"Have you any skills as a physic?" he asked.
"Did I not tell ye? My aunt is the great healer?"
He scowled at her. "And my horse can outrun a stag for a hundred rods. It doesn't mean I can do the same."
She stared at him.
"Not to say I am slow," he corrected.
She forced herself not to laugh. "Tis your choice,"
she said. "But ye'd look rather unbalanced with only one arm."
A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Tell me, Lady Bernadette, have you always been so cruel?"
"Aye," she said, and threaded the needle with aplomb. "Those who know me call me the butcher of the border."
"I fear your sense of humor is lacking."
"I did not say I was jesting," she said, gripping his arm in her left hand.
She felt his muscles tense and for a moment she thought he would yank his arm from her grasp.
"Just stitch it up," he said instead.
But she didn't want to. If the truth be told, she was no healer. True, she had watched Fiona work on any number of injuries. Her uncle's wife could sew and patch, medicate and soothe, all with a confidence and kindness that could not help but reassure her patients. But Sara knew only the rudiments of healing. At best, her skills and assurance were adequate, but now, after long days of terror and deprivation, she felt her hand shake.
The knight turned his face toward her and lifted a brow. "Are you going to start, or shall we wait for the next band of brigands to come along and finish what they already began."
"I won't stitch the lower wound," she said.
"The one you gave me, you mean?''
She cleared her throat. "Aye. It's ahh, it's not terribly bad, but the one higher up..." She paused, lifting her gaze to his biceps. His upper arms were as big around as her neck. Surely it was a sin to mar such beautiful muscle.
She sat immobile until she felt his gaze bore into her. Lifting her gaze to his, she reddened, and then, steadying her fingers against his arm, pushed the needle into his flesh.
An eternity later the angel-witch tied off the last stitch and settled back on her heels. Probably she wanted to see how much pain she had managed to inflict. It was his duty as a knight not to let her know, but he thought perhaps the rivers of sweat flowing down his forehead might give her a clue to the truth.
"Finished," she said, her tone breathless, drawing his attention to her lips. St. Thomas's teeth, no witch should have lips like that. "I am sorry if I hurt ye."
He noticed she looked pale.
"You didn't," he said, and was quite proud that his voice trembled only a little.
"I've but to wrap it now."
"Wrap it!" he said, then winced at the squeak in his voice. He cleared his throat and made a point to lower his eyebrows to a well-honed look of irritation. "I'm certain tis fine as it is."
"It willna hurt," she promised.
How the hell would she know? It hurt right now. Like the devil was stabbing him with his fiery pitchfork.
"I've seen more battles than I can count, lady," he said. "Think you that your touch would frighten me?"
"I think as a child ye did not spend enough time with your mother," she suggested.
"Wrap it," he said, and looked away.
He could feel her gaze on his face, but after a moment, she began to bandage. Upon completion, he tested her handiwork. The clothes were snug, but not too tight, allowing his muscles to flex with only enough pain to leave him this side of consciousness.
"I owe you my thanks," he said finally.
She didn't look up as she gathered what was left of her medicinal items. "Twould be best for ye to continue to use your arm a bit to discourage swelling, but I would not suggest any more battles for a couple of days."
"I'll try to remember."
Their gazes locked. Silence settled between them.
"I am sorry about your mother."
He started at her words. "What of my mother?"
She bit the inside of her lip as her fair brows drew together. "I dunna know," she murmured, looking shaken.
Premonition prickled eerily up Boden's spine. He pushed it away. If he allowed himself to believe she could read his mind what would come next? Ghosts and goblins?
"We'd best be moving," he said. "I'd not wish to defy my physician's orders by killing more brigands so soon after her efforts."
Sara sat absolutely still. Once again, she was cradled between the massive, oaken thighs of Sir Boden Blackblade. Trying to avoid the disturbing intimacy of this position, she had insisted on riding sidesaddle, but he refused, saying her balance would be compromised.
Tilly had followed docilely along behind for some miles, but finally she had lain down and refused to get up. She was now tied behind the saddle like an ungainly sack of feed.
In retrospect, Sara, thought, her own position could be worse.
"We'll spend the night here," Boden said.
Sara nodded and prepared to dismount, but before she did so, Boden was on foot and assisting her.
"I am not helpless," she said. "Ye are wounded, ye should rest."
"I am a knight," he argued, and turning back toward Mettle, remounted.
"Where are ye going?" Despite her words of independence, despite the fact that she knew she could not trust this man, the thought of him leaving sent terror spurting through her.
Reaching behind his saddle, he withdrew the sword he'd obtained at the last battle. "Take this while I search for food."
The blade felt heavy in her hand. "I know nothing of s wordplay."
"I saw what you can do with a branch," he said. "Think of your child. The brigands will be lucky to leave with their heads above their shoulders."
Despite her better judgment, she reached past sleeping Thomas to touch his thigh. The muscle there was hard and broad. Warmth spread up her arm. She pulled her hand nervously away. "Ye will be careful?"
His expression changed slightly. Although she doubted he would have wanted her to realize it, there was, perhaps, a modicum of softness in his expression. "I've a fondness for life, lady. Rest assured that I will be cautious."
The rabbit gave off a tempting aroma as it roasted over the fire. Boden had skewered several pieces and turned them again to roast the opposite side. To his left, Sara sang to the babe. Her voice was soft and dusky and conjured up a strange sort of peace in his soul.
Peace! He rose abruptly to his feet. The last thing he should be feeling was peace. He was far from civilization, had failed his lord's mission, and even now might be stalked by brigands whose reasons he could not fathom. He should have examined the men he had killed. Perhaps they could have given him some clue as to why they had attacked. But the lady had seemed so fragile just then.
He glanced at her standing in the shadows, her face tilted toward the child, her lips slanted slightly upward—not in a smile exactly, but in an expression of such soft beauty that it made his heart ache.
He turned rapidly away. Mayhap he should have left her at the crofter's cottage, but such had not seemed right. She was a lady. He was a knight, and even though he had oft scorned the rules of knightly chivalry, he had no choice but to protect her, to take her where she wished to go. But what of Caroline and Lord Haldane's babe? They were dead, and yet he didn't even have the child's body for his lord to mourn over.
Boden ground his teeth. He may be an irreverent bastard in most regards, but never had he failed Haldane before, and he didn't like the feel of it now. Twould be best to hurry back and admit his defeat.
But that didn't feel right either. There was nothing he could do but follow his war-honed instincts, and those instincts told him to keep Lady Bernadette close to hand.
Logic, on the other hand, said he should leave this witchy angel-woman and run like hell. He glanced at her. The babe was rarely awake, but he saw now that one tiny fist waved above the blankets that usually bound his arms tightly to his sides.
The widow laughed softly and bending lower, kissed the babe's
cheek. For a moment her face was limed by firelight," the soft curve of her cheek, the blush of her lips. Time ceased to be as Boden held his breath.
Dear God, she was beautiful.
No. He would not leave the mother and he would not leave the child, though perhaps his reasons had less to do with battle instincts than his instincts of another kind. When he looked at her, his body felt strangely heavy and his head somehow useless. Twas not a good thing for a knight to experience, since if he did not use his head he was likely to lose it soon enough.
"Your pardon?" She looked up suddenly, catching Boden off guard.
Had he spoken? Panic rose, but in an instant, he assured himself he had remained silent. A witch!
"The meat is ready," he said.
She carried the babe with her to the fire and sat down on a log. Boden sliced off a piece of steaming rabbit and handed it to her, still speared by his knife.
"I'll let you keep the blade if you promise not to stab me with it."
The hint of a smile crossed her face. "Not until after supper leastways," she said, and taking the meat, rocked the babe gently in her lap. The deep melody of her humming seemed somehow to fill the wood, his mind, his soul.
From where he stood, Boden could see the child's face. His mouth was open, toothless, and lifted into a silly smile as the mother rocked him.
The child giggled once. Twas a strange sound, a sound Boden had never heard before. He sliced off a chunk of meat for himself and stepped closer.
Firelight cast a golden light on the pair. The babe clenched Ms tiny fist. The way he held it tripped some vague memory in Boden's mind. The child looked almost like a balding warrior, well past his prime, clenching his fist and defying his age. Not unlike Lord Haldane.
Boden remained perfectly still, forgetting his meal. There was something more important here, some mystery he had failed to unravel, but he would fail no more. Today he would learn the truth, and neither her heavenly eyes nor her angelic voice would sway him from that quest.
In his mind, he carefully added up the facts one by one. Haldane's heir had been in that woods.
The child's body had never been found. Was it not strange that this woman, with a babe of the same approximate age, would be in the same woods at the same time? And the mother—she had no milk for the child. Why? Wasn't it likely she was not the infant's mother at all? Wasn't it far more likely that this was Lord Haldane's heir?
Bernadette glanced up suddenly, catching his gaze with her own. The smile dropped from her lips. Her eyes went wide like a doe's at the sound of a footfall. "Did ye need something?"
He remained silent for a moment as he devised a plan to learn the truth. "Seeing you thus," he said finally, "made me realize how difficult it will be to tell my lord that his child is dead."
Sorrow and empathy softened her eyes. "You were sent to bring his babe to him?"
"Aye. The babe and the women who cared for him. But all is lost now, for they are dead."
She drew a deep breath. "You found their bodies?"
"The women and their guards. But not the child."
"Then mayhap he is not dead," she said softly. "Mayhap he is safe and well somewhere."
Boden shook his head. "There is no hope for a child to survive on his own."
"Perhaps there was another in the party. Someone who is now caring for the babe."
He watched her for a moment, but finally shook his head. "I fear I cannot share your optimism.
The world is rarely kind to the young and infirm."
Silence settled in. The fire crackled. "Do ye speak from experience, Sir Boden?''
He paused for a moment, then, "Nay," he said. "I am amongst the noble few. What have I to worry about? Twas the poor babe I was referring to. Although..." He sighed. "Had he lived he would have wanted for naught."
"Truly?" Her gaze never left his face. "The father had feelings for the baby then?''
"What father doesn't care for his only heir?"
"I did not mean that kind of feeling," she said. "An heir is an entirely different entity than a baby."
"I thought they could be one and the same."
"And what of the mother?" she asked. "Did the duke have feelings for her, too?"
Silence settled in as he stared at her. "I didn't say my lord was a duke."
He watched her mouth open soundlessly, then, "I only assumed..."
"Nay," he countered softly. "You know because you were hired to care for the babe until a ransom could be paid to get him back."
"Nay." She stumbled to her feet. The babe had fallen asleep and made no protest.
Boden watched her without moving. "I would accuse you of worse, but after the past few days I believe you incapable of murder. I think you did not know they planned to kill the women and their guards." He rose to his feet. "Is that not so."
"Nay." She stepped back an additional pace. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Did you run from them after you realized their cruelty? I see the love in your eyes when you look at the child, and I think you could not bear to give him up to such men."
"I am Bernadette."
"Why do you lie?" He had sworn he would not lose his temper. But suddenly he was certain he was right, and angry that she would not admit the truth. "You've nothing to fear from me." He lowered his voice slightly and took a step forward. "Tell me the truth and I will see that you are kept safe.
Give me the names of the men and perhaps there will even be a reward."
She retreated a pace, bumped into a tree, and was brought up short. "I am not who you think I am."
"Truly?" He stepped up close enough to look into the baby's sleeping face. His head was uncovered, his lips slightly parted as he breathed softly through them. ' 'Then say farewell to the child."
"What?" She pulled the babe hard against her breasts and her eyes went wide.
He watched her in silence for a moment, then crossed his arms against his chest and explained.
"Some years ago Lord Haldane was wounded in a skirmish with the Welsh. What they lacked in training and weaponry, they made up for in cunning. We thought we had won the day, but as my lord surveyed the battleground he was attacked by a band of farmers bearing forks. One managed to strike him on the head. We soon came to his rescue, but since there was no one around to tend Haldane, I saw to the wound myself. When I clipped away his hair I found a mark the exact same shape as the babe's."
"What an astounding coincidence," she said, but the words were breathy.
"Nay," he countered roughly. "The child is Haldane's heir. You know it as well as I."
"Nay!"
He grabbed her arm. "Tell me the truth or I will take the child here and now," he said, and releasing her arm, snatched the baby from her.
She tried to pull the babe from his grasp. The child awoke with a start and a whimper.
"Ye canna take him!"
"You misjudge me, lady. I have no loyalty but to myself and my future. And my future demands that I take the child to Knolltop, so take him I will. Just as easily without you if you refuse to cooperate."
She tried to pull Thomas from Boden's grip, but he held on, not moving his gaze from her face.
The baby's eyes were wide, his bottom lip protruding.
"Ye cannot take him from me," she said.
"He is Haldane's child."
"Give him back." Her voice trembled. "He needs me."
"I'm a knight, trained in every manner of battle and survival, I think myself capable of caring for one small child," Boden said.
The babe eyed him for one instant, then sniffled, gasped, and suddenly began to wail, filling the woods with a god-awful cacophony.
Boden shuffled his weight from foot to foot as his every muscle tightened. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, staring into the child's brick-red face.
Glancing at Sara, Boden thought for a moment she might try to snatch the child back, but finally she shook her head and formed her hands into fists. "You're the knig
ht," she said. "I'm certain you're capable of caring for one small child."
Chapter 5
Sara hugged herself and refused to move. But she couldn't manage to force her gaze from Thomas. She'd vowed to protect him, and if the truth be known she loved him like her own.
"What troubles him?" Boden asked.
Everything in her screamed to snatch Thomas back, but she kept her arms folded against her chest. Force would do her little good here. She must think.
"Mayhap he is hungry," she said.
Sir Boden glanced at the goat, the babe, the goat. His eyes narrowed. "The child is Lord Haldane's," he said, as if that one statement would set everything right.
Thomas howled louder.
The knight stiffly shifted the babe in his arms, tentatively trying a rocking motion as he had seen her do.
Thomas shrieked like a full moon banshee. Blackblade's gaze skimmed to Sara, turning his expression from one of anger to something akin to panic. "He is Thomas, Haldane's heir," Boden said.
"Admit the truth and I'll give him back to you."
She forced herself to remain immobile but could manage no more—no denials, no witty explanations.
"Deny it," he said, barely heard above the baby's squall, "and I'll take him alone." He grimaced, glancing at the howling infant. "No matter how onerous the task I wear I'll do it."
Panic roiled through Sara. Would he take the babe? Nay. His loyalty was to his lord. He could not risk the child's life by trying to care for him alone. But just then the knight stepped toward his mount, taking the infant with him.
"He is Thomas!" she gasped, then rushed toward them. Blackblade turned, happily relinquishing the child. She drew the baby into her arms with flooding relief.
"He is Lord Haldane's child," Boden said.
"Caroline's." Sara drew herself from her reverie with an effort. "He is Caroline's child," she murmured.
The knight glowered at her, his uncertainty obvious. "Who are you?"
She didn't answer. Didn't dare.
"Who are you?" His voice, always low, seemed deeper than the night now.
Memories welled up out of the nightmarish past, reminding Sara to be cautious. But other memories jostled them aside. More than once this knight had risked his life to save hers, and for no reason but that there was goodness in him.
The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides) Page 7