“You should eat something,” Margery ventured. “I will bring up—”
“Leave now, woman,” Ian ordered dangerously. She drifted away shaking her head. She was acting like his worst nightmare of a wife.
“Who do you think it was? How many?” Gregory asked.
“I saw nothing,” Ian said. He saw nothing because he was lying on top of a naked woman, damn it.
“It could be Thomas Armstrong who took the chance to grab her. Or even Grahams for that matter. You weren't all that far from their border. Of the two, most likely Grahams, since they didn't kill you.”
Nay, they hadn't killed him, although he had lain unconscious a very long while, until the rain had brought him to. Had she argued against his death? A part of him wanted to think so. The weak part.
“Not Armstrongs or Grahams, I think. Someone she knew and trusted is more likely. I do not think she intended to walk to Edinburgh alone.” He strapped on his sword. “I think she was heading to the old castle. I will ride there and see if they left that way.”
“How many men will you be wanting?”
“None.”
“Sir Ian, I know that you are angry, what with the lady snatched from your hands. No doubt you want to even the score. But who knows what awaits? There are myself and six others ready to ride.”
“None.”
“That is unwise, sir, and you know it.”
It was unwise. And stubborn and prideful. He had lost her, so he wanted to get her back by himself. But mostly he didn't want anyone around when he killed these men and then dealt with the deceptive little bitch who had played him as if he were some green squire.
Only once before in his life had he so completely misjudged a woman. While he had made his way back to the keep, his head splitting with pain, he had finally seen this one for what she was. She had been manipulating his interest to create an ally and protector, encouraging him to argue away the clear evidence of her guilt in Robert's death.
Her performance today had been masterful. Jesus, but she had shown him for a besotted idiot. Drawing out the time, dangling in that tree, trying to get away, prolonging his seduction. All the while she was waiting for her rescuers to find her. She hadn't yelled her denials at the beginning, but waited until the end when he would be most vulnerable to attack. She had pretended innocence and ignorance and virtue from the start to beguile him.
I can not. Like hell she couldn't.
“You will be wanting me with you, I think,” Gregory said meaningfully. “Morvan insists she is not to be harmed.”
“Then come, damn it. And bring the others. You are right, there is no telling what awaits.”
Taking no torches, they rode quickly upriver toward the dark shadow of the ruins. A quarter-mile from the motte, Ian called a halt. Gregory drew up alongside him.
“Well positioned,” Ian said. “If anyone is there, they can see in all directions, and watch the river too.”
“Do you think they would be so foolish as to stay this close?”
“Why not? It would take a whole army to surround that hill. We go up one side and they slip down another, and by the time the search is done they are well gone, up the waste and into the hills.” He swung off his horse. “Give me time to circle around and go up the south side. Then move forward none too quietly, pretending to search in the growth by the river. If they are there, maybe it will distract them while I get a look. If there are too many, I will come back. Otherwise, listen for my signal.”
Ian began running south. His head throbbed from his jostling gait, but a different pulse in his blood drove him on. He angled over to the hill, slid down the ditch where the old wooden bailey wall had once stood, and scrambled up the other side. Moving more slowly, he climbed toward the dim ragged shape of the ruined circular donjon. As he neared the stones, he paused.
No sounds greeted him except the vague snort of horses. He waited in the darkness until he heard Gregory calling orders to the other men, telling them to check along the river.
Ian squinted in the night. A man stood facing away, peering around some stones. The clouds shifted, and moonlight vaguely reflected off his blond hair and the steel sword in his hand. No one else seemed about.
Ian circled around the back of the structure to where two horses stood. He'd be damned if he'd have Reyna riding off into the night. He untied the reins and sharply smacked both rumps with one hand while he unsheathed his sword with the other.
The scurrying of hooves and the sound of steel on scabbard jerked the man around. Ian stepped into the clearing and faced him across the cold fire circle. “I think that you have something that is mine.”
“I have nothing that is yours, English pig.”
“All that was within Black Lyne Keep when I took it is mine, including the lady. Where is she?”
“Well away with the others. I stayed to cover their escape.”
“You are lying. There were two horses.”
Ian couldn't see the man's face in the night. He could barely see his form. Down the hill, Gregory and the others continued searching. He called out to them.
His mouth had barely closed when the dark form charged. Ian caught the sword on his own, and the harsh sound of connecting steel rang out through the night.
The man fought with the desperation of a crusader battling for Jerusalem. The dark only made the contest more perilous. Ian relied on sheer instinct and subtle senses, listening for the whistling air that told him how the weapon arched, feeling the other's movements more than seeing them.
He knew when the man twisted in a vulnerable way, and brought his own sword down at an angle, connecting invisibly with hip and leg. A guttural cry accompanied the sounds of a body and weapon falling to the ground.
It hadn't been a death blow, because he wanted the man alive. He grabbed for hair and jerked the head up. Gregory and the others were riding up the hill. “Where is she?”
The man didn't speak, but just angled his head back, exposing his neck for the coup de grâce. Snarling with irritation, Ian flung him to the ground.
“The lady?” Gregory asked, jumping down from his horse.
“She is here. Probably hiding in the ruins.” He had visions of spending the night playing children's games as Reyna slipped around these rocks, always out of grasp. “Position the men at points around the motte, Gregory. Tell them to let nothing pass, not even a mouse.”
Head throbbing and mind cursing, he strode toward the tumbling building.
The only thing keeping Reyna sane was the beat of her own heart.
She concentrated on the quick, heavy pulse. It seemed so real, almost tangible, and it reminded her that she had not fallen into a black eternity, but that she was alive and that time passed in the normal way. Even so, a part of her, a growing part, had long ago abandoned itself to the terror.
Those invisible hands reached out for her again. Not startling her with prods and pokes now, but sliding along her arm and hip. The laugh was different—lower, dangerous, taking cruel pleasure in her fear. She grasped her knees tighter, and willed those demons away. Only this time, they would not leave.
Panic began rising, spreading, determined to defeat her. She had fought it so long that her spirit was exhausted, and succumbing held a seductive lure. Robert, she screamed silently.
Steps in the dark. Not faint scurries, but the steps of a man. She waited, breathing heavily. She squinted into the blackness, looking for the light and hand of salvation even though her soul knew it could not be there.
Closer now, pacing slowly. Stumbling into her. Screams of terror came from somewhere, echoing off the stones, as her tired spirit collapsed.
“Jesus.” A loud voice. A real one. Angry, but she didn't care. Firm hands grabbed her shoulders, shaking her.
The voice again, still angry but softer now. “I will not hurt you. You do not have to be frightened. Now come with me out of this place.”
Her own voice, separate from her body. “I can not.”
; “My lady, I do not ever want to hear you say that again.”
A tiny corner of sense cleared in her clouded mind. “The rope.”
“Hell. Do not move.” Sharp movements made the bindings fall free. “It seems your scheme did not end as you had planned, Reyna.”
The dark space slowly took normal shape around her. The scent and presence looming over her shrieked with new reality. Her whole body shook with relief.
Ian lifted her to her feet. She clutched the little book still pressed against her breast. His strong arm circled her shoulders. “Come with me, Reyna. You will be safe.”
He guided her out of the blackness. Only the faintest moonlight awaited, but it was something. Ian called out and men came running.
“We caught one of the horses,” Gregory said.
“Put the man on it. I will take the lady,” Ian said. He was still angry, but in her gratitude that she would not have to ride alone through the night, she didn't care.
“Who is he?” he asked as he lifted her onto his horse.
“Sir Reginald.”
He swung up behind. His arms circled her as he took the reins. “Your husband's knight? Edmund's brother? Hell. Still, it makes more sense than the Hospitaller.” He began leading the little troop back to Black Lyne Keep. “Why did he tie you up? Didn't he trust his lover to complete the bargain she had struck before the murder of her husband? I must congratulate him on seeing more clearly than I did.”
His words barely penetrated. She felt as if her spirit had been wrung dry of all emotion and caring. It hung inside her like a damp cloth impervious to any wind, even that of Ian's anger.
She huddled against him all the way back to the keep, knowing only relief that he had come, had found her, had saved her from the terror. Come with me, girl. You will be safe and will never be frightened like this again.
Chapter TEN
I an barged into Reyna's chamber early the next morning, waking her. She blinked the sleep away and sat up in her bed, pulling the sheets around her.
“You are recovered?” he asked. “Sir Reginald has been cared for. He is not maimed. You can see him if you wish, but only if Gregory or I accompany you.”
“I do not wish to see him.”
His expression darkened. “You are a cold one.”
“He was supposed to help me, not threaten me.”
“You must think all men great fools if you expect their aid to never have a price. A man does not help a woman kill his liege lord and then let her walk away from her debt.”
“Is that what you think? That Reginald aided me in murdering Robert?”
“The prize might tempt any man. You, and the lands you would inherit.”
“The lands— What are you talking about?”
“Your husband's testament. David and I found it.”
“I know nothing of my husband's testament. We spoke of such things only once, seven years ago. He assured me that he had provided for me, that is all. The lands to the east.”
“Do not waste your time with me anymore, Reyna. I tire of your deceptions. You will dress now and come with me. You will stay near, so I know where you are. I don't want you out of my sight.”
True to his word, he made her follow him everywhere during the day. When he left one part of the yard to work in another, he looked for her and gestured. In the evening, while he perused the estate ledger, he made her sit in the solar with him, and she read to pass the time. When she rose to retire, he accompanied her to her chamber and, after she crawled into bed, came in and tied one hand to the low headboard.
“This is excessive,” she said.
“These stones have absorbed you before. I'll not risk it again.”
“You are treating me like a prisoner.”
“I am treating you like a liar who can not be trusted.”
“You bastard. I outsmart you and you blame me for it. I never lied to you. You knew I intended to leave if I could.”
“Aye, you outsmarted me in many ways. For all I know, even the fall of the tower was intended, to get you away from the Armstrongs' justice. But I do not play the fool for any woman twice.”
It continued like that for two days. He rarely spoke to her and barely looked at her. She became an errant puppy trailed along by an invisible leash.
On the third day, he was collecting some weapons from the solar when a commotion in the yard drew him to the window. “What is it?” he yelled down.
“Trouble on the moss,” Gregory called up. “Riders on the west road. Fifty, maybe, the patrol said.”
“Have fifty ready to go, Gregory. Twenty archers. Call in the men from the camps and then close the gate.”
He turned, ready to run, and saw her standing there.
“Am I to follow you into battle too?” she asked.
He glanced around, anxious to be off. “Sit on the bed,” he ordered, reaching for a belt on top of a chest.
“Do you expect me to sprout wings and fly over the wall?” she asked while he wrapped the belt around her wrists and tied it to the bedboard.
“Nay. I expect you to slip out through the gate during the confusion of men leaving and returning.”
“And then what? I walk to Edinburgh through Armstrong lands?”
“Maybe you have lovers in their army who will help you. Maybe Edmund waits in Bewton to take his brother's place in your bed.”
“Those are the irrational ramblings of a stubborn man.”
“Nay, they are the sensible thoughts of a man who has had a veil lifted from his eyes.”
He strode out of the chamber to a litany of colorful curses. Putting Reyna out of his mind, he ran down the stairs and into the yard. John held his destrier and outside the gate his riders waited. “No armor?” John asked.
“No time, John.” He reached for his shield. The prospect of the upcoming action filled him with joy. It would be good to use his body and mind for what they were trained, instead of debating the character and fate of the woman upstairs.
Five miles from the keep, Ian heard the sounds of shouting and battle. He spurred his horse over and down a low rise. Ahead he could see three long wagons, surrounded by swords and archers, holding off the circling, riding Armstrongs.
He unsheathed his sword and led his men into the fray. The arrows stopped their flights as he and the other horsemen clashed with the enemy. Vastly outnumbered now, the Armstrongs began to stream away over the northern moss. Ian gestured for Gregory to take the archers and go after them.
Flushed with excitement from the brief action, Ian headed back to the road.
David of Abyndon sat on a horse near the front wagon, sheathing a sword. “I welcome your aid, Ian. This could have taken all day otherwise.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking to become ransom bait for the Armstrongs, it seems.” He gestured to the wagons and the archers. “The ship came. I was bringing some of its cargo to your keep.”
“Why not just go to Harclow? It is closer.”
“Morvan may not want all of it there. I kept King Edward's archers for protection. Good thing. Has Morvan arrived yet? He was planning to visit you.”
“Nay, he has not come.” Ian glanced at the wagon and raised his eyebrows in question. David paced to its back and lifted the canvas. The round bottom of a long metal cylinder gleamed.
“Guns,” Ian exclaimed.
“Aye. Also from Edward. The question is whether Morvan will use them.”
Ian understood the comment. Morvan could be old-fashioned in his sense of honor. The capricious destruction of these new war machines struck him and others as unchivalrous. Ian had seen them used at Poitiers and found them fascinating. “You still could have brought them to Harclow. He wouldn't have to use them.”
“Ah. Well, that is true, but there was other cargo that he most definitely would not have wanted at the siege.” David walked back to the second wagon and tapped a small lump under its canvas. “You can come out now, darling.”
The canvas flew back, and a black-haired, bright-eyed woman rose up, grasping a jeweled dagger. “Ian!” she cried.
Ian bent over to kiss Christiana Fitzwaryn, David's wife. As he did so he raised one eyebrow at David.
Some of the men were checking the fallen bodies. One called out that he had found an Armstrong who still breathed. Ian and David walked over to the man.
Ian crouched down. “Who led you? Thomas Armstrong?”
The man nodded. “He sought captives. To exchange for the women.”
“If Thomas wants his wife and the other ladies, he has only to ask for them. We will give you a horse so you can bring him that message.”
He looked to the fair Christiana sitting elegantly in the wagon. “You are going to ask me to keep her at Black Lyne Keep so that you can have your wife nearby, aren't you, David?”
“I knew that she was coming, but it was my full intention to leave her in Carlisle. However, under the circumstances, I could hardly demand it.”
“What circumstances?”
“The ones riding up behind you.”
Ian turned. Three archers approached. The center hooded one trotted forward, tall and straight, slinging a bow over one shoulder.
The horse pranced closer and he noticed the slender body, the long booted legs, the slight bulges beneath the tunic. A sick foreboding spread through him.
“You didn't,” he muttered.
“Aye, I did, although there will be hell to pay with Morvan. Her arrival was a complete surprise. She obeys no one, and once she insisted on coming here, I had no legs left with Christiana.”
The archer came up and faced Ian. A slender hand went to the hood and pushed it off. Unruly blond curls, acres of them, poured down the very tall body. Blue almond-shaped eyes regarded him.
“Ian, you remember Anna, don't you?” Christiana called happily from the wagon.
Aye, he remembered Anna de Leon, Morvan's wife. He hadn't seen her in eight years, since before she married. From the way she looked at him, he suspected that she hadn't forgotten their meeting. Not one detail of it.
“Ian of Guilford,” she said in a low, velvet voice. “Morvan told me that he had hired you and your thieves.”
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