Silverhawk

by Bettis, Barbara

  It was as if she’d awakened from a long sleep. What on earth had she been thinking these past days? Rescue. Escape. But not the reason for her abduction. He had given some excuse about danger, but she knew he lied.

  Judging from what he asked Annie and the other woman earlier, Sir Giles sought someone. That didn’t make sense. If he intended to join a group of men, would he saddle himself with a female? Perhaps he meant to hold her for ransom, had lied to her all along.

  But perhaps the men he trailed worked with him, and they were to join forces. That made sense. Everyone knew mercenaries didn’t travel alone. Still that didn’t explain his friendship with Lord Henry, who was known to be close to the king.

  Friends of the king. Perhaps they were part of the plan to thwart the Scots after all.

  No, then Lord Henry and he would be together. They would not have bothered with her. Why her?

  “Why me?”

  He didn’t answer, didn’t bother with a glance. They’d arrived at the stream, and he pulled her to the water.

  “Wash your hands in there. They’ll feel better. I have an ointment that will help with the scrapes.”

  Very well. He’d talk sooner or later, Emelin could almost guarantee it. If he were like every other man, he’d have to boast of his accomplishments eventually.

  ****

  Giles secured the horses and walked upstream a few paces. For a sharp-minded lady, Emelin was too obvious. Did she not realize he understood some of the native language? Of course, that was thanks to the poor Crusader he had rescued two years ago.

  Good man. Bad injuries. The monks at St. Anselm saved his life, but the knight gave credit to Giles. Credit and English lessons on the occasions Giles stopped to visit. Except for Lord Henry, this Sir Stephen was the only Englishman he trusted. And Giles wasn’t too certain of Lord Henry.

  Thanks to Stephen, he knew enough to recognize much of what Emelin said to Annie. Give a message to those who followed, indeed. If he hadn’t seen the scraped hands, he would wonder if she’d fallen a’purpose to delay them.

  He pursed his lips as he recalled the look she’d thrown him, assessing, cautious. Devious wench. One side of his mouth curved upward. They’d make better time if she stopped trying to subvert him. Should he tell her the exact threat she faced from Langley and her brother?

  She would not believe him. The lady might like his kisses, might want the feel of his body pressed to hers, but she didn’t trust him. A twitch prompted him to slap his hand against his cheek. Damned beard. Always made his face itch. At the loud sound, her head swiveled around. She smiled in obvious enjoyment of his discomfort.

  The stream was loaded with fish and in a flash, Giles had knocked a pair onto the bank. Two would have to do; the rest had darted away. He had them cleaned and rinsed in cold water before Emelin had gathered enough twigs for a fire. Threading the fish on sticks, he set them to cook.

  When he offered ointment for her hands, she refused. And when he gathered the water skins and headed for the stream again, she was right beside him.

  As they walked, he mapped out a plan in his mind. It was likely this Paxton would try to enlist more support if he stopped at Granville Castle, so that’s where Giles would head.

  Emelin would have to come along. They must be too far from Chauvere, and he had no time now to locate another safe place to stash her.

  Left to her own devices, she would bolt back to the heart of danger. He couldn’t interrupt this mission to chase after her again. Right now, she was too tired to make an attempt. He wished they could stop longer, but there was little time. Once at Granville she could rest.

  The men he trailed had been at Annie’s cottage night before last. They moved slower than he expected. Given when they’d left Langley Castle, the party should be farther ahead.

  Perhaps they meant to visit every holding to rally support for an attack. If the king’s man thought an invasion of Scots was possible, he might alert the lords as he traveled north.

  That story seemed reasonable. Yet why not notify those places along the route to Scotland, rather than go out of his way to contact others? That delayed what should be an urgent mission. Instinct warned of another factor at work. And Giles never doubted his instinct.

  They ate in silence. Now and then, Emelin threw him fulminating glances. At last she spoke. “Why are you doing this?”

  He sighed. Very well, he’d tell her. “You are not safe at Langley.”

  She made a sound suspiciously like a snort. “You said that before and I told you, Sir Osbert is not a threat. He is desperate for an heir. He wouldn’t destroy a chance for one by harming me. My brother,” she paused briefly, “my brother has too much invested to allow any danger to befall me.”

  “And what if your brother is the very one who would harm you?” Giles’ voice was deadly calm.

  “That you’ll never convince me of.” Emelin sat straight, at once serious. “A plot against me? You must have misunderstood what you heard.”

  She glanced down at herself with a rueful smile. “Until a few days ago, I lived at a convent. I had not even a bride’s portion. The only value I have is to my brother and to my betrothed. Each wants something from me. It’s doesn’t make sense either would want to hurt me.”

  The words were matter-of-fact, but sadness lurked around her eyes.

  “You have value to yourself.” Could she not see that?

  She considered his words. “Yes,” she said in surprise. Her chin notched up. “I do. I had made a place for myself at St. Ursula. I was learning many things there. The nuns made lace and embroidery, and I—”

  “You make lace?” Giles interrupted. He couldn’t see her sitting calmly, weaving tiny threads into intricate designs. That required more patience than she had yet demonstrated.

  “Not exactly.” Emelin wiped her fingers on the grass beside them; her nose wrinkled. “I was learning the business of it.” She looked up, head tilted to one side. “I assisted Mother Gertrude. I took orders for the handwork, delivered them, and collected proceeds. I did well.”

  He understood her pride. Still, her confidence in herself didn’t change her brother’s plan. Sir Osbert must be a party to it. Thus, she wasn’t safe with either man.

  He surged to his feet. “We must start if we’re to make Granville Castle by tomorrow.”

  One more night on the road. He tensed at the thought. Not that he feared another escape attempt. Now that she knew both Garley and Lord Osbert posed a danger, he assumed she’d stay close. He hated the thought of the sleeping arrangements.

  He hardened at the notion of her soft body against his. Damnation. Being honorable was a pain in the arse. With a disgusted grunt, Giles tossed Emelin onto the mare’s back and shoved the reins at her.

  The road was well traveled, and they were able to ride long past nightfall with no difficulty. Last night’s storm had not reached this far north, so there was no problem with mud and puddles.

  Finally, he called a halt and directed the horses well off the road into a stand of trees.

  As he settled the animals, his wariness returned. The air had a sharp edge. They’d need to share blankets again. How would she react to that news?

  He glanced toward his prickly lady. The bright light of the moon revealed her kneeling in front of a flat rock where she’d placed the food bag, her gown drawn tight around her firm backside.

  He flinched. He needed rest, but with those curved hips nestled against him, he’d never sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Emelin lay immobile, alert to any change in the man beside her. This night, she had wrapped up in her blanket. No chance his body would warm hers as it had before. A soft rumble reached her ears. At last. A weakness. This dangerous, all-too-appealing knight snored.

  The sound was endearing. She longed to gather him in her arms, brush the long strands of soft, midnight hair from his high forehead. It was not wise. The rescue party was near.

  Occasionally through the day, she’d he
ard voices in the distance. Now the noises seemed nearer, to the southeast. She could steal away, intercept them before they stumbled upon camp.

  Slowly, quietly, her body levered up. On her knees, she paused to study him. Silverhawk. Tenderness washed through her. How had he come by that name?

  Watery moonlight bathed his face, skimmed over dark-as-night brows that could pull together in a fierce glance to weaken her knees. His wide, firm mouth was closed. Emelin imagined those beautifully formed lips touching hers. Perhaps all mouths were a perfect fit. She’d never kissed another man, so she didn’t know. Surely they must. Mouths were mouths.

  She sighed. How she could be so drawn to this stranger was a mystery. At times she felt she’d known him forever. Once she’d surprised a look of yearning on his face while he gazed around, as if he sought something just out of reach. That expression touched her.

  When he spoke of his early life, she sensed the lonely child he must have been. No family. Alone. She knew the feeling well. Perhaps that was their connection.

  Heat from his body radiated through the tightly wrapped blanket. Her eyes closed for an instant as she reveled in the sensation. Here beside this man felt comfortable, safe. Right. But it wasn’t. She had to be realistic. She must escape, return to her betrothed. And to the child. How could she forget that little girl?

  Why had no one caught up to them yet? Surely the trail wasn’t that impossible to follow, especially as Annie knew their destination.

  There. Her head jerked around. The sound of voices.

  Now was the time to leave. If the men discovered them, Giles was doomed. Fearsome warrior he might be, but he would have no chance against so many. When she returned to Langley, she would insist her abductor had fled to avoid retribution.

  She grimaced. Silverhawk wouldn’t appreciate the name of coward. Still, rogue that he was, Emelin didn’t want him hurt. He believed her in danger, had acted out of good intention.

  Again a sound wafted to her. Time to go. No horse for this escape. The voices were close enough she could find the men on foot.

  This time she took a blanket. And never thought of a rock to the sleeping man’s head.

  When their small camp was out of sight, she exhaled noiselessly. Clutching the warm blanket around her shoulders, she sped in the direction of the voices.

  Once, she stopped to listen. An acrid odor of burning wood rode the air. But no sound. Fear flared in her breast.

  Then on the next breath, it was there. A man’s voice just ahead. At last. Tears bleared her eyes.

  “Garley,” she called, dashing forward. “Lord Osbert?” Emelin rounded a low bush and halted at the edge of a large clearing where three men dressed in rough tunics sat beside a small fire. None was Garley nor her betrothed.

  “Well, well. Look who come to visit.” The men turned to stare.

  Her stomach quailed, but she stepped forward, her voice even. “Is Lord Osbert nearby? Can you take me to him?”

  The trio laughed, and the one nearest her rose.

  “Lord Osbert? Now what would you want with him when we’re right here?” With a leer, he lumbered toward her. Emelin recognized him. He’d been at Langley. Was he a guard? From the look of his dirty face and stained clothes he hadn’t bathed in months.

  “You must be searching for me,” she said. Perhaps they didn’t know her. Her appearance had likely altered during her ordeal. “I’m Lady Emelin. I was abducted from Langley two days ago. Lord Osbert and my brother, Sir Garley, must have sent you to find me.”

  His small-as-currants eyes squinted, and he nodded. With each of his steps forward, she eased back. And smacked up against a tree trunk.

  “Lady Emelin, a’ course. Glad you could join us.” He grabbed her wrist and hauled her close, then cinched an arm around her waist. She nearly choked from his rancid smell of rotten teeth, wood smoke, and filthy body.

  An attempt to wrench free failed. This had been a mistake. They hadn’t been sent to look for her. Emelin struggled again, a kick connecting with his ankle. One arm flailed out to whack his face.

  “Damned wench.” He grabbed the arm, twisted it behind her. With his free hand, he smacked the side of her head. “Stop that.”

  Black spots danced before her eyes; her head rang. She couldn’t get purchase with her feet as he dragged her toward the fire. He shoved, and she landed on her stomach in the dirt. Again. She was getting mighty tired of falling flat.

  The ruffian closest to her guffawed and reached out. “Here. Let me help.” A rough hand jerked the blanket from her shoulders, tossed it to the side, then grasped her upper arm and lugged her up. She felt a frisson of fear—soon wiped out by anger. This man looked familiar, as well.

  Were these three outlaws? No, she had seen them before, but she couldn’t recall where around the castle they’d been. She gulped and struggled for her voice of command.

  “Take me to Lord Osbert. At once.” That hadn’t come out with the authority she hoped for. She tried again. “I will not mention your disrespect if you return me now.”

  One of the men pushed her hair from her face. “I seen her there,” he announced. “That’s the lord’s intended all right.” She wrenched her arm free and turned to find them eyeing her.

  “What are you doing out here, then?” asked currant-eyes, who seemed to be the leader. “Not following us, are you?”

  “I told you, I was kidnapped. Why else would I be miles away from my home?” She hoped she sounded more rational than she felt. “If you are not searching for me, then I ask that you see me back to Langley. Lord Osbert will offer a reward for my safe return, you may be certain.”

  The three exchanged glances, then the leader stepped forward, an intent look on his face. “You say you was kidnapped. Who? Where is he?”

  Emelin thought fast. If they knew Giles camped near, they might attack him. He had been wrong to take her, but she didn’t want him hurt.

  She lifted her head. “My kidnapper set me free, just before dark. Said I wasn’t worth the ransom I’d bring, that my brother would kill him.”

  The outlaw sneered. “If someone took you from the castle to hold you for ransom, why would he come this far just to turn you loose? What did he look like?”

  Mary’s tears. She’d said the wrong thing. “He wasn’t tall, but he was big.” She gestured with her hands. “His hair was long, the color of straw.”

  The three looked at each other in surprise. “Sounds like Chester,” grumbled the one who’d pulled her up from the ground. “Can’t be though. He’s dead. Him and Louis and Red-Eye.”

  The leader swung toward Emelin. “Why did he turn you loose, did you say?” His soft, menacing voice sent a shudder down her spine. All right. That had not been a good story. What would they believe then? Her shoulders drooped, her head ducked.

  “I should have known I couldn’t fool you.” She sighed and glanced up in what she hoped was an apologetic manner. “I escaped from him when we stopped at midday.” She gestured toward the east, the opposite direction from their trail. “I’ve been running and hiding ever since.”

  He smirked. “That sounds more like it.” The other two moved closer. Emelin fought the urge to recoil. It wouldn’t be wise to show fear. The leader nodded to the side, and the men stepped out of earshot. She could hear the murmur of voices as they talked.

  Please God, let them believe this story. If they would take her south for a few miles, surely the real rescuers would appear. A thought nibbled at her mind. Ruthlessly she squelched it. There must be a rescue party. It was just chance they’d not caught up to her yet.

  As she waited, she searched her memory. Why couldn’t she identify this trio? Where exactly in the keep had she seen them? She looked up at the sound of their footsteps.

  The moment she glimpsed the leader’s face, she remembered. These were the three who’d clomped into the hall in the wake of the king’s man. Warily, she straightened.

  “We decided to take you with us,” the leader announced as
the other two gathered their belongings. “Might be wise to go now, not wait for the light. You ride with Jem, here.”

  Once they all mounted, they set out north, the way she and Giles had been heading.

  “Wait,” Emelin called. “That’s the wrong direction. Langley is behind us.”

  “Oh, we won’t be going to Langley, my lady.” The others sniggered. “We’ll take you to Lord Paxton. He’ll know where you belong.”

  An arm squeezed her waist. “That’s right, sweetmeat,” murmured the one behind her. “You just come along with us. We’ll treat you right.” With a suggestive thrust of his hips, he chortled and flicked the reins.

  ****

  “Satan’s balls!” She was gone. Giles slung the blankets aside and leaped to his feet. He couldn’t say what had awakened him, but he’d known before his eyes flew open that he was alone. He donned boots and saddled the horse, castigating himself all the while. How could he have once more underestimated this not-so-meek and mild convent maiden?

  Giles strapped on his sword, stowed a dagger on the inside of his left boot, and grabbed the reins of both horses. Finding Emelin should be easy this time. Her path was marked with a broken twig here, a bush disturbed there. Fallen leaves had been pushed aside in her trek.

  He hadn’t thought she heard the faint voices earlier in the day. She must have. It was not a search party from Langley, he would bet on it. The two of them had traveled too quickly, and their path had been obliterated by the storm.

  After they stopped for the night, he’d thought to scout the area. But he rejected the idea of leaving her alone. He’d told himself the sounds came from travelers, headed toward the next village.

  Now he regretted his decision as he tracked her path. It stopped at a clump of brush. Dirt was churned up where he halted. What appeared to be drag marks led toward a still-smoldering fire. She’d been discovered and forced forward.

  His stomach clenched as he approached a cluster of rocks arranged in the center of the large clearing. Three men, from the looks of it. Giles followed indistinct boot prints and there, a smaller scuff. Emelin’s slipper. Here’s where they mounted three horses. One took her before him, then.