The two men exchanged a glance. “You ask many questions,” Rodney huffed.
She smiled. “I am said to be overly burdened with curiosity.”
“’Tis a strange trait for a novitiate,” Angus commented and she flushed crimson.
“I shall pray for aid in overcoming my weakness,” she muttered, though he doubted she would do any such thing—no less that she might succeed. He chuckled at the prospect, though it earned him a dark look. “’Tis not so amusing as that to pray for aid!”
“’Tis the remote possibility of your losing such a characteristic trait that amuses,” he said.
Though he would not have thought it possible, her blush deepened. “A person can do much if they have the will,” she replied, setting her lips with resolve.
“Indeed.” ’Twas odd to have his own words cast at him from this maiden and Angus felt a strange kinship with her. She had said that her mother did not approve of her choice, but still she pursued it.
Perhaps they both knew what ’twas to face adversity of a kind.
It seemed harmless to feed her and Angus was embarrassed that he had offered her naught sooner.
“If you are hungry, there is bread,” he said gruffly, opening his saddlebag. He wished he had finer fare to offer and felt the need to warn her of its lack. “Though ’tis somewhat stale.”
She pinched a loaf and grimaced. “’Tis nigh as hard as rock.”
“’Tis better than naught.” Once the crust was removed, it would suffice to keep a man from starving. He and Rodney had halted en route at Templar foundations and been housed with the hospitality shown to guests and those who had served with the order in Outremer, although the Templars kept simple fare.
The demoiselle’s expression made Angus realize how coarse his fare had become—and wonder how long it had been since he had dined in the splendor to which she was undoubtedly accustomed.
’Twas a fitting reminder that they two had little in common. His experience was as far from what this maiden knew than it could be—and his experience had made him what he was.
He should feel no sympathy for her or her plight, especially as all would be resolved shortly.
“And there are apples,” Rodney contributed, amending his offer for reasons rather different from Angus’ chivalrous ones. “Though they are ridden with worms. You probably have no desire of them. I know well enough how particular women are about worms.” He opened his saddlebag and she rummaged through the dozen apples there, pinching and sniffing them like a housewife buying produce.
“This one,” she announced, choosing a rosy specimen.
“’Tis yours,” Rodney said. “Though do not cry to me when you find a wee worm caught between your teeth.” He wiggled his finger to illustrate his threat.
Surprisingly she did not flinch. “I would cut it into four first.”
Rodney grinned at her. “Afraid to simply bite?”
She rolled her eyes. “I always eat apples thus. May I have a knife?”
“Nay.” Angus took the fruit and quartered it for her, offering it on his palm. He took no trouble to hide or remove the small green worm wriggling in the core.
To his astonishment, the maiden considered the worm solemnly, then lifted it onto her finger. She carried it to the nearest shrub and laid it carefully upon a leaf, then returned to take the apple from him.
She smiled and bit into piece, apparently unconcerned. “Naught else? You will scarce be prepared to wage war if you eat so poorly.”
The men again exchanged a look, and Angus knew he had not been alone in expecting a more noisy response.
“Are you not afeared of a worm?” Rodney challenged.
She gave that man a look that made Angus want to smile. “Why would I be afraid of a worm no bigger than the end of my finger?” Scorn dripped from her tone. “He has no teeth with which to bite me, and indeed, he favors apples over my flesh.” She rolled her eyes. “I am not such an idiot as that.”
“But there could be another. You could eat it and ’twould wriggle in your belly. Perhaps ’twould grow...”
“Rodney!” The man was so bent on making mischief that Angus had to intervene.
“What nonsense!” she declared, clearly not needing Angus to defend her tender sensibilities. “We have these at Ceinn-beithe oftentimes. They do not like to share their homes.” She smiled with sudden impishness. “’Tis far better to find one before you eat or even none at all, than to discover half of one in the midst of eating.”
Even Rodney grimaced at that and Angus had to fight to keep from chuckling. She had an earthiness he had not expected and truth be told, he found it quite fetching.
Aye, there was much of this woman he found alluring, though that was the last realization he needed on this morn. Indeed, Rodney could not ride fast enough to suit him.
“Why would you carry apples filled with worms? These are no better than those that fall from the trees in the autumn.”
“’Tis a dark trait of human nature to take advantage of strangers in our midst,” Rodney declared. “And we were tricked in a market in Lincoln where they were overly wary of travelers.”
“We?” Angus felt obliged to ask.
The older man colored. “The apples I chose were fine indeed. I thought ’twas only courtesy to two men of war returned from fighting the infidel that the seller offered to pack the apples into my bag.” Rodney’s brow furrowed. “He changed good for ill, ’twas what he did. ’Twas a faithless bit of treachery, though I knew it naught until we were much further on.”
The maiden shrugged, her eyes bright. “You do not have to eat them. Feed them to the steeds and buy more.”
“There is an issue with coin, lass.” Rodney muttered through gritted teeth, omitting his role in that circumstance as well. “’Tis not falling from the trees hereabouts, in case you have not deigned to notice as much.”
Angus groaned inwardly at the maiden’s evident interest in this. ’Twas better if she knew naught of them and their motives.
“I thought all knights were rich.”
“You thought wrongly, but then who would expect much different from a lass as pampered and sheltered as you must be.” The older man warmed to his theme. “As poor as church mice is what we are...”
“Are you not already overly late in departing?” Angus interrupted impatiently, and his companion straightened.
“Aye, indeed, I am.” He made a mock bow to the maiden. “Until we met again, my lady fair,” he said with no small measure of humor. He saluted Angus, then turned his steed and galloped through the forest.
The hoof beats had barely faded before the woman turned upon Angus. “But where is he going?”
It seemed that she had lost far too much of her fear of him. He scowled at her, to no discernible effect. “Away.”
“But where does he go?”
Angus took a steadying breath, though he was not truly surprised that she did not abandon her inquiry. “’Tis not for you to know.”
“Whyever not? What might I do about the matter?”
“You will know what I decide you shall know, and no more than that,” Angus said flatly. She frowned, but he turned to tend his own steed. Perhaps if fear could dissuade her from asking questions, so too could rudeness.
He already knew better than to truly believe that.
* * *
’Twas a surprise to Jacqueline to learn that Angus groomed his own steed. He ignored her completely as he shed his tabard and mail tunic, then brushed away the stallion’s nibbling of his hair. Clad in only his linen shirt, dark chausses and boots, he began to brush down the beast, his movements filled with both vigor and grace. He still wore his belt, the scabbard, weighted with his sword on one side, his knife on the other.
She was struck by the gentleness Angus could exhibit when he so chose. He scratched his beast’s ears, murmured to it and brushed the stallion with a thoroughness that spoke of affection. And truly, the steed had no fear of him, as animals oft did of t
hose of malicious intent.
Was he truly as wicked as she first believed? Jacqueline watched, recalling Edana’s tale, and wondered. She certainly had the sense that Angus wanted her to believe he was evil, but she was beginning to have her doubts.
If Edana told her rightly, then he had tried to aid his family and come home to find them all dead. That could not be an easy burden to bear.
She knew, however, that he did not wish to discuss his tale with her. She watched him and nibbled her lip, wondering how best to discover the story.
There could be no doubt that knight and steed were wrought for each other, for these two were larger, darker and more mysterious than any man or steed she had ever known. Jacqueline stared, knowing she should go to the well, but felt that her feet had rooted to the spot. Angus worked with such easy deliberation, the rhythm of his movements calming her anxiety and making her want to linger.
’Twas as if she no longer stood here, or that Angus had forgotten her presence, for he did not so much as glance her way.
Though she did not doubt that if she chose to flee, she would have his attention quickly enough.
’Twas the great black steed that offered her a chance to speak. He lifted his head and fixed his gaze upon her, his eyes as black and filled with secrets as those of his master. His darkness was touched by only a small white star over one eye.
The steed whinnied, stretching his neck towards her. Jacqueline, unable to resist, stepped closer and offered the last quarter of the apple. When she stood directly before the horse, she was doubly certain that there had never been a larger and more fearsome beast in all of Christendom. But Jacqueline, mindful of the knight’s watchful gaze, refused to show her fear.
She offered her open hand to the stallion, the apple perched upon it. His nose was as soft as silken velvet when he nuzzled her palm and accepted the gift. He chewed noisily, then his nose moved over her hand once again. Jacqueline smiled when the steed snorted and tossed his head. Disdainful that she brought him no further treat, he deigned to ignore her. Perhaps he was not so different from her mother’s palfreys in that.
“What is his name?” The question left her lips before she could consider the wisdom of asking it.
“Lucifer.” Angus moved to the other side of the horse.
Jacqueline was reassured to have the beast between them, even though Angus watched her more openly now. “Because he rides like the devil?” she asked pertly.
Angus merely fixed her with a steady look. “Nay. Because he was spawned in hell.”
He returned to his labor, leaving Jacqueline to wonder at his words. Lucifer seemed untroubled by this recounting of his origins. He shook his mane, his nostrils moving as he assessed the breeze.
Jacqueline dared to be bold. “But Lucifer was not spawned in hell. He was said to have been God’s favored of the angels, though he fell from grace by dint of his pride.”
Angus flicked her a glance. “In the east, a different tale is told of Lucifer.”
“Indeed?” Jacqueline was curious to hear a tale from his lips.
“Indeed.” Angus did not look her way, but bent to brush the stallion’s haunch. “He was said to have been the king of Babylon, otherwise known as Nebuchadnezzar.”
Jacqueline vaguely recalled Babylon from the tales of the Old Testament and was certain little good had happened in that city with its tower built to touch the face of God.
She peeked around the horse to watch Angus work. “I do not understand what connection there might be.”
“Nebuchadnezzar was a man of much ambition, ’tis said, and one who declared his power so great that he would ascend to the heavens upon his demise, to rule alongside God himself.”
Angus brushed the stallion’s rump, then slipped behind him and appeared beside Jacqueline. She jumped, as much from his abrupt appearance as the wicked gleam in his eye.
“’Twas said that the morning star did indeed appear in the sky after his demise, but that it sinks low each day as a sign that this king’s ambitions were too great in the end. The name itself means bearer of light.”
She stared at him, uncertain whether he told a true tale or meant to deceive her. “I have never heard this tale.”
“Of course not. A demon wrought of earthly sin is a simpler tale both to recount and to understand.”
“Is that a comment upon women being slight of intellect?” Jacqueline demanded, then clapped one hand over her mouth for her foolishness. Oh, she was said to become vexed too quickly with those who assumed much from her looks alone!
But Angus smiled fleetingly. “Even I would not be so bold as to suggest you witless.”
Jacqueline flushed beneath his regard, uncertain how to reply to the unexpected warmth in his words. Did he mean to compliment her?
She returned to the safer ground of the steed, a topic upon which Angus seemed more prepared to speak. “So, you named him for the star on his brow.”
“And for his origins. He was bred in Damascus, not so very far from Babylon.”
Jacqueline frowned in confusion. “But you said he was wrought in hell. Is Damascus hell?”
Angus turned away, ignoring her question so thoroughly that she knew she had a found a truth about him.
Jacqueline took a single step after him. “Was it there that you sipped from the cup of wickedness?”
Angus’ head snapped up. “What is this?”
Jacqueline’s mouth went dry, but she was not one to leave what she had started half-done. “Edana says you have known wickedness since last she saw you, and that you now wear its taint. Was it in Damascus that you made its acquaintance?”
Angus’ lips tightened to the grim line so typical of his expression and he began to brush the steed with greater vigor. “Edana knows naught of what she speaks.”
“Aye? Then what else would explain the change she sees in you?”
“What change?” he demanded coldly, fixing his stare upon her.
Jacqueline took a step back. “I merely was curious...”
“’Tis not for you to know what has brought me to this place.” He spoke tightly and without raising his voice, but there was no doubt of the anger that thrummed beneath his words. He cast down the brush and Jacqueline realized too late that she had provoked him.
Curse her curiosity! Her fear of his intent easily conquered her desire to appear fearless. She took another step back and his eye narrowed, though he followed her immediately.
“You will ask no more questions of me, or of Edana, whether you are curious or not? Are we understood?” He loomed over her, menacing by size and expression.
Jacqueline swallowed and nodded. “I have to leave,” she said hastily, which did naught to diminish his vexation with her.
“To go where?” he demanded irritably.
“I go to the well to make an offering to the lady,” Jacqueline explained, more breathless than she might have preferred. And in truth she was much more anxious to fulfill this pagan debt of gratitude now that it granted her the chance to evade his wrath.
She waved her cloutie at Angus, backing away with haste as his brow darkened. “I shall return shortly.”
“You are a captive! You will go nowhere alone!”
But Jacqueline turned and did precisely that.
Indeed, she ran.
* * *
For a woman of apparent sense, she could be rid of it quickly enough. She ran now, like a mad hare, through the undergrowth where any manner of twig or root or hole could twist her ankle again, if not see it broken.
’Twas as though she would challenge his intent to return her to her father unscathed.
Angus shouted for her to halt, but did not truly expect that she would. Nay, she would insist that she replied only to her own name and he would not suffer it to cross his lips. She did not even slow her pace, though he did not doubt that she heard him.
A most troublesome woman, that was what she was. No maiden bound for a convent would so adamantly refuse to be biddable, of
that he was certain. She was bold and proud and foolish and clever and he was nigh certain her family had agreed to support her vocation because they feared they might throttle her otherwise.
As before, she was fleet of foot, and he did not catch her as quickly as he might have liked. He snatched at her once, but she ducked beneath a branch he had not seen and he nearly took the limb between the eyes.
He swore then in truth, exhausting every phrase he had learned in fifteen years of living amongst fighting men. ’Twas a considerable arsenal, but it fell short of expressing his frustration with this one vexing demoiselle.
Finally, Angus strode impatiently through the undergrowth in a straight line, ignoring the winding path she followed. She glanced back, terror in her gaze, then slipped on the muddied trail and disappeared with a splash.
Angus lunged forward and nigh stepped into the hidden well directly behind her.
He caught at a branch and steadied his footing in the nick of time. The rocks were so slick surrounding the pool that ’twas easy to see how she had slipped. The spring was so well hidden that a man could not see it until he was upon it, and certainly there had been no chance of hearing its burble with the din they had made.
He braced his boots against the treacherous ground and, propping his hands upon his hips, granted a stern glance to the lady. He fully intended to recount the foolishness of her actions to her, then demand a change in her behavior. He met her gaze to begin.
But she, to his astonishment, smiled.
The words froze on Angus’ lips. Zounds, but the woman’s moods changed like a spring sky!
She was sprawled on her backside in the shallow water, only her face and the wool of her kirtle, rising beneath the surface, visible. Her hair was escaping from her braid and a healthy smear of mud adorned one cheek.
And she looked on the verge of laughter. Surely any woman would be infuriated to find herself in such circumstance?
He scowled, assuming that she mocked him. “And what so amuses you about this?”
“I feared I would not be able to find the well,” she confessed, her lips quirking and her eyes sparkling. “But it seems the lady of the well will have her due, one way or the other.”
The Bride Quest II Boxed Set Page 45