Who attacked them?
And why?
What had Lady Eudaline told Radegunde—or what was in the book she had surrendered? Too late, Duncan wished they had discussed the visit more, that he might know the tidings sent by the lady as well. Still, he could not regret the sweet hours they had spent together. He raced through the undergrowth, Radegunde’s hand fast in his own, then leaped across a stream.
Radegunde gave a little cry as she stumbled. She valiantly tried to match his pace, but Duncan did not waste a moment. He cursed himself for not recalling her weakened foot. Without hesitation, he scooped her up onto his back, as one would play with a child, and ran on.
“Duncan, you cannot carry me!” she protested.
“I can and I will.”
“But I am too heavy.”
“As light as a feather. Hold fast!” He felt the trickle of blood from his recent injury and cursed that the wound was opened again. Radegunde quickly perceived the reason for his exclamation.
“You bleed anew! Put me down!”
“Press on the wound, lass,” he instructed through his teeth. “We shall only survive this together.”
“Stubborn man,” she chided softly, though she did as instructed. “You could save yourself without me.”
“To what point?” Duncan leaped over a fallen log, hearing the other man close behind him.
“You were the one attacked the other night. Perhaps he hunts you.”
“Perhaps it is not the same man,” he argued. “Perhaps it is but an outcast in the woods.”
“There are not so many at Valeroy.”
He spared her a glance, knowing he had to say what was obvious to him. “He might have watched us, lass. He may want to sample the feast I have savored.”
Radegunde caught her breath and clutched him more tightly.
“I will not leave you behind, lass, upon that you can rely.”
She pressed a kiss to the back of his neck and hung on, her forehead against his shoulder. The flat of her hand was pressed against his injury and he could nigh feel her will that they should succeed.
He knew not where he fled, for this forest was unfamiliar to him. It looked the same in every direction, as strange forests will, and he did not know which way to turn. In the moment when he might have feared their fate, Duncan glimpsed the shadow ahead of him in the dappled light of the forest.
Another man?
One who ran ahead of them?
Duncan was not whimsical so he watched for another glimpse. The figure ahead was large, that of a tall and robustly built man. He moved in silence, unlike the assailant behind them, seeming to flit from one shadow to another. But whenever he was in view, he beckoned to Duncan.
Why?
Could he be trusted?
Duncan thought of Mathilde’s comment about the wild man of the woods and decided he had naught to lose.
He followed the direction suggested by the shadow ahead, hoping he chose aright.
* * *
Duncan ran like a hare. Radegunde held fast to his shoulders, unable to resist the urge to glance back. She caught glimpses of the man who pursued them, but could not discern his features. The light was already fading and the shadows in the forest were becoming darker. Who was he and why did he attack them?
And where did Duncan take them? Even she did not know these forests well, and she had come of age at Valeroy. Duncan took a decisive path, as if he had a destination, and she could only wonder where it might be.
Radegunde hoped it was close. She could feel Duncan’s heart racing and the blood seeping from his wound. His breath came more quickly and there was dampness on his skin. She was about to ask him when he emerged abruptly from the shelter of the forest.
She heard falling water in the same moment that Duncan caught his breath and tried to halt. A hand reached out of the shadows and hauled Duncan to one side of the path he had taken.
Another hand clapped over Radegunde’s mouth. She smelled forest and earth and a man’s perspiration. She and Duncan were held fast by a man who was taller than Duncan, and who had his back to a massive tree.
Just steps ahead of them, the ground dropped away. A river splashed on the left, flowing down to a pool below. The lip of the cliff was hidden by undergrowth and Radegunde gasped that they had so narrowly missed such a fall.
Had the hand not seized Duncan, she and he would have gone over the lip.
Radegunde had a moment to wonder whether they had leaped from fat to fire before the man who had pursued them emerged from the forest, just steps away from them. Unlike Duncan, he raced over the cliff, bellowed in frustration, then fell to the pool.
He wore plaid, much like Duncan, though Radegunde noted that his legs were not nearly so fine.
“And so your past has pursued you, Duncan MacDonald, all the way from Scotland,” the tall man said gruffly, then released them both. He pushed Duncan slightly forward, and Radegunde peered down at the pool just as Duncan did. Far below, their assailant came to the surface and glared up at them, shouting a curse. “Look at your enemy and name him!” the tall man insisted.
But Duncan shook his head. “I have never seen him before,” he said, but Radegunde heard the consideration in his tone.
“But you know from whence he came,” she guessed and Duncan sighed.
“Aye, lass, that I do.” He turned to confront the tall man, offering his hand. “I thank you for your intervention.”
The man who had aided them was tanned to the hue of dark wood. There was mire on his face and his hair was long and untended. His beard was long and matted, too, his mustache so long that she could scarce see his mouth. His garb was so dirty that Radegunde could never have guessed its original hue, and he had the pelt of some creature belted around his waist. His eyes were dark and his gaze so piercing that she had a sense he was no fool.
He looked at Duncan’s hand and she thought she glimpsed the flash of his teeth. “And I thank you for treating my sole daughter with honor,” he said, turning that gaze upon Radegunde.
She gasped in astonishment and would have retreated if her foot had not been injured again. “You are mistaken. My father is dead!”
“Your father is an outcast,” the man corrected.
“The wild man of the woods,” Duncan added, evidently unsurprised. “I have a message for you from Mathilde.”
The man gave Duncan a quick glance, then bent before them. “Let me look at that foot, Radegunde,” he murmured. “We saw it healed once before, and we can do as much again.” And when he looked up at her this time, Radegunde did not see a filthy outcast from the forest. She saw the familiarity of her father’s eyes, his gentleness and his compassion, and she was embarrassed to find herself weeping like a child.
Chapter Eleven
The wild man of the woods carried Radegunde easily, as if she were yet a small child.
He also covered distance with fearsome speed. Duncan was hard-pressed to keep up with Radegunde’s father and admired how silently the other man could move through the forest. His ragged garb was such that he blended into the trees, and Duncan feared to fall too far behind him lest he be lost.
Radegunde clutched her father and peered over his shoulder.
Her father followed a path that only he could discern, their route winding downward and taking many twists and turns. Duncan kept up as well as he could, though his boots slipped more than once on the wet plants underfoot. He was panting but dared not slow his path and lose sight of his Radegunde.
Even as he ran, Duncan puzzled over the attacker’s identity. Twice he had been attacked in days, and this time, it could have been Radegunde who paid the price. The notion that she could be injured, or worse, because of him was more than sobering.
It was terrifying.
Who had the assailant been? Duncan had not recognized him. Could Radegunde’s father be right, that his past had followed him? Certainly the attacker had worn the plaid, but there were Scottish mercenaries aplenty in France. He
had drunk ale with dozens of them in Paris.
But who would have hired a man to attack Duncan? He possessed naught of value himself, and he could not believe that his own history had caught up with him now, after so many years of silence. His father knew he wanted naught of him and should be content to let the matter be.
It had been years, after all.
Duncan felt the blood running from his shoulder wound and trickling over his chest. The wet warmth was a potent reminder of the risk posed by the attacker. Why would any seek to kill him?
Perhaps this concerned Fergus and his father. Perhaps some soul wished to do injury to Fergus and perceived Duncan as an obstacle—rightly so, to Duncan’s thinking. He would willingly lay down his life for his patron’s son. That was why he had been dispatched to accompany the younger man, after all.
But who? And why? Yet again, Duncan considered his sense that Fergus’ regard for his betrothed was not returned in equal strength, but Isobel had only to deny Fergus to see the engagement ended. She did not need to see him killed, and truly, if there had ever been any fondness between them, such an extreme strategy made little sense. Duncan did not like her or trust her, but he did not think her wicked.
Or perhaps it was about the reliquary. Duncan had been entrusted with its burden after their departure from Paris, after all. The notion chilled his heart. Perhaps Everard had evaded Wulfe and survived to seek the treasure again.
Perhaps Wulfe had been injured or killed.
Duncan had to warn Gaston!
Yet he was in the forest, without a horse, chasing the wild man of the woods to a destination unknown. What was more, that man set a killing pace. On a steep slope, Duncan slipped and fell, wincing as he hit the rocky ground hard. He slid on the wet vegetation, then came to a halt, his hands braced against the ground. He was covered in mire.
And he was alone.
The other man had vanished as if he had been gobbled up by the forest. Duncan remained motionless and listened, but could discern no sound. He stood slowly and turned in place, quietly panicking.
Nay! She could not be gone!
“Here!” Radegunde said, her whisper carrying through the shadows. “This way!”
Relief surged through Duncan.
He still could not spy the pair, but he followed the sound of Radegunde’s voice, stepping with care. He crossed a shallow stream, noting the sequence of rocks that appeared to be strewn randomly in the water but made a crooked line of stepping stones at precisely the distance of a man’s stride. He reached the other bank and confronted dense forest growth and a wall of vines. Their winding course must have led to the bottom of a cliff.
“Here!” Radegunde whispered, and Duncan saw her hand extend through the thick layer of vines. When he approached, he realized that in this one place, the growth was a curtain.
Disguising the opening to a cave.
Radegunde was seated just inside the refuge and greeted him with a smile. Duncan peered into the darkness lit by a beam of sunlight. There must be an opening that wound to the top of the cliff. The silhouette of Radegunde’s father appeared, as that man returned to the opening, He carried a length of braided rope.
“I will try to retrieve the horses,” he said gruffly, sparing a concerned glance at Radegunde. “You can light a fire safely on the hearth.”
Then he was gone.
There was a haste about his departure that might have made Duncan doubt their welcome, had the man not brought them to the cave himself. He and Radegunde exchanged a glance and she took a steadying breath.
“Is it broken?” Duncan crouched before her and checked the bone.
“I hope not.” She bit her lip and watched as he gently touched and moved it.
“I think it is but a strain.”
“Aye. It does not click and is tender but not as sore as that.” She heaved a sigh and made to tear a length of cloth from the hem of her chemise. “If it is bound, it should not swell overmuch.”
Duncan smiled.
“And this amuses you?” she demanded in a teasing tone.
“I like that you are pragmatic, my Radegunde. Many a woman would have wept inconsolably, but you simply see the matter resolved as well as you can.”
“Which is not well enough. I will not be able to walk for several days, and not until the morrow even with assistance.” She spared him a grim glance. “And you are hunted.”
“We do not know as much,” Duncan demurred, but Radegunde scoffed.
“You would wait until you are dead to be sure of the matter?” She shook her head as she knotted the cloth. “Not I. You are hunted, Duncan, and we must discover why to ensure that your attacker is not successful on his third attempt.”
“I would simply dispatch him first.”
“And without knowing the cause, open yourself to assault by a replacement.” Radegunde shook her head, then shivered. “Nay, we must figure out the truth.”
“But first you must be warmed.” Duncan surveyed the space. The cave was clearly the abode of her father, and he had mentioned a hearth. Duncan lifted Radegunde and carried her toward that beam of light. The path toward it was uneven and convoluted, dipping down to the roughly circular space. Duncan felt he descended a number of steps to the roughly circular space that was marked in its middle with ash. He looked back but could not clearly see the opening from the forest, not without peering over the highest “step.”
The light slanted into the cave from a gap in the rock that extended high above them. The cave was not without some comfort—beyond the welcome one of relief from the elements and being a secret refuge. There was wood for the fire stacked dry against one wall, a metal box with a flint, and bags hanging from makeshift hooks, wrought of sticks jammed into gaps in the stone. Radegunde explored them while Duncan lit a blaze and he saw her choose one. There was an iron tripod to place over the fire and a sturdy if plain pot. The space was soon warm and filled with golden light. There were pelts piled at one side, and he stacked them to ensure Radegunde’s comfort.
“There is a vessel of water,” she said. “And the bags contain dried herbs.” She held up the one she had chosen. “If you can heat some water, we can have an infusion from this one, which I remember well. It is most restorative.”
“And it will be good to have warmth in the belly,” Duncan agreed, wanting to ensure her comfort. He found a bowl, which would suffice for them to share this tisane.
He set the water to heat as she instructed, then sat beside her. He might have asked about her ankle, but Radegunde insisted upon seeing his own injury. When she had cleaned it and halted the bleeding to her satisfaction, he realized that she had matters of greater import to discuss.
“Who would desire to kill you?” she demanded quietly.
Duncan chose not to burden her with the tale of his own past, as he thought it irrelevant. “What if my faith that Wulfe would see Everard dispatched was wrong?”
Radegunde caught her breath. “Because you carried the relic from Paris.”
“Aye.”
“But you do not carry it now.”
Duncan shrugged. “He might not know it. He might have seen my leaving Valeroy with you alone as an opportunity.”
Radegunde considered this. “But you did not have it when you came to my mother’s abode either.”
“Perhaps he seeks to ensure it is granted to another, one he could defeat more readily.”
Radegunde shook her head. “It is too complicated a scheme. If he wanted the relic, he would attack you while you carried it.”
“He could have erred.”
She fixed an intent look upon him. “Or there could be another reason, one you decline to share with me.”
Duncan smiled. “I did wonder whether it concerned my protection of Lord Fergus.”
“Because eliminating you would make him more vulnerable.” Radegunde considered this. “But who would wish him dead?”
“I cannot say.”
“You will not say.” She granted h
im a stern glance. “There is more to this than you are telling, Duncan MacDonald, and you had best seize the opportunity to confide in me while still you can.”
He claimed her hand and kissed her palm, closing her fingers over the warm imprint. “I would warn Gaston and confer with Fergus first.”
“Because I am a woman?” she asked, her opinion of that clear.
“Because I would not create concern where none is deserved.”
“I say it is well deserved when you have been twice attacked.” Her eyes were flashing with a determination that was rapidly becoming familiar. “Must I remind you that we are pledged each to the other now, Duncan?”
“Nay, but I would remind you that our vow makes your protection my responsibility.” She looked unwilling to abandon the discussion, but the water in the pot was steaming. He rose and poured some into the bowl, letting her mix the herbs within it. The scent alone was restorative, being both fruity and sharp.
“You first. You have bled this day,” she instructed and it was clear she would have no argument.
Duncan sipped the hot liquid under her watchful eye and by the time it had cooled to a good temperature for drinking, she consented to have some herself. He granted her the bowl and she sipped with real pleasure.
“I know that you are accustomed to keeping your counsel to yourself, Duncan,” she said finally. “But that undermines the full power of a match.”
“As Gaston discovered when he failed to trust his lady with all of the truth,” he continued, anticipating her argument. “I understand your meaning, Radegunde, but am uncertain what else I might confide.”
She studied him so intently that he wondered whether he should tell her of his father. But then he dismissed the notion. It had been twenty years! They were estranged and the matter was done. He spared her a glance and her gaze dropped.
“You knew my father lived,” she said softly. Duncan heard the implication that he had not confided in her, even without Radegunde saying as much, and knew he had to defend his actions.
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