Highland Honor [Murray Brothers Book 2]

by Hannah Howell

  Cautiously, she led her horse far away from the campsite before she mounted the animal. She had no idea of where she was going, only that she had to get away. Before she had met Nigel she had eluded the grasp of the DeVeaux for almost a year. She could do it again. At least, now, while she tried to stay out of sight, she could cling to the hope that soon her family would free her from her ordeal.

  Wending her way through the dark, thinning forest, she touched the hilt of her sword and sighed. She had just left behind probably the only man in the civilized, Christian world willing to teach her a skill taught only to men. It was possible that she had also left behind the only man who could stir her passion. Gisele felt an overwhelming urge to hurry back to the shelter of Nigel's arms, but she gritted her teeth and continued on. With each step she took away from Nigel her pain and longing grew more powerful, and she knew that resisting its pull would be a long, hard battle. Gisele plodded onward, praying that soon the pain and longing would ease, that Nigel would become no more than a sweet memory. If not, leaving him could easily prove to be the most agonizing choice she had ever made, one that would torment her for the rest of her life.

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  Sixteen

  Nigel frowned when he woke and saw no sign of Gisele. His concern grew tenfold when, after slipping into the shelter of the trees to see to his personal needs, he returned to the camp and she was still nowhere to be found. Then he saw that her horse was gone, and he felt his heart clench with fear for her.

  Even as he rushed to clear the camp and ready the horses, he looked for some sign of what had happened while he had slept. He could not believe that he had slept through an attack or abduction by their enemies, or that the DeVeaux would have left him alive to come after them. Gisele certainly would not have allowed herself to be taken away quietly or easily, yet he found no blood, no sign of a struggle, and no sign that anyone else had been near their camp.

  Slowly he came to the chilling realization that Gisele had left willingly and alone. He stood next to the horses, staring blindly around the camp, and tried to understand what his eyes told him. All his instincts told him that she had run away, but when he asked himself why, he found no answers.

  How could she love him so passionately one moment and slip away the next? When they were so close to their goal, so near to getting to Scotland and the first taste of safety she had had in a year or more, how could she ride out alone and risk discovery and capture? She had confessed to having little sense of direction, so it seemed pure madness to just ride off unguided. He tried to think of something he might have done or said to hurt or offend her, to make her so upset that she would leave him without a word of farewell, but there was nothing. It was true that he greedily made love to her whenever he could yet never spoke of love, but she had said she did not ask for that. He had certainly seen no sign of unhappiness or dissatisfaction.

  The more he tried to understand the reason for her leaving, the less sense it made. Alongside his fear for her safety grew a slow, burning anger. He had pledged to fight for her and keep her safe, had done his best to keep that pledge since Guy had given her into his care. She owed him some explanation for running away.

  He mounted and began the slow work of trailing her. Gisele could not simply walk away from him, from what they shared, and she had no right to put her life in danger after all he had done to keep her alive. He refused to believe that the fierce lovemaking they had indulged in last night was her way of saying good-bye, or that she would put herself in danger of being captured by the ever-increasing hordes of people looking for her without a sound reason. Nigel swore that he would hunt her down and get the answers he sought, right after he shook some sense into her.

  Gisele reined in on top of the small hillock and stared down at the fields spread out below her. It was going to be difficult to cross such a wide, open area without being seen or without being stopped and questioned if seen. As she dampened a small scrap of cloth with some water from her waterskin and then idly wiped the sweat and dust from her face and neck, she wondered how Nigel had always found such sheltered areas to travel in. A little shade would be most welcome right now, as would something to hide behind. Then she sighed. Unlike her, Nigel always knew where they were going. She was, she reluctantly confessed to herself, just riding blindly, praying God or some good angel would steer her in the right direction.

  She already missed Nigel, had begun to do so even as she had left the campsite just hours ago. Just knowing she was leaving him had been enough to make her start to miss him and want him. It took all of her willpower to stop herself from turning around and going back to him. Far too many times she had to repeat her reasons for leaving him, had to reaffirm their worth in her confused mind. The further she rode, the less weight they carried.

  Was not experiencing the sweet passion they shared worth a little heartbreak? Then there was how they talked and laughed together, even how they were quiet together. Was not enjoying that rich companionship also worth a little heartbreak?

  "Sweet Mary and Jesu,” she muttered. “I am pitifully undecided."

  After she took a deep breath to steady the fast pace of her heart and clear her mind, she found she could briefly smile at her own confusion. One moment she was convincing herself that she had to leave Nigel, that there was no other choice. The next, she was convincing herself that there was no harm in going back to him. Unfortunately, the latter was many times easier to accomplish than the former. It kept making her hesitate, and she knew that was dangerous. She was leaving herself vulnerable to being tracked down by Nigel, if he chose to come after her at all, and of being found by her enemies.

  It occurred to Gisele that she had lost some of the skills that had kept her alive for nearly a year before she had even met Nigel. She had come to rely on him, had given him a great deal of power over her life and freedom. That should alarm her more than it did, especially since she still had no real proof that he could be trusted. The fact that the man was an exciting lover was not exactly a tribute to or affirmation of his trustworthiness.

  Glancing around one last time, she started down the hillock. She was reasonably sure that she was headed in the right direction to reach her cousin Marie, although she knew trusting in her own miserable sense of direction could be a mistake. The woman had helped her once and might be willing to do so again, at least in some small way. Crossing the fields was the most direct route and, although it was dangerously open, so were all of the routes that would take her around the fields. If she crossed the fields she would be exposed to view for the shortest amount of time.

  Halfway across the fields she realized that she had made a serious error. Nearly a dozen men suddenly appeared just ahead, and she did not need their triumphant cry to tell her that they were DeVeau men and that they had recognized her. She turned her horse and kicked him into a gallop, desperate to get to some place where she could hide until the danger passed.

  One man caught up to her, riding close by her side and reaching out for her reins. She drew her sword and struck out at him. Although she did not hurt him, slapping him with the flat of the sword instead of sticking him with the point, she startled him so with her attack that he veered away and had trouble staying in the saddle. Leaning low over the neck of her horse, she pressed the animal for more speed and tore up the small hillock she had just ridden down. She could see the trees to the west, back where she had come from, but was not sure she could reach them in time to lose the men racing after her.

  A cry went up from her pursuers as she entered the small forest, and she knew they were dangerously close. Although it was treacherous to ride so swiftly in such close quarters, she slowed down only a little as she wound her way through the trees. The sounds of the men hunting her grew a little fainter, and she looked for a place to hide.

  To her right she caught sight of a low mound, and she turned toward it. She had barely reined her horse to a full stop before she was out of the saddle and pulling him behind
it. It was a poor hiding place, barely enough to hide her mount behind, but there was little else to choose from. As she leaned against a knotted tree trunk and struggled to catch her breath, she tried to listen to the men tracking her down, hoping to learn where they were simply from the sounds they made.

  Slowly, she began to calm down, her heartbeat and breathing becoming less swift and painful. She could still hear the men, but none of them seemed to be moving her way. If she remained still and quiet they might miss her, might continue on, thinking she had just kept running straight through the wood.

  Just as she began to think she had escaped them, a soft footfall sounded behind her. Her sword in her hands, Gisele whirled around and cursed when she saw the tall, lean man standing there. It was her ill luck that at least one of the DeVeaux dogs had some skill in hunting down his prey. He looked at her and then at her sword and grinned widely. Gisele did not appreciate finding out that she had been right in thinking most men would find a small woman with a sword a source of great amusement. She prayed she would acquit herself well enough to make him see that this was no joke.

  "Have you been playing the boy for so long that you now think you are one?” he asked as he drew his sword and began to circle her.

  "I may be small, but this sword is not too heavy for my hands, and it has a very sharp edge."

  "I am all atremble."

  "Soon you will be all dead."

  "You have gained a taste for killing men, have you?” He struck out at her, and his dark eyes widened slightly when she neatly blocked his swing.

  "I have gained a taste for staying alive,” she said, keeping her voice low and calm and hiding the very real fear she felt.

  "I approached you unarmed, my sword sheathed. I was not planning to kill you,” he said in a quiet voice, obviously trying to cajole her into surrendering.

  "Mayhap you have no intention of killing me yourself, but you mean to take me to those who will.” She swiftly knocked aside another of his thrusts.

  "You murdered a DeVeau, the one with the highest standing, and the king's ear. I but mean to take you to face justice."

  "A DeVeau would not know justice if it grew legs, walked up to him, and spit in his eye."

  The man smiled, then attacked her with a vengeance. Gisele fought hard, struggling to remember every little thing Nigel had told her about what to watch for and how to strike back. She was just beginning to think she might have a chance, albeit a small one, of winning, when she felt a sharp, blinding pain in the back of her head. Gisele cried out and staggered from the force of the blow. Her sword fell from her hands as she reached up to clutch her head and stumbled to her knees. She cried out in pain as the man who had struck her from behind grabbed her roughly by the arm and yanked her to her feet.

  "I was rather enjoying my little battle,” said her opponent as he picked up her sword.

  "I could not believe my eyes when I came around the side of the hill and saw you fighting this bitch,” said the short, hulking man who held her captive.

  "She was revealing some interesting skill. Someone has taught her well, Louis."

  "Probably that fool Scot she has been whoring for. You should have just killed her and been done with it, George."

  "I was told to find her, not execute her,” George said in a hard, cold voice. “If DeVeau wants her dead, let him get her blood on his own hands."

  "He will not be as soft of heart as you. She butchered his cousin."

  "Vachel hated his cousin Michael. His grief is born of the fact that, as long as she lives, he cannot claim his full inheritance as the next in line. And now they have to try to find someone else who can cuddle up to the king."

  "You should speak with more care, George. Vachel DeVeau deals harshly with those he believes are against him."

  "I shall be sweet of tongue and nature when I face him. Then I shall gather the bounty owed me and leave this cursed place.” He frowned at Gisele. “Where is the Scotsman?"

  He no longer rides with me,” Gisele answered, praying that Nigel would now be left alone.

  "Did you kill him, too?” grumbled Louis as he started to walk away from the hill, roughly dragging her along with him.

  "I have never killed anyone,” she snapped, knowing that was not really the truth. The man she had killed to save Nigel's life could well be a friend or kinsman of one of these men, though, and she decided it was a secret well kept.

  "That is not the tale the DeVeaux tell."

  "And every word from their cold lips is the truth, is it? You are a greater fool than you look if you believe that.” She cursed in pain as he gave her arm a vicious yank.

  Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of George frowning, his dark expression revealing all of his doubts. She wondered if she could find an ally there, then told herself not to foolishly raise her hopes. The man wanted the bounty offered for her, and although it might be simple avarice that drove him, he might also have a deep need for the coin—a need so desperate that he would be willing to sacrifice a life to get it. There was also the fact that anyone who helped her would be putting his own life at risk. There were not many people who would put their lives at risk for a woman they did not know, one who could be a murderer.

  She studied the other men who waited by Louis's and George's horses. They were a hard-faced, rough looking group. Each one of them watched her with no hint of sympathy or discomfort upon their faces. Nigel had told her that she was pretty, but it was clear that she was not pretty enough to stir a softness in any of these men. There would be no help for her from that quarter.

  "Do not try and plead your innocence with me,” snarled Louis as he grabbed a length of rope from his saddle and tied her hands securely behind her back. “I do not care whether you killed the bastard or not. Sir Vachel wants you, and I mean to give you to him,” he said, as he tossed her up into his saddle and mounted behind her.

  "Sir Vachel obviously surrounds himself with witlessly obedient little serfs,” she murmured, then cried out in pain when he cuffed her on the side of the head, leaving her ears ringing.

  "If you wish to plead, save the begging for his ears."

  "I would never give a DeVeau the pleasure of hearing me beg."

  "I begin to think you killed your husband by cutting him into little bloody pieces with your sharp tongue,” Louis muttered. “Best you keep silent now, woman. Vachel may want you alive, but he did not say you had to be hale and unhurt."

  Gisele opened her mouth to say something, caught sight of George shaking his head, and decided to shut up. Speaking her mind might ease the fear and anger churning inside of her, but it would do her no good to arrive at Sir Vachel's manse beaten senseless. Not only would it mean that she would be unable to try to talk her way out of trouble, but she could miss some small chance to escape or be too weak to take advantage of one. She knew she could also be riding to her death, but she decided that, too, would be better met with a clear head. Dragged before her enemy beaten and mute, too weak to even mutter some last words as he cut her down, would not be a dignified way to die.

  They crossed the fields, rode past a thick clump of trees, and there before them was a grand keep, its walls thick and tall and very imposing. Gisele inwardly cursed. It looked as if she had just about ridden up to Sir Vachel's gates. If she survived this catastrophe she was going to have to learn how to find her way, at least learn enough to know where not to go. She now saw that she had been a fool to let her raw emotions drive her away from Nigel and his protection, and it had been pure insanity to go off on her own when she had such a true skill for getting lost.

  "When we first saw you riding so brazenly across Sir Vachel's fields, we had thought that you had come to surrender yourself,” said George.

  "And steal away your chance to gather some blood-money?” she replied, her fury at her own stupidity roughening her voice.

  George just lifted one eyebrow and stared at her for a moment before saying, “It seemed the only explanation for you to com
e so close after having stayed free and hidden for a year."

  There was a hint of admiration in his deep voice, but Gisele was too heartsick to be flattered by it. “Well, I have another explanation. It would be nice if it stole away some of the glory you may think you have gained by capturing this desperate killer, but it will probably just make me look witless. I got lost.” She shrugged when his eyes widened in surprise.

  "You got lost?"

  "I got lost.” She stared up at the huge, iron-studded gates they were about to ride through. “Very, very lost,” she whispered.

  She prayed that Nigel was not hunting her, that he had found her gone and decided to just go home. He had pledged to protect her and he was a man who took such things very seriously, but she was sure she had deeply offended him by slipping away in the dead of night without a word. She prayed that his sense of outrage would force him to give up on her. This keep was sturdy and well-manned. If he tried to pull her out of the trap she had ridden into, he could easily get himself killed. Gisele felt certain that she would soon be dead, and the last thing she wanted to face as she died was the knowledge that her stupidity had also gotten Nigel killed.

  Nigel stared out over the fields and scowled. Such open ground made him uneasy, but he had clearly not made Gisele aware of its dangers. He looked back down at the churned up earth and cursed. Something had taken place here, and he had the sick feeling that some disaster had befallen Gisele.

  He had followed her trail to this spot, easily seeing her horse's distinctive hoofmarks upon the ground. At some time, he mused, he ought to go and give the blacksmith who had shod the animal with a scarred shoe a little gift. The fact that one of Gisele's horse's hooves left a mark distinguished by a little slash resembling a lightning bolt had made tracking her almost embarrassingly simple. If he got her out of whatever trouble she was in, he might have to fix that, however. If he recognized it as hers and could follow it so easily, so could someone else.