by C. C. Wiley
But there was sadness in her eyes that went far beyond the burning of a few buildings. Why did she blame herself for the fire? If he went to her, would she turn him away even as she did while they battled the blaze together? She had closed herself off and refused to look at him. Made comments to others, but did not speak to him.
He searched the last few hours when they worked side by side with servants and villagers alike. There was no class difference when one was saving your existence from the fires. Through it all, he had not lost himself in the blood-red memories of panic and fear. Relief fluttered over him like a downy cloak.
Nathan looked down at his hands. New burns were added to the scars. Did they appall her?
A cough racked Meg’s body. Her cheeks carried trails of tears.
He forced his feet to move forward. Courage against the fire was nothing compared to standing up against whatever weapons she might bring against him. The worst would be her refusal for his assistance.
“Lady Margaret,” he said, holding out his hand to help her rise. “Meg, you are in need of clean air.” He choked on the smoke working its way around the buildings. “As am I.”
Her fingers, warm and alive, wrapped around his. Too weary to speak, they walked the seawall.
“Sir Nathan,” the alehouse keeper called out.
“Harrigan,” Nathan croaked. He slapped the portly man’s shoulder. “We did it.”
“Aye, there was a time or two I feared the wind would take it. Indeed, God did shine upon us.”
Meg turned her gaze upon them. Her eyes were like two holes burned into a blanket. “Reports of injured?” she croaked.
“One or two that came too close to the flames,” Harrigan said. “Lady Anna is seeing to them now.” He removed his cap, crunching it between his hands and bowed. “Lady Margaret and Sir Nathan, we give our thanks to your aid.”
Meg smiled and curled her fingers around his hand. “And we to you. As you say, it could have gone much worse. My sisters were working in the chandler’s building.”
Confusion washed over his countenance. His skin flushed as he looked away. “I saw Lady Phillipa escape with my own eyes. But I did not see Lady Anna leave the building. She must have been taking a walk when the fire first started.”
Meg gripped the seawall to hold herself up. “I must go to the infirmary. See that my family is safe and not in want.” She paused to pull her shoulders back and added strength in her orders. “Sir Nathan, see that someone watches over the smoldering embers. We will discuss this further come morning.”
Nathan watched her leave his side. Emptiness filled the space where she had stood. Was it only hours since they kissed? He waited for what seemed like an eternity for Meg to turn back and call to him. And it never came.
“I didn’t wish to worry my Lady Margaret, but I’ve recently heard rumors,” Harrigan said.
Nathan pushed away from the despair. “Speak.”
“A rider was seen tearing off through the woods right after the call was made.”
“Reivers? Have Matthew saddle my horse and gather as many men who are able,” Nathan ordered. “We shall track down our visitor and offer our desire to make his acquaintance.”
“’Tis unusual for reivers to go a roving in daylight and by his lonesome. They like to travel in a pack. Like wolves.” Worry marred his swarthy complexion. “Should we not inquire her ladyship’s desire?”
Nathan clapped his hand on Harrigan’s back. “You did well in confiding in me. Lady Margaret has enough to carry on her slim shoulders. Prepare to ride before nightfall.”
* * * *
“How could you,” Meg snapped.
Despite the ache in her back and the pain in her side, she paced the solar. Her sisters stared at her as if she had lost her mind. And perhaps she had. Fear had flayed her, laying her nerves open to the harsh reality that she had caused this. She’d broken her vow. She’d let herself want and desire pleasure. Just this once. Wasn’t that what she thought five years ago? The plea had been the same and the outcome had been the same. Destruction for pleasure. She thanked God for the hundredth time that Baldric and Brother John were unharmed and already fast asleep in their beds.
“Meg,” Anna said. This time, her soothing tones were more of an annoyance then healing. “I left Phillipa and the chandler for only a short while. The fumes from the melting beeswax and the tapers were stifling. I needed to gain fresh air. So I left. For a short time.” She glanced at their youngest sister. “Isn’t that right?”
Phillipa raised her eyes. Her pale skin, a mask of distress. Her hands were bound with strips of linen. “She was gone for just a moment or two.” Her lids drifted closed. “I was pouring the wax into the molds that you created. Counting the time that I could be done with that task and doing something else. Anything else would have been better than making candles. You know how much I loathe being confined in a room.
“I smelled the smoke before the flames caught in the corner of the building. It moved so fast. I threw my shawl down to smother it but the fire spread like liquid. I tried to save the candles, Meg. I truly did.”
“I know, love,” Meg crooned. She wrapped her arms around her sister’s thin shoulders “I am grateful for all that you did.”
“I’m sorry,” Anna whispered. “I should have been there.”
Meg cringed and resumed the pacing. She should have never kissed Sir Nathan. She ached for the loss. “You are all alive. A few injuries that will require rest, time, and your healing unguents. I give thanks that that is the only price we must pay.”
“What of the shipment of candles?” Phillipa whispered. “And the protection payment?”
“It will be impossible to fill,” Meg said. She rubbed the ache blooming from her temple.
“Or pay.”
“The reivers will hear of our misfortune. They will not strike across the border,” Anna said.
Meg slid her gaze over her sister. A chuckle squeezed out of her chest. “And how would you know this?”
“They are people too. They know of pain and loss.”
Meg snorted. “Because they are usually the ones to cause it.”
She wandered to the casement and looked out over the valley. How much time did they have before they did come a calling? Who would exact payment first? The smugglers? Or Duncan Graham’s reivers?
“Thanks to your sister Meg, you know nothing of pain. You should bend your knee and beg for forgiveness.” Nathan strode into the solar. He had donned his leather gambeson. The studded gauntlets he wore when she first met him across the stream were wrapped around his forearms. His sword hung on his hip. And a broadsword was strapped to his back. “But I fear if we do nothing, we will know it firsthand.”
Meg arched her brow. Brother John brought up the rear flank. Grim-faced Baldric stood to his left. “I thought you were abed. Do you think to take on whoever did this by yourselves?”
“Some of the villagers desire to ride with me,” Nathan answered. “Your brother and the monk will stand guard while we are gone.”
“And what if they are cunning, outfoxing you all and arrive while you are following their trail that has already gone cold?”
He lifted her chin and smiled. “Then we will rest easy knowing that we have shown our strength and done all that we can.”
His lips brushed over hers, holding her enthralled and taking her breath. Under her palm, his heart beat a rapid rhythm through the padded gambeson. She groaned as she fell into the welling need that could not be shed.
Another stolen kiss. Her vow broken again.
Fearing that she had insulted God once more, she tore her mouth from his.
His green eyes darkened. Instead of a gentle green with golden flecks they had shifted to that of shadows and enchanted forests. Should she choose to lose herself in them, she would never return to the woman that she was.<
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He traced her mouth with his thumb. “We shall talk upon my return.”
With that he took his leave. Meg tasted her lips and ached for one more kiss. He was an enchanted potion of which she could not break free.
* * * *
Nathan rode Madrigal through the woods and over the pastures. There were three trails to follow. Two led away from the village; those they lost in the woods. The freshest tracks led to Fletchers Landing and had yet to leave. He would speak with the other villagers and discover who had newly arrived that day. But there were no signs of a large group of reivers.
Relief and confusion warred within. He turned to the two men who chose to ride beside him. “Matthew and Harrigan, what say you?”
“They be gone for now,” Matthew said.
Nathan rubbed his chin. “There are no tracks left by groups of riders. Not even a small scouting contingent.”
“Do you smell that?” Matthew asked.
Nathan nodded. “Smoke.”
“Of course you do,” Harrigan said. “We’ve been fighting a burning building all afternoon.”
“Never smelled like that,” Matthew added. “This smells of roasting meat.” His stomach growled, drawing both men to direct their attention to his middle. He rubbed his stomach. “My innards are telling me that we should investigate.”
“We should get back to the village,” Harrigan said. “Trouble comes at nightfall.”
“It may be a trap. Or just a traveler.” Nathan drew his sword from its scabbard. “Best be on alert.”
They followed their noses north and came upon a campsite. A traveler sat beside the fire. His supper lay across the fire. He bent over the flames, turning the rabbit skewered on a stick. Nathan moved the branch to size up his opponent. He judged him to be at least a hand taller than himself.
“’Tis a brawny lad. A Graham,” Harrigan hissed. “I’d stake my life on it.”
“Let’s pray you do not need to.” They tensed as the man rose from his fire. He stretched his arms out, flexing his back and shoulders.
“I thought they resided farther north in the high hills,” Nathan said.
“There are rumors that some wished to ride south to claim the land and anything else they can get their thieving hands on.”
“Stay here behind the bushes.” Nathan sheathed his sword. “If there are more, they will show themselves soon enough.”
He strode out from the trees, showing his hands free of weapons. “You there,” he called out.
The tall stranger retrieved his supper and tore off some of the flesh with his teeth. He wiped the grease from his chin with the back of hand. He stared into the surrounding trees as if he could strip the leaves from their limbs. “Aye? Who goes there?”
Nathan took another step closer. “You travel by yourself?”
“’Tis possible.” He shrugged. “Not a law against it. Is there?”
His teeth glistened like a wolf Nathan had seen a few years past. He made sure to keep a wide berth of it then and would do so now.
“I come in peace. From Fletchers Landing. You’ve heard of it?”
“Aye,” he bit into the rabbit meat and chewed. “Here and there. Now and then.”
“Perchance you heard that there was a fire this day.”
He stopped his methodical chewing and swallowed. He bent, his movement stiff, and replaced his supper near the campfire. “Was anyone hurt?” he asked. “The Lady Anna?”
Nathan alerted to the concern in the stranger’s voice. He watched his opponent and prepared to pull the sword strapped to his back. “Why do you ask?”
The behemoth shrugged. “’Tis said she has a way with healing. A village would sorely miss someone like that.” He scrubbed knuckles over his breeches. “You never said of her health.”
“And you’ve yet to speak your name,” Nathan returned.
“Aye, well now, if I do, the ones you have hiding in yon trees are like to come running, blades drawn. And I’d hate to have to harm anyone.” He slid his gaze toward Nathan. “At least not when there’s nothing to earn from it.”
“And if I were to order my men to stand down. To come in peace?”
The dark-haired giant held out his paw. “Then we can all get along. Speak as men, not beasts.”
Nathan jerked his chin. A rustle of bushes came in response. “’Tis done.” He prayed they understood they were still expected to stand at the ready.
“Name’s Duncan Graham.” The clansman dusted off a log near a pile of weapons. He looked up and waved him to take a seat. He picked up a small knife, testing its edge with his thumb. “And you must be Sir Nathan Staves.”
Nathan eyed the spot across from Duncan Graham. “I am. Suppose you heard that from one of your sources.”
Duncan shrugged. “As I said, word comes now and then.” He searched Nathan’s face. “’Tis your turn.” He flashed a wily smile. “A give and take.”
So the Scotsman fancied the delicate blossom of Fletchers Landing. Nathan stretched out his legs. “She was well the last time I saw her. A pretty little thing, don’t you agree? ’Tis a wonder that she escaped the building unharmed. Her sister, Phillipa, was not as lucky.”
“Aye.” His eyes narrowed. “How did it start?”
“I’ve yet to discover the culprit. Someone saw a rider.”
“And you thought I might be the bastard to set the chandlery ablaze?” He threw down the knife and it struck the log. Its hilt quivered from impact.
Nathan jumped to his feet. “I never mentioned which building.”
“And I said I hear things. But I did not witness it. I would never hurt…” Long tapered fingers wiped his mouth. “Like I told you earlier. If there’s no money to be made, I would not be found near it.” His chest rose and fell. “Take what I say as truth. Or prepare to arrest me and expect a fight.”
There was something about the man that Nathan understood and felt compelled to believe what he said. “I think ’tis best you find your way back to your clan and stay away from Fletchers Landing. It will go better for all if you do.”
“Aye?” He rose, towering over Nathan. “Do not think to warn me off of this land. ’Tis a very bad thing if you do.”
“And you’ll keep your distance from Lady Anna,” Nathan added, shoving Duncan Graham back. He tensed for the blow that was sure to follow.
The Scotsman retrieved his blanket from the log and kicked in the fire. “I’ll make my way home this night. But you’ll want to watch your flanks, Sir Nathan.”
“I always do.”
He waited, arms folded, his weight balanced on feet ready to leap at any sudden movement Duncan Graham might send in his direction. It was all for naught, as Duncan did as he was ordered and mounted his horse and rode off to the north.
Nathan was ready to do the same and head for home. Darkness was falling and there was no telling who hid in the shadows. He spun on his heel, his sword drawn as Harrigan and Matthew appeared from behind the brush like night wraiths.
“You let him go.” Harrigan’s reddened face looked like he was about to explode like an overheated apple.
“He’s a Graham,” Matthew added, explaining to him as he would a child. “He has clansmen who will come a roving.”
“He has his warning,” Nathan said. Grabbing Madrigal’s reins, he mounted his trusted steed. “We’ve learned all that we can this night. ’Tis time we return to the village.”
“Yes,” Matthew agreed. “It does little good to chase after a rabbit once it has gone into hiding.”
Nathan offered a reassuring smile. “We’ll put more men on the wall. I’ll take first watch. Then we will assign the others.”
“Beg your pardon, Sir Nathan, but we haven’t that many to spare.”
“Come the morrow, I’ll send word. More will arrive to help guard Fletchers Landing.”
He wheeled Madrigal around and they set off for home. His thoughts traveled ahead of him. Would Meg be there to greet him? He imagined the reception, arms open wide, pulling her into his embrace, kissing away all thoughts and worries.
Nudging his steed, they galloped toward the keep. The gate, closed against intruders, was a pleasant sight to behold. Madrigal’s ears twitched and he did a side hop, nearly costing Nathan his seat.
Nathan whipped his sword from his back harness as a horse and rider came from the shore. They charged through the brush, nearly running over the three horsemen. The horse’s dark roan hide was speckled with lather. A crimson stain surrounded its lips.
“Blacksmith, what are you doing out here?” Nathan asked.
The horse fought the bit as Wayland sawed on the reins. “Been running down the reivers who set that fire.”
They rode in tight, surrounding the horse and rider.
“Is that so?” Harrigan said. “Never figured you as a tracker.”
“By God, Lady Phillipa will have your hide if you continue to do harm to that beast.” Matthew warned.
“There were no other tracks.” Nathan motioned for Matthew to catch the horse’s bridle. He pointed his sword toward the blacksmith. “I think ’tis time we talk.”
“What are you accusing me of?” Wayland yelled then slumped over the saddle.
Harrigan held up the weighted bag. “I thought it’d be quieter this way.”
“It would have been better to find out what he knows before you knocked him on his noggin,” Matthew said.
They escorted their prisoner to the village. The people stared as they did the first day Nathan rode through the gates. Only this time, they pointed to Wayland, whose feet and hands were bound to his saddle.
“What are we to do with him, Sir Nathan?” Harrigan asked under his breath. “There’s no dungeon to hold him until we get the truth from him.”
Nathan turned. The man looked about to fall over in exhaustion. Matthew did not look much better. “See that he’s tied up good and tight in the smokehouse. It won’t hurt for him to wait.”
All he wanted to do was see Meg, hold her in his arms. He had found healing here at Fletchers Landing and he wanted to share his news with the one lady who was always in his thoughts. He let Madrigal have his head and galloped up the hill to the main tower keep.