Margo Maguire

by The Virtuous Knight

  Lucy glanced up at the escarpment above. “Are we trapped here?”

  The knight did not answer. Instead, he shifted his legs and the horse responded immediately by turning and walking alongside the wall. Lucy was astonished by Sir Alexander’s movement. She did not know it was so easy to ride and to control such a large beast with a mere touch of the leg. If she had, she surely would have ridden horseback during her journey, just as Elsbeth had done. She needn’t have sat with the old women in the wagon.

  She’d been “poor Lucy” far too long. In future, no one would ever have cause to call her that, or any of the other pitiful names that had been whispered when she was not supposed to hear.

  They moved slowly, but Lucy did not remove her hand from the knight’s back or her eyes from the forest behind them. Too much had happened already, in the space of one afternoon for her to feel safe and secure. Lucy forced herself to keep the awful memories at bay, but images of the nuns’ screams, their blood flowing…

  She shuddered.

  “There’s a way to climb,” Alex said, startling her into the present. She turned to look ahead, and saw that the wall was no longer quite so high. It had gradually declined, but she had not noticed while watching so intently for the black knights.

  Alex guided Rusa up the small incline and doubled back toward the place where he’d left the northward path, climbing steadily. The vantage point up there would be excellent, and if Skelton’s knights followed, Alex would be able to see them. He would know in advance what direction they took.

  It would also afford him the chance to put some real space between himself and the nun. He did not care to put his virtue to the test this way. Celibacy had not been difficult in Cluny, or on the journey to Jerusalem with Brother Roger. Most of Alex’s time had been spent in prayer or in training; none of it in the company of women.

  He ducked to avoid a low branch, pushing Sister Lucy’s head down, too. She remained in that position longer than necessary, with her head pasted against his chest, her free hand going ’round to his back.

  Then he realized he still cupped her head. And he did not want to let her go.

  “Beati pauperes spiritu,” he intoned in a whisper.

  “Quoniam ipsorum est Regnum caelorum,” Sister Lucy added, finishing the beatitude. She ducked away from his hand and turned away, looking over Rusa’s head. “You did not tell me that you were a priest,” she finally said.

  “Because I am not,” he replied.

  “But your Latin—”

  “I am just a knight, Sister Lucy,” he said. “But I will take my monastic vows when I return to Cluny.”

  She turned and looked at him then, and the small crease between her brows reappeared. He did not dwell upon it, but swung his leg over Rusa’s back and dismounted. Then he set his hands at Sister Lucy’s waist and lifted her from the mare’s back. The ends of her hair brushed his skin as he eased her down and he suppressed the physical stirring that threatened to lead his thoughts into sinful paths.

  “I might as well tell you then, that I am not a nun,” she said. “Nor will I ever be.”

  Chapter Three

  In the day’s fading light, Alexander lay prone at the edge of the escarpment, watching the ground below. It seemed quiet, and he finally allowed himself to begin thinking of settling down to rest for the night. All might have been well, except that Lucy of Craghaven sat waiting, out of sight, in the shelter of a huge pine.

  It should have made no difference. Thoughts of no woman other than Isabella had crossed his mind since his marriage six years before. At least, no lustful thoughts had crossed his mind. But now…

  The mere memory of Lucy’s silken tresses brushing his arm made him quiver with cravings he thought he’d buried three years ago. The feel of her soft flesh against his own seemed more exciting than any physical contact could ever have been.

  Alex knew these musings must stop. Prayer and meditation would channel his thoughts in a more suitable direction. He would not give in to the temptations of the flesh because of—

  Suddenly, she was beside him.

  “Do you see anyone?” the familiar feminine voice asked in a hushed tone as Lucy stretched out next to him, leaving barely an inch between them. But even though they did not touch, Alex could feel her body pulsing with energy and excitement beside him.

  Did she not understand how improper it was to lie beside a man? Alex suppressed a groan and forced himself to stay still. He was a strong and disciplined knight. He had the willpower to resist her. ’Twas not necessary to move away.

  “Nay,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the ground below. Still, he felt her warmth beside him. “They did not follow us.”

  “It’s starting to rain,” she said. “Do we dare go back to the wagon for supplies? Or do you carry all that we’ll need?”

  Mentally, Alex made the sign of the cross. He had not considered what the night would bring. Normally, he would just wrap himself in his woolen blanket and find a bit of cover. Now that he had a woman to protect, he would have to do more to accommodate her needs. “We’ll make a shelter under the trees and, uh…spend the night here.”

  He rose to his feet and gave Lucy a hand up. Deliberately walking away from her, he started back to the place where he’d tethered Rusa, thinking of the night ahead of him.

  He had enough food in his pack to last several days. As for blankets, there was only the one, but he was not likely to become chilled, even though ’twas becoming rather cool with the rain. He would give the blanket to Lucy and… He stopped. Where was she?

  Looking back, he saw that she was struggling to keep up with him. Her gait was awkward, and she nearly fell in her hurry. Without thinking, he went to her and lifted her off her feet, cradling her in his arms. “Why did you not tell me that you were injured?” he growled. “I’d have—”

  “I’m not injured, Sir Knight,” she said, pushing at his chest to be let down. The crease between her brows became a cross frown. “I can walk.”

  Though he did not understand her sudden vexation, he did not put her down. “What happened to your foot then?” He kept his eyes straight ahead and continued carrying her away from the escarpment.

  “My leg,” she said tightly, “’twas slightly bruised in the fall, but it has not been right since my birth. It means naught. I can still do all that any other woman can.”

  Alex swallowed. Her words suggested something he had no business pondering, but not a single prayer jumped into his mind to rescue him from his improper thoughts. Her hair trailed across his arm again, sending a shiver of sensation through him.

  They reached the stand of trees where Rusa was tied, and Alex let Lucy down. Before he could take her arm to help her, she walked under the boughs of a thick pine, and rubbed her hands over her arms in an attempt to get warm.

  Alex glanced ’round. The area was well sheltered from the light rain, and if it did not turn into a down-pour, they would be all right here for the night. He pulled his packs off the mare and dropped them near the tree trunk, then unrolled his blanket and shook it out. When he started to place it upon Lucy’s shoulders, he thought better of it. The more distance he kept between them, the better.

  She took the woolen cloth from his outstretched hand and wrapped it around her like a shawl. He saw her grimace. ’Twas with pain, if he was not mistaken.

  “What is amiss?” he asked.

  “’Tis merely a bruise,” she said. “I must have hit my shoulder on something when I fell into the fen.”

  Of course she was bruised, Alex thought. And likely on more places than her shoulder and chin. ’Twas surprising she had not broken any bones. He scowled, stepping ’round to look at her back.

  A dark stain blotted the area over her shoulder blade.

  Alex cleared his throat. “Open your kirtle,” he said. “You’re bleeding.”

  Her back stiffened and he could almost hear her protest before she spoke.

  “If ’tis bleeding enough to soak through yo
ur gown, then it is serious enough to tend,” he said. “Open it.”

  Another moment’s hesitation, and she began to unlace the cords that bound the front of the kirtle together. She slipped it off her shoulder, even as she pulled her hair over the other shoulder, out of the way.

  Alex forced his eyes to remain upon the deep gouge that marred her perfect skin. He refused to acknowledge the delicate line of her neck, or the goose bumps that raised the tiny, almost colorless hairs of her nape.

  “Stand still.” He reached for his pack and took out a stoppered jar, along with his waterskin and a clean cloth. Pouring some of the water on the cloth, he washed the deep wound, then took ointment from the jar and spread it upon her shoulder. The gash was in an awkward place…he did not know how he would bandage it.

  She held perfectly still while he tended her, though he knew the ointment had a sting to it, like a hundred bees attacking at once. She was an unusual woman. Mayhap he’d been wrong about her, and she did not require the same kind of comfort that most women would demand. One thing was certain—she was tougher than she appeared.

  “’Tis nearly dark,” he said. “But I don’t want to start a fire…it would show our position too easily.”

  Lucy nodded almost imperceptibly, keeping her face averted, as if she did not want him to see it. When she raised a hand to her face, he could not doubt that she wiped away tears. And her slight movement drove away all his perceptions about her toughness.

  “This should be bandaged,” he said, more gruffly than he intended.

  She did not reply, but turned her head back and tried to see the injury. Alex took a clean strip of the cloth he’d used on the wound he’d sustained near Jerusalem and placed one end upon Lucy’s injury. He flipped the other end over her shoulder.

  “Can you hold this in place?” he asked.

  “What are—?”

  “It isn’t a good spot to bandage,” he said. “But if you keep this strip over your shoulder, the cloth should stay in place over your wound. It’ll keep the ointment from rubbing off on to your clothes.”

  Lucy gave a short nod and did as he instructed. Then he turned her to face him and he felt her eyes upon him as he worked to secure the bandage in place.

  “You may…er, lace your kirtle now,” he said as his knuckles brushed the cool, unfettered skin of her chest. He restrained the urge to run his fingers across the smooth lines of her collarbone, to touch the intriguing notch at the base of her throat.

  She fumbled with her laces. Impatiently, he pushed her hands away and fastened the kirtle himself, covering her pretty flesh.

  Glad to have that chore over, he suddenly remembered the pouch he’d taken from the body of the eldest nun. He had tucked it inside his tunic for safekeeping, until he could give it to this lone survivor. Now that he knew she was not a nun, he refrained from handing it to her, wondering at her connection to the nuns who were killed. Did the valuable contents of the pouch belong to her now?

  “Where were you headed when you were set upon?” he asked.

  “To Holywake Abbey,” she replied. “’Tis another two days’ journey north of here.”

  Alex frowned, watching as she tucked in the laces of her kirtle. Two days? He was not about to waste two days escorting this woman to the abbey when he needed to travel due west to Eryngton…and when he needed to put miles between them. “You are not a nun, yet you travel to Holywake with women of the cloth?”

  “I have lived at Craghaven Abbey in Leicestershire for many a year, Sir Alex,” she said, gazing at him intently. “But I never took the vows. Nor shall I ever.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said, clasping his hands behind him and turning away. He paced restlessly, certain his disquiet was due to the proximity of the black knights, and no other reason. They were dangerous men and if they caught up to him when Lucy of Craghaven was under his protection, he would be hard-pressed to keep her safe. By heaven, he would be lucky to keep himself safe.

  “Craghaven became overcrowded,” Lucy explained, “so the bishop found us a new abbey—Holywake in Yorkshire. A few of us were assigned to go in advance of the others and make Holywake ready—”

  “Nay.” Alex shook his head. “You mistake my meaning. Why will you not take the vows?” he asked, slipping the pouch from his tunic and handing it to her. Clearly, she would have need of the coin within to make her way to the nunnery.

  Absently, she weighed the small leather satchel in her hands. “’Twas never my choice to go to Craghaven. I was sent there as a child to die,” she said, responding to his question.

  Alex understood even less now and his confusion must have showed upon his face, for she began to explain.

  “When my cousin inherited my brother’s estate, he and his lady wife wanted… Well, I was a sickly child, and lame, and not expected to last the year.” She lowered her eyes and her voice became quieter. “The new earl did not want his first months in…in my home tainted with death.”

  ’Twas an ugly truth, but Alex knew better than most how ugly it could become. His poor Isabella had succumbed to illness, along with their son. But Alex had not sent them away out of fear of contagion. Nay, he’d stayed with them, watched them draw their last breath, one within hours of the other.

  Lucy’s cousin had had no such regard. The man had sent her to die in the company of strangers.

  “This belongs to Sister Avice,” Lucy said, turning the pouch in her hands. They were small hands, with slender fingers, but not delicate. Alex saw redness and broken nails—signs of harsh work. She was no longer the sickly child, but a woman fully capable of hard work, and aught else that was demanded of her.

  Before his thoughts could once again drift beyond what was seemly, he gestured toward the leather satchel. “’Tis yours now, to return to the abbey.”

  Reaching inside the pouch, Lucy’s eyes grew huge when she drew out a handful of coins. “’Tis a fortune! What will I…” She drew her lower lip between her teeth and let it slide back out. The movement was slow and sensual, and almost more than Alexander could bear to watch.

  “Beati mundo corde, quoniam ipsi Deum videbunt….” he muttered, unable to take his eyes from her mouth.

  “Now I suppose I must go to Holywake,” Lucy said, “just to see this returned to the Order.”

  Puzzled again, Alex frowned. The woman was a mass of contradictions. “I thought you had planned to go to Holywake.”

  She shook her head. “No. I… Earlier today, I decided to leave the sisters, and make my way alone. But then—”

  “Alone?” he asked, incredulous. “How would you make your way? Were you going to walk until you found a likely village?”

  Lucy took a step back and stumbled. Alex reached out and caught her about the waist as the coins spilled out of her hand, on to the loamy soil beneath the boughs of the tree.

  Lucy felt his strong hands at her waist, his breath on her face, and she trembled. She licked her lower lip as he held her there, and wished she did not feel so strange every time he touched her.

  She was weary and hungry, and now that dusk had fallen, she was more than a little frightened. The day’s events were crashing in on her, and it did not help that Sir Alex’s gaze made her feel as if someone had lit a torch inside her, and that both her legs had gone lame.

  She caught her balance and withdrew from him, pulling the blanket more tightly over her shoulders. She glanced at the sky. “Aye,” she said in response to his question. “I’ll walk.”

  Sir Alex made no reply, and Lucy was just as glad of it. She did not need him to remind her that she would have difficulty walking any distance. She knew it. She’d lived with it all her life.

  ’Twas past dusk now, and growing darker by the minute. A few stars were already visible between the clouds, and Lucy realized that what she’d said to Elsbeth all those hours ago had just been bluster. She had never slept out of doors in her life, and now that she was faced with a night without shelter, she felt chilled and afraid.

/>   What if the black knights found them here under the tree, sleeping and unprepared? Could Sir Alexander deal with all three of those men?

  Lucy could only wonder. He’d fought the men who attacked the wagon, but Lucy had been thrown a fair distance. She had not seen Sir Alexander in battle. She did not even know how many opponents he’d had—only that one of those men had shot the arrow that had pierced Sister Gunnora’s throat. In the moment of the poor old nun’s death, her eyes had been wide and horrified. The arrow had made a gruesome sound….

  She shivered with the terrible memory, and forced herself to think of the future, not on the day’s events. Crouching down to the ground, Lucy began to pick up the coins. Sir Alexander knelt next to her to help.

  “I’ve never…done this before,” she said, looking up and meeting Sir Alexander’s eyes. She did not care for the sound of fear that she heard in her own voice. “Sleep o-outside, I mean. I don’t know what to do.”

  He didn’t answer right away, and his gaze ignited that strange torch inside her once again.

  He turned away abruptly. “Just find a comfortable spot to lie down,” he finally said, facing away from her. “Wrap up in the blanket and go to sleep.”

  “Will you…stay close?”

  Lucy heard his sigh and a few muttered words in Latin. “Aye. I’ll be here. Beside you.”

  Chapter Four

  Even though Lucy knew she must be in the midst of a horrible dream, she could not shake herself awake. The horses bolted, sending the wagon on an uncontrolled, terrifying flight. The poor old nuns were killed with arrows, and the men on horseback still chased her.

  Suddenly, her pursuers became three black knights on massive stallions. When Lucy turned to look at them, the men bared their dreadful, pointed teeth and growled like wolves in pursuit of their prey. They loosed arrows at her, and one found its mark in her shoulder. It stung, and burned with a painful fire that Lucy felt all the way down her back. Her blood welled and dripped, glaring painfully red, draining her life from her.