aid. Her heart fluttered and threatened to stop cold at this realization of her powerlessness, but Jacqueline forced herself to take deep breaths.
There had to be a solution. She had a calling. She had been summoned to serve God and God would not abandon her so callously, so completely, as this. ’Twas a test and one at which she would succeed. She prayed and found strength in her faith.
Then she reviewed her circumstance.
Her shoes were sodden, as were her stockings, the hem o
f her skirts and the cloth bandaging her ankle. The wool was cold against her flesh but she refused to shiver, lest Angus consider it an invitation of a kind. Her hair hung loose around her face, the blindfold itched, the braided leather rope was restrictive without hurting her. Her ankle throbbed, for she had been a fool to run so far upon it.
And all for naught. She could smell his flesh, the wetness of steel and leather and horse, masculine scents and doubly troubling for all of that. His embrace spread unwelcome warmth around her waist, heat that she yearned for as the evening fell but not at the price of turning to him. Angus held her so tightly against her that she knew he missed naught that she did—indeed, she feared that he could even read her thoughts.
A frightening prospect indeed. Aye, the curse of her curiosity was awakening and she knew well enough that her desire to know only brought trouble on its heels. She wished she could cease her wondering, but ’twas futile.
Jacqueline longed to know where they were going and what wicked plan Angus had in store for her. She wanted to know whether his scheme would differ if she managed to persuade him that she was not Mhairi.
’Twas tempting truly to find out the truth. She chewed her lip but mindful of his threat, did not dare to ask him more. To be gagged would make her even more helpless. Jacqueline sat still and straight and silent, and desperately tried to find something good in her situation.
She was not dead or raped yet, but beyond that, the situation showed little promise. Undoubtedly Angus was merely waiting to take his due until they reached wherever they were going. Jacqueline swallowed and felt goose pimples rise across her flesh.
‘’Twas all the more reason to ensure she was not gagged. She might well need to scream.
Perhaps, oh perhaps, he insisted upon her silence because they would pass near a dwelling or a village. Jacqueline’s heart leapt and she strained her ears for some faint sound of other people. There was always a slender chance, wherever they found themselves to be, that someone might hear her cries for aid.
Indeed, ’twas the only chance she had.
Chapter Four
The old woman had smelled their arrival in the wind for days. She had seen glimmers of it in the pool, she had felt a telltale prickling on the back of her neck. The foresight haunted her, nay, it plagued her. She had known with dreadful certainty that a knight came, a knight with a mission, a knight who would be familiar to her in some way though she could not see his face in her dreams.
Indeed, they were nightmares, not mere dreams. She awoke in their midst shivering in the chill of the night, a line of cold sweat sliding down her spine. Naught good came of knights on proud steeds, that she knew in her very bones.
Her visions left her with the certainty that not only would she face such a knight soon, but that he would request her aid. And, more terrifyingly, that she was destined to give it. She thought of leaving the hut, but she had nowhere else to go.
Her fate came, with the rhythm of hoof beats in the night, and it came too soon for her taste. She listened, fearing she dreamed with her eyes opened, but ’twas no dream this time.
Two fine horses rode towards her abode, their trap jingling in the wind. Her own heart raced at the distinctive sound of armor and weaponry, of men of war coming ever closer. She rose to her feet, feeling old and feeble and afraid, yet needing to do more than sit passively and wait.
She had made that error once, long ago, and would not soon forget its price.
None came here by accident, or in passing. There was but one path to the hut and ’twas one hidden to those who do not know its location.
Or those by whom she preferred to not be found. ’Twas galling to realize that she had not succeeded in turning the eye of this knight, whoever he might be, away from her door. She felt suddenly hunted, and worse, cornered in her own home.
The uncertainty tormented her. The dreams had not told her what this knight would demand of her, what he would take, much less what toll his presence would steal from her.
She knew how high the price might be.
Even though she expected naught else, the sharp rap on the door made her jump.
“Edana Seanchaidh!” The deep, unfamiliar male voice made her quake, even though he honored her with the title of story weaver. “Do you still haunt this abode?”
The determination in the man’s voice did naught to reassure. The old woman suspected he would break the door if not offered admission and truly, there was no place to hide. The door was old and rotten and would not bear much resistance; the hut was small and spare.
She had never chosen to be a coward and she did not choose so now. She had lived long, longer than most, and she was proud of most she had wrought. She would not die, cowering in a corner before an unknown foe. Aye, she would know this one’s name before he took his toll of her.
She opened the door, her chin held high. “I am Edana. Who comes to my door in the night?”
At first it seemed she had not opened the door, for a shadow filled the portal as surely as if it had still been latched against the darkness.
’Twas the knight who filled her vision, she realized with a start. Indeed, he stood two hands taller than the door, his shoulders were wider, the night could not slip past him into the hut.
He was young and strong, but when he doffed his helm and shook out his hair, there was something familiar about his stance. He stepped forward and the light of the lantern within the hut caressed the white of his tabard, glinted off his mail, touched the ruby cross embroidered upon his shoulder.
And she knew him.
Against all odds. She stared at him in the flickering light, desperately seeking a hint that she was wrong. She knew no man with a patch over his eye, no knight sworn to the battle of Christ, no man bearing a scar upon his face. Her memory was long, but filled with twists and crooked alleys as a result, places where visions and memories intermingled.
Did she know him in truth?
Or had she merely glimpsed his face in her vision?
And then he smiled and murmured her name again. ’Twas a smile that only pulled one corner of his mouth, a rueful smile that she remembered all too well.
Oh. Her heart faltered, then raced. She knew him, though it had been many years.
Indeed, she had thought him long dead.
His gaze fixed intently upon her, as though he would will her to recall him. She recoiled from his regard, pulling her hood further over her face and lowering her chin.
But she needed no such urging to confirm her memory. The smile had told her all. Aye, she had known a child with such a smile, a smile so much older and sadder than a child’s smile ought to be. It belonged to a child who had left these lands as a mere lad, a child long disappeared over the hills, a child she had never thought to see with her old eyes again.
“Angus MacGillivray,” she whispered, not daring to believe ’twas the truth.
“Aye, Edana, ’tis me. I am returned.”
But the old woman could not always tell the difference betwixt her sightings of this world and the other. And this knight was so clear to her, so sharply defined, that she doubted her failing vision saw him in truth.
It could well be yearning alone that prompted this sighting. Aye, Angus might be newly dead, leagues away, his shade having come to say farewell when he could not. One heard of such visits.
She had to be certain.
Dreading what she would feel, she reached out one shaking hand to touch the man before her. She planted a fingertip cautiously upon the place she perceived his chest to be, half expecting her hand to slide through him.
He might have been wrought of stone. He did indeed stand before her. She began to shake with the force of her relief. She laid the flat of her trembling hand upon the knight and felt her tears rise at the thunder of his pulse beneath her palm.
Her boy was finally home, against all odds and expectations.
He stood silently before her, neither stepping away nor sweeping her into an embrace. Angus had n
ever been an affectionate boy, never one to initiate a touch though he would not spurn one offered. ’Twas so like him and as compelling evidence of his presence as the heat of him beneath her palm.
“Angus. Home.” She shook her head and looked upon his beloved face. She reached for his face with her other hand, letting herself waver slightly upon her feet.
He caught her tightly against his chest, just as she had expected, just as she had hoped.
“Aye.” His breath was a welcome heat against her ear. She closed her eyes and leaned against his strength, trembling inwardly that this gift should be hers. Overcome by his presence and his embrace, she wept upon him as never she permitted herself to weep, uncaring of anything else. “I am finally home, Edana.”
His utterance of that name made her eyes fly open. She pulled back and stared at him, seeking something in his gaze but not finding it there. He smiled slightly at her, a wary man encountering an old woman, one of no blood but as familiar as an aunt. She was not surprised by this, though she was surprised by the weight of her resulting disappointment.
What else had she expected of him?
Indeed, was it not better thus?
Angus shook her shoulders slightly when she did not speak, humor unexpected in his words. “Did you not see me coming? There was time when you knew all before anyone else could believe ’twould be true.”
She pushed away, uncertain what to do with the maelstrom of emotion loosed within her. “Aye, I did, you rogue, but I saw not your face.” She straightened and scolded him, for lack of a better choice. “Indeed, I would not have recognized it if I had. What have you done to yourself, lad? What folly has cost you an eye?”
His features set. “Naught of import.”
“A lie, if ever I heard one,” she retorted, though she was content to leave him his privacy for now. He would tell her, if ’twas intended for her to know, though he would only do so in his own time.
Stubborn like his father, that was Angus MacGillivray.
She swatted him, and he winced, though her feeble blow could not have wounded him. “I have learned to expect little good of knights. You have given me a fright, Angus.”
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