Foster protested and whined that he was an innocent man as Noble tied his hands and ankles, but the young knight paid no attention to his words. Instead he called to Thomas, “Start gathering wood for a fire, Thomas, if you please. A lot of wood. I want to start several fires to keep the wolves at bay tonight.”
Thomas nodded and quickly went about the chore, glancing over his shoulder every now and then to make sure there were no gray creatures sneaking up behind him.
Noble finished with Foster and then began building the fires. He kept the pile of boulders to their backs. He stacked the sticks and tinder Thomas had picked up in three piles in a semi-circle before them. They would have shelter from the wind and warmth from the fires, as well as protection from wild animals in this place. They brought the horses into the small space, and Noble lit the fires.
At last they sat back and relaxed a bit. They ate some of the food Thomas’s father had sent with them, appreciating it even more since they had had nothing to eat all day. Foster did not thank them for the food, but he gulped it down hungrily, licking his fingers as he finished.
“Get some sleep,” Noble finally said to Thomas. “We will take turns tonight keeping watch. We are all tired now, but you will feel better once you’ve had some sleep.”
Thomas and Foster were asleep within minutes. At least Noble assumed Foster was asleep by the sound of his snoring. The man was such a liar, though, Noble could not be sure. He sat in the glow of the fires, thankful for the warmth, and praying; thanking God for saving them from the wolves that day and praying for His wisdom and strength in the coming days. He would need them to get Simon Foster back to Caernarfon.
He was getting sleepy. Noble stood up to put more wood on the fires. He had just turned back to return to his spot under the rocks when he happened to glance up. There were eyes staring down at him from the top of the boulders. Green eyes. Green eyes shining in a white face.
A chill raced down his spine and for a split second he stood frozen to the ground. It was the face from his dreams. The face of a nightmare. The face of a white wolf.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
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Strangers in the Inn
Noble took a step backwards, bracing himself for the wolf’s attack. His sword was out of reach. The fire was behind him. He stood there for a moment, face to face with the crouching wolf, and once again, his heart cried out to God for strength and protection.
To his surprise, the wolf turned and disappeared without a sound. Noble rubbed his eyes, wondering if he had really seen the animal at all. Wolves were a rare sight to begin with anymore since there was a price on their heads, and they had been mostly killed off in the last hundred years. To find a pack of four as they had that day was truly unusual. But to see a white wolf? Noble had never heard of such a thing. Was the beast a dream? A figment of his imagination? If it was real, why had it not attacked?
Noble lunged for his sword and whipped around, facing the darkness outside their ring of fire. He half expected to see the white wolf racing toward him out of the night, but there was nothing. The forest around them was still.
Suddenly out of the blackness of the night an eerie howl rose into the air. It was answered by other howls, far in the distance, to be sure, but definitely made by several animals. Noble shivered at the sound and glanced toward Thomas and Foster. They stirred in their sleep but did not wake up. Had their dreams suddenly turned to the slinking gray forms they had fought off that day? Did a white wolf appear through the mists of a nightmare as they slept? He stood there for a while, staring into the darkness, tense and poised for action if need be.
Finally he relaxed and went back to his spot below the boulders. There he prayed and watched through the night until at last Thomas woke up and came to relieve him. Noble stretched out beneath his cloak and fell asleep almost immediately. His sleep was dreamless, unbroken by even the sound of distant howling.
There were no more disturbances that night. Noble was ready to leave as soon as dawn broke. He woke Foster, the only one who had had a good night’s sleep, bound his hands with rope, and made him mount Brownie while he took back his own horse Valiant.
“What about breakfast?” Simon Foster whined.
“Breakfast should be the least of your worries today, Foster,” Noble said sternly. “We will ride back to the inn today and leave for Caernarfon tomorrow. There will be no more of your lies or trickery. You will face the king and receive your just reward for your crimes.”
Foster bit back a retort. Young fool! He had no idea of the tricks he, Simon Foster, still had up his sleeves! Why, he’d been making his way in the world by any means he could long before this boy-knight had ever been born. If he thought he could stop him—ha! It was laughable! Foster kept his dark thoughts to himself as he followed the other lad, the innkeeper’s son, away from their camp. The knight was behind him on the black stallion. He would do nothing to make trouble—for now. The time would come, though. Oh yes, it would definitely come…
Thomas led the way on Lacey. They retraced their steps of the day before, following the trail still clearly visible in the snow. There were places here and there where the tracks were confused, but when he was in doubt Noble would point the way and they would ride on.
They stopped for a small lunch at noon and to give the horses a rest. The older horses were doing remarkably well. Their adventure seemed to have put a new spring in their steps, and they pushed on tirelessly. They seemed to take encouragement from Valiant, as well, for they did their best to imitate his fiery ways, tossing their heads and snorting, and prancing almost as if they were young again and it was a fine spring day.
Noble wasted no time however on their short break and soon had them back on the trail. He wanted to be back at the inn before dark. There had been no sign of the wolves all day but he would take no chances of being caught without shelter another night. Besides, he did not want Master Locke to have to worry about his son any longer than was necessary. Better to have him safely home.
The sun was low in the sky when at last they broke through the trees and saw the back of the inn ahead of them. Thomas grinned and called back to Noble, “Look! My father is watching for us!” Sure enough, there stood Master Locke with his hands wrapped in his apron and a grin that matched his son’s plastered across his face now that his boy had returned. Noble smiled, too, relieved to be done with the manhunt and all of them safely back in Aber. The horses broke into a trot, eager to get back to the warmth of their stalls and a good bucket of oats.
The only one not smiling was Simon Foster. His eyes shifted from side to side as if he were still thinking about trying to escape, but he knew there was no chance of that happening—at least not now. Instead he followed Thomas across the snow-covered field and back to the very place where the chase had begun, the stable.
Master Locke met them in the courtyard. “Welcome back!” he greeted them in his booming voice. “You caught him, I see!”
“Yes,” Noble replied as he dismounted from Valiant. “Thank you for your help, Master, in lending me your horse, and especially your son. Thomas was a hero and did well, very well in aiding me.”
“Good! I am glad to hear it!” The innkeeper glanced at his son with pride in his eyes. But then, “Thomas, take the horses into the stable and care for them. I will show Sir Noble to his room and then come back to help you.”
“That is not necessary, Master Locke. I can take Foster to the room myself. Stay with your son. It is the same room, is it not?”
“Yes. The inn is very full tonight, for we have had several strangers come into town, but I saved your room for you, hoping you would be back tonight.”
Noble thanked the innkeeper and with his sword in one hand and grasping Foster with the other, he directed his prisoner into the inn.
There were several men sitting in the common room. A few Noble recognized from the first night he had been at the inn, but the others were strangers. They looked u
p now as Noble and Foster entered. The tough-looking men stared at the young knight with narrowed eyes. He did not notice for Simon Foster had suddenly stopped halfway across the room. “Go!” Noble ordered him and gave him a little push toward the stairs. Foster’s eyes flickered, but with a shrug and a slight nod in the direction of the men sitting by the fireplace, he obeyed.
Noble got him upstairs and into the room without further problems. Without a word he motioned for Foster to sit on the bed. “You’re not sick any longer,” he said to the older man, “or at least if you are, I don’t care. If you were well enough to escape, then you are well enough. You’ll not lie comfortably in the bed at your leisure. For tonight you will sit here, tied to the bed, and in the morning we leave for Caernarfon and your judgment.”
There was a sneer on Simon Foster’s face as Noble spoke. “We’ll see about that,” he muttered, unable to keep his thoughts to himself for once.
Noble glanced at him sharply. He said nothing but went on to tie his prisoner to the headboard of the bed with the rope he had brought from Valiant’s saddle bag. When at last he was confident that Foster was secure and would not be able to escape he turned his back on him and walked over to the window.
Dusk was falling in just the short time since he had entered the inn. Shadows were gathering in the courtyard below. Noble was weary. He would be spending another night in the chair, after little sleep the night before in the forest. He watched now as down in the courtyard the innkeeper hurried from the stable back to the inn. There was no sign of Thomas, but Noble assumed he had stayed behind to finish caring for the horses while his father returned to get supper ready for his many guests. Good. He was hungry as well as tired. A warm meal would be most welcome after the last two days out in the cold.
Noble turned away from the window and moved to the chair by the fireplace. Foster was staring at him, still with a sneer on his lips, but Noble ignored him. He laid his head against the chair back and closed his eyes. He hoped Master Locke would bring supper soon, before he fell asleep.
He woke with a start. Someone was knocking at the door. He must have dozed off. Noble’s eyes flew immediately to the bed. Foster was still there, still securely tied to the bed. He, too, had fallen asleep—or at least it appeared so. One never knew about Simon Foster, though. He was such a deceiver.
“Sir Noble!” he heard now, coming from the landing outside the door. “Sir Noble, are you there?” There was more knocking. It was Master Locke.
Noble opened the door. The innkeeper was standing there with a tray of food. An argument seemed to be going on downstairs. Loud voices rose up the stairwell and Noble could hear a chair overturn. Master Locke looked worried.
“Is something wrong?” Noble questioned him as he took the tray.
“I hope not, Sir Noble,” the innkeeper said. “This new group of guests is a rough bunch.”
“Who are they? Where did they come from?” Noble asked with a frown.
“I don’t really know, Sir. They just showed up last night out of nowhere, it seemed. Where they came from, or how they got here through all this snow, or why they’re here, I do not know.”
There was another crash from downstairs and the sound of shouting just then. “I’d better get back down there before they break up all my furniture,” Master Locke said hastily. He quickly turned and headed back down the stairs calling out, “Now, now, sirs! I’ll have none of that in my establishment!”
Noble stood there listening for a minute more, but the voices had quieted and peace seemed to have been restored. He went back into the room and closed the door behind him. Foster was just waking up. He yawned and looked with interest at the tray Noble was carrying.
Noble untied one of Foster’s hands so that he could eat. He sat across from him in the chair and kept one eye on his prisoner as he ate his own supper. He would take no chances on Foster escaping again. He would not leave him alone, or with anyone else for that matter, and until he got him back to Caernarfon, Foster would remain tied up.
Thomas came to the door just as they were finishing their meal. “I have taken care of Valiant, Sir Noble,” he reported. “I put some salve on the cut on his face. It’s deep, but it will heal well, I think. Brownie and Lacey are well. Their ride through the woods did them no harm, I think. Is there something else I can do for you, Sir?”
“No, Thomas. Thank you for all you have done—especially for thinking to care for the spot where Foster whipped Valiant. It is well for you,” he said turning to the old man, “that it was not worse. Go get some rest now, Thomas. You deserve it after all you have done to help me. I will see you in the morning before we leave.”
Simon Foster said nothing as the door closed. He did not appear to be too concerned about the trip to Caernarfon the next day or Noble’s anger about the treatment of his horse. He did not object when Noble tied his hand back to the headboard, but merely closed his eyes and went back to sleep. Or pretended to go to sleep. Noble looked at him suspiciously. He did not trust Simon Foster. Not one little bit.
He moved his chair over to the door. He would sleep inside the room, rather than on the landing as he had the other day. Foster may be desperate enough to try to get out the window this time. The only way to make sure that didn’t happen was to stay where he could watch him all night. He put the chair tightly against the door. No one would get in or out of the room tonight without waking him.
He settled into the chair with a sigh. He would be glad to get back to Caernarfon. To be able to take off his boots and sleep in a real bed again—ah! For tonight he could only dream of that! And better to dream of home and bed than of wolves—even a mysterious white wolf!
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CHAPTER EIGHT
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The Wolf
Noble woke suddenly. It was dark in the room except for a patch of light reflecting from the snow outside the window. He had heard something. He looked toward the bed. Foster was still there, he saw in the dim light, tied to the bed. What was it that had wakened him? Suddenly he heard it again. Foster groaned. A trick, Noble thought. He didn’t believe for a minute that Foster was really sleeping, or that he was sick again, or having a nightmare, or whatever he was pretending his problem was.
Noble closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. Morning would be upon them in just another hour or so and he must be rested up enough to be able to get Simon Foster back to Caernarfon.
Another groan. Noble wanted to ignore it but he couldn’t. He looked once more toward the bed. Now in the pale light from the window he could see Foster’s left hand. Even from across the room it appeared to be purple and swollen. Noble stood and crossed the room. Was the rope too tight that bound his prisoner to the bed? No, he saw as he approached the bed. Foster’s hand was twisted somehow in the rope. It looked painful. No wonder the old man was groaning in his sleep.
Noble had just reached for the rope when suddenly the door crashed open, sending the chair he’d been sitting in just moments ago flying across the room. He scrambled for his sword as several men burst into the room, but before he could pull it from its scabbard Foster launched a kick at him. Noble fell back a step or two. The attack lasted only a second, but it was enough. Before Noble could regain his footing and face the intruders with his sword in hand, they were upon him.
He was outnumbered by three to one, all of them full-grown, muscular men. Noble did not have a chance against them. He found himself on the floor, surrounded by the men he had noticed earlier in the common room. One of them snatched his sword from him, while another pulled him up from the floor and tossed him into the chair. The third man was untying Foster from the bed. He brought the ropes over when he was done and tied Noble to the chair.
Foster got up, rubbing his wrists, and snarled at the men, “What took you so long? And what are you doing in Aber, anyway? You were supposed to meet me in Conwy.”
“Sorry, chief. We got caught in the snow and finally made it as far as Aber this morning. We sto
pped here at the inn for something to eat, and when we found out you had been here and the innkeeper expected you’d be back with this fellow we decided to wait.” The man with Noble’s sword waved it now under his nose.
Noble’s heart beat quickly, but he did not flinch. His eyes narrowed as he looked between Foster and the others. So—Foster did not work alone, after all. He seemed to be a part of this gang of men—their leader, in fact.
Noble was in trouble, to be sure, but at the moment his thoughts were not for himself. It was quiet in the inn. Too quiet. Where was Master Locke? What had happened to Thomas? Surely they must have heard the door crashing open, heard the scuffle as Foster’s men had taken him down. Were they hiding, or had something happened to them?
Now he spoke up. “Where is the innkeeper?” he asked.
“Never you mind!” the man with the sword said. “We took care of him. There’s no one left in the inn that can help you now.” The men laughed; all except Foster, that is, who was still scowling. “The townspeople went home and left only Master Locke’s guests here. That is you and us, my fine young knight!”
Noble feared for the friendly innkeeper. He still did not know what had happened to him. But he had noticed something else. There was no mention of Thomas. Could it be that he had escaped? Noble could only pray that it was so. Foster had not asked about the boy. Noble hoped he would not. If the men had somehow overlooked the innkeeper’s son, he did not want him now brought to their attention.
He changed the subject quickly. “What do you want? Other than helping Simon Foster to escape, that is?”
“That, too, is none of your business, Sir Noble!” Foster spat out. “You come sticking your nose in where it does not belong, and asking questions! You shall find out soon enough! For now my men and I have plans to make. We are here in Aber now and we may as well take advantage of it!” He turned to his men. “He is tied securely? Then come downstairs. We have much to discuss before morning. Where are the others, Grimes?”
Winter of the White Wolf (Noble Heart Book 4) Page 5