by Shea,Lisa
She shuddered for a moment, then looked back up at her brother. “The third man, I think he was truly crazy.” She looked around her, scanning the crowd. “Is he here?”
Reynald snapped back to an alert status. “I do not know. We need to get you all back to safety.” He escorted his sister and the other women toward the larger group of soldiers.
Gertrude nodded complacently to her son, looking with satisfaction at the released prisoners. “What else is in that cave?”
Charles did not hesitate. “Ralph, bring out the chest,” he ordered one of his men. Sarah turned, realizing in surprise that the young man he called to was Dorrie’s younger brother. A few moments passed before Ralph and another man moved into the main clearing, carrying a trunk between them. Opening the lid, Charles revealed a pair of canvas bags.
With a heft, he pulled out one of the bags, then reclosed the lid and motioned to the soldiers. “This trunk now holds what was taken from the wanderer’s camp,” he informed them. “Find a way to carry this along with you.”
Turning, he called out to his men, who by this point had gathered at the base of the cliff. “I know that you joined with me because of my promise to live with you freely in the woods,” he informed them. “I will no longer make this trip with you, but I wish you peace, whether you do choose to form your own village or whether you find other paths in life.”
He pulled open the bag, revealing a collection of coins. “This is what remains of what Bruce took from the Holy Land. Each of you come forward and take a share, if you can tell me truthfully that you will use it to seek a life of peace.”
One by one the men stepped forward and talked quietly with Charles. The Templar clasped each man’s hand in farewell. When Ralph had taken his share, he moved over to stand with Walter, the two engaging in a long conversation.
Reynald watched over the process with careful attention, motioning to his men to gather up the women and children onto their horses.
A sense of relief swept over Sarah. It was done. The situation had been defused without any bloodshed. Abigail had been rescued, and the baby was safe. Sarah would take the time to look over each hostage once they had retreated from the camp, but she understood Reynald’s desire to get the innocents to safety first.
She helped one of the younger boys up to sit before Cedric, then turned to see if anybody else needed assistance. Most of the women and children were now mounted with a soldier. Walter and Ralph sat side by side on their steeds, their eyes scanning the forest. Reynald was standing to one side, watching the motley crew of bowmen gather up belongings and prepare to make their ways back to their homes. Charles was slowly walking with his mother, holding her hand as he escorted her back to her steed.
As Sarah watched them go, she saw a small object shake loose and fall to the forest floor. It was the wooden dove Gertrude wore at her chest. Sarah skipped over to pick up the small item, then reached forward to catch up with Gertrude and Charles.
“You have dropped something,” she called out with a smile.
Someone punched her, hard, in the back, the force spinning her half around. She took a deep inhale in shock, the wind knocked out of her.
Who?
What?
Her front felt … funny.
She looked down.
A barbed arrowhead was protruding from her lower left belly, just above her hip.
She stared at it in confusion. It certainly didn’t belong there. The world seemed to slow around her. There was no pain from the wound. It just glistened in the sunshine, a red ooze beginning to leak out around it.
This was going to hurt. It was going to hurt a lot, and the pain would be starting any moment now. Maybe it would be a good idea to faint first.
When the world began to spin, Sarah did not resist. She let herself spiral deep into the blackness.
* * *
Reynald was assisting his sister onto a horse when Ethan came up to him, motioning his head up into the hills beyond the camp. Reynald turned at once, carefully scanning the area. It did seem like there was a movement … beyond a stand of birches …
Suddenly, Denis stepped out from the woods, bow in hand. In one smooth movement he had nocked an arrow and raised the feathers to his cheek. Reynald spun his head to follow the direction of the aim.
Denis had drawn a bead on Gertrude’s back.
Reynald raced forward, calling out the alarm. To his horror, he saw that Sarah was also moving in Gertrude’s direction.
“Sarah!”
His feet flew in a flat-out sprint.
Something flashed across the clearing, and Sarah was spun around by the force of the impact, the arrow impaling her through her left side. It seemed that she was suspended upright for a moment, then she crumpled to the ground in a limp heap.
The clearing erupted in chaos, with soldiers diving for cover and the newly released men taking up arms. Reynald flung himself over Sarah’s body, covering her with his own, and he saw Charles move to shield his mother.
Reynald turned to look up into the hills – but the area was quiet. Denis had vanished into the treeline.
Walter’s voice called out in an echoing challenge. “A reward of fifty pounds for whoever brings me in Denis – dead or alive!”
There was a cry of approval from Charles’s men, and immediately a swarm of pursuers headed high into the hills, scrambling through the briars and bushes. In a few moments only the soldiers and rescued hostages remained in the camp area.
Reynald looked down at Sarah. Her face was pale, and her eyes were closed. Gertrude appeared without a word at his side with a wad of cloth, and he pressed it down around the front of the wound, making a dam to hold in the blood.
“Sarah, hang on,” he hoarsely pleaded to her while he worked.
Her eyes fluttered open at his voice. They slowly regained focus. The word was a croak. “Abigail?”
“They are all fine,” reassured Reynald as he made the bandage firm. “Nobody was hit but you.”
Sarah looked up with serious attention into Reynald’s eyes. Her voice was losing strength. “Bad?”
Reynald pursed his lips, then nodded. She deserved honesty. “Yes, it is bad. We need to get you back to the keep immediately.” He stroked her face gently, gazing into her eyes. “You need to focus on me, on my voice. Save your strength.”
Sarah took in a deep, shuddering breath, then marshaled her energy. “Rachel. I must … forgive Rachel ...”
Reynald ran a hand across her forehead, resting his fingers against her face. “Yes, you will be able to forgive Rachel. I will bring you to her. You just hang on.”
Sarah weakly nodded, then lay back, her eyes falling closed again.
Reynald gathered her up in his arms, calling for Sarah’s horse. Walter quickly brought it over, his eyes creased with concern.
“Are you sure you do not want my mount, or your own?” he asked in confusion. “Surely either one is faster.”
Reynald shook his head. “As a wise woman once told me, a steady horse is better than a fast horse when injuries are involved. The key is to go at the perfect combination of speed and smoothness – and this horse is a master.”
He raised Sarah up into the saddle, then quickly mounted behind her, holding her in place. He glanced around the clearing, taking in the situation.
Walter patted the horse on the neck. “We have this under control,” he promised. “We will be out of here in under five minutes, and with the chase underway after Denis, I do not see any problems at all. We will be right behind you. Now fly!”
Reynald needed no further prodding. He dug his heels into the steed’s sides, and they were in flight.
Chapter 22
Sarah lay muffled in a blinding white silence. Had she been trampled by an angry bull? Her entire body ached; some places presented stabbing pains, while others were slow, steady thunders. Her head throbbed. Even the light against her eyelids burned. She struggled to raise a hand to her face to block out the glare.
/> A flurry of noise and movement surrounded her, and the room went dark. She struggled to open her eyes, finding they were stuck shut. With some effort she was finally able to force them apart.
A number of faces peered down at her, presenting a mixture of concern and happiness. Between the darkness and lack of focus it was hard to make out shapes. She finally managed to identify her mother, Abigail, Gertrude, and Polly. Her mother took up a wet cloth, sliding it gently over her face to wipe away the sweat and dried tears.
“Oh Sarah, you are awake at last. Thank God,” she moaned. She spoke over her shoulder to Polly. “Run and wake her father; let him know the good news.”
Polly was gone from the room in a flash.
Once her mother had wiped her eyes, Sarah was able to focus more clearly. She saw was in her own room. The curtains had been pulled shut, blocking out the midday sunshine which still poked through the corners. Sarah looked again at the faces, at the level of concern shown on them. Had she been injured that badly?
She tried to speak; the barest whisper of a croak emerged. Her mother immediately brought over a mug of mead, bringing it to her lips. She took down one swallow with an effort, then two. Her throat slowly eased into motion.
“How … long?” she was finally able to gasp out.
Her mother nodded, brushing the hair back from her face with a tender hand. “You have been delirious for nearly two weeks,” she told her daughter. “The doctors were quite worried about you. I knew you would pull through, though. You are quite a fighter.”
Two weeks!
Sarah lay back against the pillow, her body aching in every extremity. Her mind went back to the attack, to lying on the ground, looking up at Reynald. He had carried her … she remembered moments of awareness, with the forest thundering by. He must have brought her first to Dorrie’s keep, and then to her own home.
Her eyes sought out her mother. She took a deep breath, wincing against the pain, and tried to formulate a new word.
“Reynald?”
Her mother shook her head, a frown forming. Behind her, Sarah saw the other women exchange worried glances.
“He is not here,” soothed her mother. “He is out.” She brought over the mug of mead again. “Here, drink some of this. Your father should be here soon.”
Sarah focused on the cup being brought to her lip. She willing her muscles to ease, fighting against the pain.
She pushed the worry from her mind. Of course Reynald was not here. Denis was still out there, apparently, and undoubtedly he was causing trouble. They had stirred up a hornet’s nest. Reynald was fighting to keep a fragile peace.
She pulled back from the mug, her thoughts muddled. If Reynald was out finding Denis, why was her father asleep? Was his leg still bothering him that much, that he was not organizing the strategy? Was there great danger in what Reynald was doing? Was that part of why everybody looked so concerned? Was it something about her injury?
She thought back again to when she had been wounded. The arrow had gone in near her hip. Hopefully nothing critical had been struck there. She was alive, after two weeks, and while she hurt a great deal, she could still wiggle her toes and fingers.
She remembered lying on the ground, looking up at Reynald. Her concern had been … what?
Rachel.
The tension in her eased. She had wanted to talk with Rachel, to apologize.
She looked back up at her mother again, her voice coming more surely this time. It still took an effort to put the breath behind the word.
“Rachel?”
This time, Sarah knew she was not imagining it. Her mother looked away from her, dropping her eyes. Her voice was low and strained. “She is not here,” she admitted, reaching for a different mug this time.
A bolt of fear shot through Sarah. For Reynald not to be by her side was one thing. There was a murderer on the loose who needed to be brought in. But for Rachel to be missing as well – and for her mother to be holding back from her …
Sarah pushed herself into a sitting position, causing the women in the room to draw forward, calling out in alarm. Her mother was there in an instant, raising the mug to her mouth.
“Where? Where?” insisted Sarah, her voice croaking in a harsh rasp. She could not help but drink the liquid being put to her lips, and the moment the thick liquid hit her throat, a strange lethargy overtook her.
No, she did not want to sleep. She wanted to know what was going on … but her body would not comply. Against her will, her eyelids eased shut, and she was drawn down into darkness.
* * *
Sarah’s eyes fluttered open. It was early morning, judging by how the light was gently filtering in through the window. The room was quiet, and her body drifted in a subdued sea, the pains and aches substantially lessened. Abigail sat to one side contentedly nursing her young child.
Abigail’s eyes brightened as she saw Sarah was awake, and she laid the child in a nearby basket before coming over with a mug. “Here, drink some mead.”
Sarah was thirsty, and she drunk gratefully from the mug before nodding her thanks.
“It is Monday the seventeenth of August,” offered Abigail without prompting, settling Sarah back down against the pillows. “You have been fading in and out of consciousness, but the doctors feel you are doing much better. We are all taking shifts now so that someone is here any time you wake up.”
Sarah nodded, her mind still fuzzy. Images of Reynald and Rachel floated through her mind, and after a few minutes they connected together. She remembered what had been said and implied during her last awakening, and her brow creased.
Surely she had misunderstood. Her sister was here; she had just been out on some chore the last time she had asked for her.
“Rachel?” she hoarsely rasped out, her heart hopeful.
Abigail flushed bright pink and looked away, out the window. “Your sister is not here,” she admitted. She looked back at Sarah, her face twisted in concern and hesitation. “Maybe I should fetch your mother. She is asleep, but I am sure – ”
Sarah held out her hand. “No,” she pleaded, her throat tight. She would not wake her mother in order to be told bad news. Not now … but still, she had to know at least some small part.
She motioned toward the mead, and Abigail promptly brought over the mug, helping her with a long swallow. Sarah felt sturdier with the warm liquid in her, and gathered her resources.
What did she really want to know? Her mind seemed to latch onto only one solution for this dilemma. It was the only explanation which made sense to her scattered mind. Her throat was still in agony, but she fought to form her query with the few words she could manage.
Her voice came harsh and low. “Reynald … chased after her?”
It was too late to mourn what was lost, but perhaps for once she could not lay the entire blame at her sister’s feet. She had to know if Reynald had proactively been involved. Reynald had always chided her for laying all responsibility on her sister. It was time for her to look equally at the men involved in such trysts.
Abigail almost looked away again, but she bit her lip and met Sarah’s stare. After a few minutes, she nodded quietly. “Yes,” she admitted. “You deserve to know. Your parents said to keep all news about Rachel and Reynald’s situation from you, but you are her sister. You should be told about their relationship.”
She let out a long sigh. “Reynald made sure we all knew that he took full responsibility for what went on between the two.”
Sarah’s heart dropped into a deep ocean. She turned on her side, facing away from the window, and closed her eyes. It was a long while before she was asleep again.
* * *
Sarah floated into awareness. The room was immersed in gloom, with only a low fire painting the furnishings in a soft glow. Her father sat at her side, his face creased with worry and pain. A sharp stab of guilt coursed through her in seeing him so upset. It made her heart sick that she could be even part of the cause.
“Father?�
� she called out softly to him, her voice coming more easily.
“Sarah, my child, you are awake,” he replied with a half-smile, shaking himself out of his musings. “Here, have some broth. How are you feeling?”
Sarah gave a gentle stretch and found that many of her aches had faded. “Much better, thank you,” she admitted hoarsely, her throat far less tight than before. She let him help her to a sitting position, and soon he was feeding her from the bowl, tilting it toward her to allow her to sip the warm liquid.
“I am so glad you are doing better,” he sighed absently, carefully handling the bowl. His face showed a weary distraction “With everything else that is going on, your mother is simply a wreck. It will make her happy to have one small part going well. With Rachel and Reynald …”
He guiltily glanced down at his daughter. “Oh, but you should not worry about any of that,” he soothed her. “You need to focus on getting better, on resting and gaining your strength. Everything else will work out … somehow. Do not think about that now.”
“I am sure everything will be fine,” agreed Sarah, her concern for her father growing. His gaze was unfocussed, and his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Whatever else was going on, she would not add to his burdens.
When she finished the soup, she lay back against the pillows, allowing herself to drift back to sleep.
* * *
It was evening. The warm, rich colors of sunset were glowing throughout the room, and she breathed in the rich crispness that came sometimes with the oncoming darkness. She stretched with delicious ease. Her body was finally healing. Perhaps soon she could be out of this bed and rebuilding her life.
She heard a movement at her side, and she turned her gaze. Her breath came in with one long, swift draw.