My Noble Knight

by Cynthia Breeding

  His eyes glinted, either in anger at her sarcasm, or in humor. She couldn’t tell.

  “Vich one hit you?”

  She caught the look of sheer terror that crossed Henrick’s face. Well, too bad.

  She pointed to him.

  Ida dropped his hand and turned. Not a word was said, but Henrick stepped forward, his face pale. Ida hardly appeared to move, but the crunch of fist meeting bone sounded like thunder, and then Henrick was on the ground, holding his bloody nose.

  Ida looked at his men. “You can rut yourselves raw vith any other voman ve capture, but I’ll not have this hostage harmed. Not vhen I can exchange her for land title. Does anyone vish to dispute me?”

  The men shook their heads quickly and moved to other tasks. Eric gave Deidre almost a pleading look as he helped Henrick walk away.

  Ida looked down at her. “You’ll have nothing to fear vhile you’re here. Once your husband agrees to turn over enough hides of land to allow us to settle, you’ll be freed.”

  Her husband? Lands? Deidre stared at him as comprehension dawned. He thought she was Elen! The abduction must have been fully planned, the scrimmage yesterday a diversion. But Elen had drowned. No wonder Eric had given her that look. If Ida knew they had failed to bring back the right woman, they’d be in for worse than a bloody nose.

  Angus wouldn’t be paying a ransom for her. He wouldn’t even look for her if they found Elen. What would Ida do when he found out she was only a maid?

  ◊♦◊

  “I want to know what happened,” Angus said from where he was sitting at the table in Elen’s chamber.

  Gilead looked up, tucking the blanket around his mother’s chin. “She’s been through an ordeal, Da. Let her get some sleep.”

  Brena clucked disapprovingly at Angus as she slid the warmed clay bricks under the covers at Elen’s feet. “Aye. My lady should rest.”

  Angus ignored her protest. “It’s near dawn. We need to be battle-ready. Why don’t ye go and get us all some wine?”

  He waited until she’d left and then walked over to the bed. “I need to know, Elen. We could be under attack soon.”

  Her voice sounded strained and he bent to hear. “Brena had set down my sleeping potion on the table. Just as she left, the wall opened…Saxons…two of them…” Her voice drifted and her eyes closed.

  Gilead felt for a pulse and then sat back, relieved. “Thank the gods she’s still alive.”

  Angus cursed to himself. Who could have known about that secret passageway? He and Mori had used it long ago, after she was married to Turius, but he was still single. His father had revealed it to him before he died, and cautioned him not to let even the most trusted servant know. And he had held to that. He hadn’t even mentioned it to Gilead, knowing that his suspicious son would assume the worst of him and Mori.

  Elen opened her eyes again and gestured feebly to Gilead. “Deidre…”

  He took her hand. “Do ye want me to get her? She’s probably awake by now.”

  She looked distressed. “Nae. She’s…gone…”

  Angus frowned. “What do ye mean, gone?” If that wench somehow discovered the passage…if she were a Saxon spy, by the Dagda, he’d hunt her down himself.

  “They took her, too,” Elen whispered.

  He leaned closer. “Where?”

  “I don’t know. We were in the boat, headed for shore… that’s when l fell in.”

  Gilead jumped up. “The jetty, probably.” He gave his mother a quick kiss and headed for the door.

  “Where do ye think ye’re going?” Angus asked.

  “I’m going to go look for her. With the tide out, the mud should show tracks.”

  “Ye are in no condition to ride,” Angus answered. “Ye already opened the wound with the walking ye did tonight. Turius’s men will be ready as soon as they break their fast. We’ll look then.”

  “I’m not waiting,” Gilead answered. “I can make better time on my own.”

  Angus watched him leave and then looked down at his sleeping wife. Her color was coming back. Brena’s potion must be working. Wearily, he went to the door.

  Formorian waited for him in the hall, a goblet half-filled with whisky in her hand. “How is she?” she asked as she handed him the drink.

  He took a healthy swig and put an arm around her shoulders. “She’ll live.” He hesitated. “Have you ever told anyone about the passageway?”

  “Our tryst tunnel?” she asked in surprise. “No.”

  “Well, someone found it. That’s how the Saxons entered. I’ll have it boarded up this morning.” He sighed. “They took Deidre, too. Gilead, the fool, is chasing after her, which means Turius and I will have to follow him.”

  “Certes,” Formorian said. “Why wouldn’t ye?”

  He pulled her close to him and laid his head on top of hers. “Because I’m not sure she didn’t go willingly. There’s a chance she’s a Saxon spy.”

  She twisted in his arms and looked up at him. “Ye doona believe that!”

  “Why not?” he asked with a smile as he swept a finger along her cheek. “I never have believed her story of bandits.” His hand drifted down to brush across her breast.

  Formorian caught it. “I doona believe it either, but I think it’s something else. The lass has a secretive air about her sometimes, as though she sees things that we don’t.”

  Angus raised an eyebrow. “Ye think she’s a fey?”

  “Nae. But I think she’s searching for something. The circle of stones, the digging that she and Gilead have been doing—”

  “What digging?”

  “By the old hermitage,” Formorian said. “Two of Turius’s troops saw them.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered, “but I think ye need to find both of them before Gilead’s captured, too. Ida would not be kind.”

  “Ye’re right,” Angus said with a sigh and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “But when we get back, ye’ll reward me for rescuing the fools?”

  Formorian smiled. “I’ll think of something.”

  ◊♦◊

  Gilead dismounted and bent down. The tracks were there, all right. Two sets of boots and a pair of smaller, bare feet. Deidre had no shoes! If she had already been in bed when his mother screamed, then that meant she was wearing little except a night shift and maybe a robe. She would be cold, and he prayed whoever had taken her hadn’t raped her. No woman deserved that, and Deidre had been trying to help his mother.

  He followed the traces where the boat had scraped against the muddy bank. The coracle lay hidden behind thick gorse. A short space away, the mud was churned by horses’ hooves. Two, from the looks of it. That meant one of the men would be carrying Deidre, and that would slow them down.

  Gilead remounted and edged along the deer trail. As the ground grew harder, the tracks disappeared, but there were enough broken branches and bent bracken for him to follow. The fools had been clumsy and made no effort to hide their trail, and he wondered why they were headed north over land. Could it be a trap? Or had his mother been wrong and they weren’t Saxons at all?

  And who could have known about the passageway? His da had said the secret was only passed down from father to son. Something niggled at the back of his mind, just below the surface. And then he had it. Formorian. That room had been the best guest room before his father married. No doubt, she was given that room. The passageway would have made a perfect way for her to visit Angus without being discovered. The hair prickled on his arms. Could Formorian have been behind his mother’s abduction?

  No doubt, Elen’s disappearance would have made life easier for her, even if she were still married to Turius. She and his father could just use the tunnel again. It would make sense, if she’d hired mercenaries, that they’d travel over land and not by sea.

  He must be near Loch Leven, he thought, as he proceeded deeper into the forest, on foot now, leading his horse. Low branches caused him to duck and pull Malcolm’s head down as
he fought his way through the underbrush. Where in the world were they taking Deidre? Brambles tore at his clothes, spiky thorns digging into his hands as he brushed the stuff away. He spotted a patch of brown on a bed of pine needles and dropped to his knee. Dried blood. Was Deidre hurt or were her feet cut?

  He moved on. A short time later, he came upon a bit of cloth snagged on the trunk of a hemlock. A piece of white linen, no doubt from her night shift. The sticky sap did not hide the bloodstain. Gilead rubbed at it, his fingers turning slightly red. Fresh. That meant they weren’t far away. But Deidre was hurt.

  He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. He hoped he’d reach her in time.

  ◊♦◊

  Deidre felt like a rabbit far from its burrow and that the badger watching her was only biding his time. She pulled the overlarge woolen tunic more closely to herself and tucked her legs under her as she sat by the midday cooking fire with a chunk of roasted hare in her hand. She forced herself to eat. She would need her strength if she had a chance to escape.

  Across the fire, Ida studied her with calculated slowness.

  “I thought you vould be older,” he said.

  There it was again. He’d been throwing odd questions at her all morning, as if to ascertain that she really was Elen. She’d racked her brain coming up with what she hoped were reasonable answers.

  “I was but a moon from still being a child when Angus married me,” she said.

  “Hmmm. Do you not have a grown son?”

  “He’s just barely reached his manhood.” Deidre just hoped he hadn’t seen Gilead. If he had, he’d know she was lying. She didn’t think she’d seen Ida in the bailey that day fighting, but then, she’d scarcely had the leisure to observe anything.

  He narrowed his eyes, considering. “I also heard you vere not vell. You look healthy to me.”

  How did he know this? He must have gotten the information from someone who knew the situation. Who could the traitor inside the fortress be? Her first thought was Formorian, but she couldn’t quite see the queen negotiating with Saxons, even if it meant getting rid of Elen. No, Formorion had agreed to marry Turius to keep her land free, even though she loved Angus. She would never let Saxons overrun it. Who, then? Who could the filthy villain be?

  “I made a complete recovery just recently,” she said.

  “So it vould seem,” Ida said and let his gaze wander over her full breasts and rounded curves.

  Deidre crossed her arms, trying to hide her obviously well-fed body. Ida might protect her now because he thought she was a valuable hostage, but he had said his men could ravish any other woman. The predatory look in his eye told her he’d probably take her first if he found out the truth.

  “I’m grateful for your protection,” she said, “and I’ll make sure my husband hears that you’ve treated me well.”

  He inclined his head. “More blood need not be shed unless Angus vishes it. I sent a messenger that I vill trade you—unharmed—for title to land. All he needs to do is agree.”

  Deidre’s heart sank. Angus would never agree. If Formorian had been captured, she knew both Turius and Angus would have brought full armies down on the Saxons. And, because Elen’s father was a formidable Eire king, Angus would have had to make some showing of trying to get his wife back. No doubt, Elen’s body had washed up on shore by now, and why would Angus send anyone to look for a Sassenach, especially one he didn’t trust? Deidre figured that, if she were lucky, she might have two days before the Saxon scout returned with the news that they had the wrong woman. She forced herself to smile.

  “I’m sure your man will bring good news in a day or two. I’m quite ready to go home and be reunited with my family.”

  “You von’t be returning home just yet,” Ida answered and tore off a hunk of meat from the haunch he held.

  She tried not to notice how powerful those hands were. “What do you mean?”

  He finished chewing and swallowed before he spoke. “I think Angus vill be more villing to negotiate if you’re safely tucked away vhere he can’t reach you. One of the keelboats vill take you to my homeland. The rest of us vill vait offshore until ve get a response.”

  Deidre hoped her voice wouldn’t give away the despair she felt. “You don’t need to do that. My husband would never attack if there were danger to me involved.”

  Ida grinned. “I’m no fool. Until I get enough men settled to combat any raids that your husband might try to make, you’ll be my guest…across the North Sea.”

  His prisoner, more like. And the Stone. She still felt strongly that it was near, or the clue to it was. She’d never find it where he was sending her. In fact, she’d be lucky if he didn’t have her killed once he found out he’d been duped. She must stay here, and somehow, she must escape. Tonight.

  “Of course you’re no fool. But my husband will want to see that I’m well before he’ll agree to anything.”

  Ida regarded her frankly. “As you may have noticed, this var band is rather small. Ve von’t be vaiting here like sitting ducks for your husband’s army to surround us. The longboats vait for us at the mouth of the Leven. Ve sail at high tide.”

  High tide? The water had been ebbing last night. Deidre did a quick calculation. The next high tide would probably be near dawn and they had several miles of the river to navigate. Not much time to plan her flight. She needed time to think.

  “May I be excused? I should like to rest.”

  Ida nodded and motioned for one of the men to lead her to one of the tents. “And stand guard,” he said.

  Deidre was surprised to find the inside of the tent to be rather roomy. A cot stood along one side and two tree stumps provided a makeshift table and chair. On the “table” stood a tin ewer and basin, along with a washing cloth, soap, and a razor strap. She must be in Ida’s lodgings, and, for a moment, she panicked. Would he expect to share them with her? Probably. One more reason she had to get away.

  She washed some of the grime of the night’s journey away and lay down on the cot to think. It wasn’t long before she heard voices outside.

  “Vhat do you vant?” her guard asked the visitor.

  “I’m to relieve you so you can go eat,” the second voice answered and she recognized it as Henrick. Just the person she didn’t need. She’d seen the murderous look he’d given her when Eric led him away. Like it was her fault Ida broke his nose. She jumped from the cot to tell her guard not to leave her alone with Henrick, but by the time she pulled the flap, he was already whistling his way toward the cooking fire.

  She backed away, but Henrick followed her into the tent. His grotesquely swollen nose only exaggerated the bared teeth that no one would call a smile.

  “You’re going to pay for this,” he said as he pointed to his face.

  Deidre edged around the table, hoping to keep it between them. “Ida told you to leave me alone.”

  The leer broadened. “Ida vent to the river to check on the coracles. By the time he gets back, I’ll be done.” He unlaced his trews. “You owe me a good swiving. It vill go easier for you if you’re villing.”

  Willing? He was about as appealing as Niall, although not as old. Warily, she circled away from him, careful not to leave too much distance between herself and the table. She needed that obstacle in front of her.

  He moved to the right; she did the same. He moved left and she mimicked him. He feinted then, to the right and back to the left. Deidre bolted for the flap.

  He caught her around the waist and threw her onto the cot. His body was on hers, pressing her down. She struggled, pushing against his chest with her fists, her head turned away from his kiss. There wasn’t any way she could kick him, so she wrapped one leg tightly behind the other. He laughed and pushed her tunic up, one hand grabbing a breast and squeezing hard. Deidre gasped in pain and slapped at his face. He grunted a curse and yanked her hands over her head, holding the wrists together with one hand while the other pried her legs apart. He managed to get a knee between her thighs and
was about to release himself from his trews when there was a commotion outside.

  “I gave no orders for you to be relieved!” Ida bellowed.

  In one fluid motion, Henrick rolled off Deidre and shoved his swollen member inside his pants, lacing them with a shaky hand. “If you breathe a vord of this, I’ll kill you.”

  With astonishment, Deidre watched him take a seat on the stump as Ida stormed through the door, followed by the red-faced guard. The redness wasn’t from embarrassment; Deidre could see the welt Ida had left.

  “Vhy are you in here?” he asked Henrick suspiciously.

  Henrick looked at the guard’s face before answering. “I thought to let him get something to eat.” He glanced at Deidre. “I vanted to apologize to the—lairdess—for any fear I may have caused.”

  His emphasis on “lairdess” told Deidre quite plainly that he’d keep her secret only if she kept his.

  “Is that true?” Ida asked.

  She hated having to give in to Henrick. “I’ve accepted his apology, but I’d prefer to have another guard, if you don’t mind.”

  Ida dismissed both of them with a curt nod and then moved to the flap and shouted for another guard. The man—hardly more than a boy—had the fresh-faced look of one who hasn’t seen much fighting.

  “Carr,” Ida said, “I vant you to guard the lady. No one passes through that flap, for any reason. The cook vill bring your supper and hers, tonight. Can I count on you to be vigilant and not let me down?”

  “Yes, my atheling,” he answered with a slight tremor in his voice.

  From the worshipful expression on his face, Deidre could see he clearly thought this an honor. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed him before.

  He settled himself in front of her tent, legs splayed and arms folded across his chest, looking more like a puppy trying to be ferocious than an armed guard. The saexe attached to his belt, though, was real.

  Deidre sat down on the stump and tried to think. The tent was situated toward the edge of the camp. If there were some way she could tear a hole in the back of the tent, she might be able to escape. There had to be a way she could get that knife. She looked around for a club or something that could be used as a weapon. Ida had removed anything lethal and no doubt had his battle-axe and sword with him, not that she would be able to yield either one of them. The saexe was her only hope.