"What do you want?" she whispered.
"The truth."
"I'll not hurt the babe," she vowed. "Let us go. Please."
"Let you go?" His tone was incredulous, and suddenly he stepped forward, gripping her arm and shaking her. "Who the hell are you?"
She cowered away. "Berna—"
"The truth," he gritted. "For once."
"I am Sara of the Forbes."
"Caroline's companion?" He dropped her arm and stepped back a pace. "But she is dead. I saw her body. Wrapped in a red plaid, it was."
"Twas Anne's body you saw." Sara could barely force out the words. "She took a liking to my shawl."
"So you are Sara? But—" He shook his head. "Then why did you fight me when you knew I was Haldane's man?"
She glanced at his sword. Her heart told her to trust him with the truth. Her mind told her otherwise. "Tis hard to differentiate between one man who threatens me and the next," she said.
"What are your plans for the babe?"
"He is my lord's only son. Does it not seem credible to you that Haldane would want him at his side?''
"Nay. It does not seem credible. Not when he sent the mother from his sight after learning of her condition."
"Twas for her own good," Blackblade said. "And out of respect for his lady wife."
"Respect," she scoffed, feeling her temper rise. "Is it respect you call it then? Mayhap he should have considered that respect before seducing a young girl overawed by his lordly manner and rich garb."
Blackblade stepped up close to her, his dark face inscrutable. "And would that young girl be you?"
She drew back with a start. "Nay!" she said.
Boden watched her as if trying to read her mind, but finally he turned the conversation aside.
"You were the only one to survive?"
She drew a deep breath. Harsh memories crowded in. She pressed them desperately back. "So far as I know."
"It would seem you could have been somewhat more appreciative of my rescue, if such is the case."
"Rescue? How was I to know you planned a rescue? In the past three weeks I and my party have been attacked and attacked again. I know neither why nor by whom. How was I to know ye did not mean to do the same?" Indeed, how did she know now?
"The fact that you still live should give you some indication," he said. "I could have killed you in the first moment had I been of a mind."
"Mayhap had ye seen your friends killed and your life threatened, ye would be in no hurry to trust, either," she said.
His eyes looked flat, and suddenly she wondered what memories haunted his sleep. When he'd removed his tunic, she could not help but notice the scars that marred the rolling muscles of his back.
Scars did not come without pain. It was likely indeed that he had seen his friends killed and his life threatened.
But that was not her concern, she reminded herself. She had the baby to think of now.
"What do ye plan to do with us?" she asked.
"I will return you to Lord Haldane, of course."
"And if I do not want to go? As a knight is it not your duty to grant the wishes of a lady?''
His expression showed his surprise. ' 'What lady would not wish to be the mistress of a duke?
He is not only powerful. But wealthy, and not ungenerous with his women." Boden tilted his head.
"True, he may no longer have the virility of a young man, but I would think you could overlook that shortcoming, considering what you would gain after his death."
Sara's temper rose as she absorbed his meaning. So he thought her to be Haldane's mistress, and a greedy witch at that. "Ye, Sir Knight, are an ass."
There was some satisfaction in seeing his look of surprise. Could it be he hadn't tried to insult her?
"Are you saying you don't care about his money?" he asked.
"I am saying ye are an ass," she said tightly. "I would have thought that quite clear."
His brows lowered again, as though he tried and failed to understand her. "My lord wants you at his side," he said, as if in the end that was all that matters.
"He wants his heir, ye mean," she countered.
Silence again as he watched her in thought. ''Ahh. So there lies your concern." He nodded and crossed his huge arms over his mailed chest. "You think he has no feelings for you." Something sparked in his eyes. "You can rest your mind on that account, lady. For my lord bade me keep you safe and well until you are back at his side."
Damn him. She was not Haldane's mistress. Nor would she ever be. But perhaps that information was best kept to herself. Perhaps Boden meant her and Thomas no harm, but someone did, and her dreams told her that someone was connected with Haldane, if it was not the duke himself.
She dare not go to Knolltop. But surely her chances of escaping would be greatly improved if she pretended to be soothed by Boden's words. If she pretended to be content to accompany him to the duke like a lamb to the slaughter.
"So my lord spoke of me?" she asked, making her tone soft and dreamy.
"Aye, he did." Boden scowled as if trying to follow the change in her mood. "He said I should give you whatever your heart desires."
She desired to be safely in the Highlands with her baby in her arms and peace in her heart.
Guilt crowded in. He was not her baby after all. But Caroline's, and if Caroline was alive, she would still be alone. Sara forced the thought from her mind, and hugged Thomas to her as if she were holding Haldane's words against her heart. "Did my lord... Did he perhaps say anything else regarding me?" she asked.
A muscle jumped in Blackblade's jaw. His scowl deepened. "Aye. He said I should make certain you eat, because you're too damned skinny as it is."
She couldn't disavow her angry blush. All she could do was hope it would seem that the thought of her love made her flushed. Forcing a giggle, she said, ' 'He always teases me about my figure." She turned away, still flushed.
"Eat something," he said.
She flashed him a smile over her shoulder, hoping its brilliance would strike him dead. "Oh, I could not possibly eat anything now. I'll just sleep and hope I dream of..." She sighed. "Him."
The night was long. Many times Sara awoke, listening, contemplating. Should she try to escape again? she wondered. But each time she glanced at Sir Blackblade, she saw him staring back at her, his eyes just visible in the darkness.
Morning found her tired and sore. She was not accustomed to sleeping on the ground. The dampness seemed to have seeped into her very bones, and the thick fog that enveloped them added a layer of depression to her mood.
Sir Blackblade, on the other hand, seemed little affected by either the weather or the night.
They broke the fast with the rabbit still warm from supper. Boden wrapped the remaining pieces in strips of linen and placed them in the pouches behind his saddle.
Despite Sara's singing and pleading, Tilly stamped and kicked, upsetting the small kettle and causing a good deal of racket. Finally Boden abandoned his chores to come to her assistance. He held the nanny by the horns until Sara had finally coaxed out enough milk to feed the babe.
Thomas fed hungrily, burped, and true to his agreeable nature, settled in for another nap in the sling against Sara's breast.
"Are you ready?" Boden asked. He had tied Tilly's rope to the back of the saddle in the hopes she would follow for some miles without undue trouble. He stood now, tightening Mettle's girth and not turning toward Sara as he spoke.
"Aye." She glanced about their small camp. The fog was as thick as bread pudding. Twould be a perfect opportunity to escape. But would it not be wiser to wait until they were farther north?
Despite her uncertainties, Sara was fairly sure Boden meant to deliver her safely to Lord Haldane. So why not accept his protection until then?
Or was she insane? Were all her reasonings and musings without base? Nothing made sense.
He turned toward her as she approached his horse. "I'll give you a leg up," he said, cupping his
palms near Mettle's elbow.
Placing a hand on the charger's withers, Sara put her foot in Boden's grip. He boosted her upward, but just as she was about to swing her leg over the cantle, Tilly threw her weight against the rope. Caught off guard, Mettle grunted and sidestepped.
Sara teetered. Thomas slept, and Boden, steady as a rock, settled his palm against her buttocks and boosted her into the saddle. She turned her face away as she sank into the deep leather seat. He'd removed his hand, replacing it on her thigh. Even so, the heat of his touch seared through her.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
She could feel his gaze on her face, but refused to look at him. "Aye," she said, staring at the top of Thomas's head. The warmth of his fingers confused her. "Aye. I am fine."
He drew his hand slowly away. She watched him turn the stirrup sideways and crouched forward, intending to make room for him. But instead of mounting, he grasped her ankle and placed her foot in the iron.
"Are ye not riding?" She raised her gaze to his face then silently caught her breath. His eyes were dark, hooded, as deep as forever.
"Nay," he said, and taking Mettle's reins, led them northward.
Sometime before noon they stopped at a fast-flowing stream. Mettle drank his fill. Tilly, miraculously, had walked the whole way and now pawed the water with her sharp, split hooves.
Sara slipped Thomas's sling from her neck and set him on a soft bed of bracken before kneeling upstream from the horse. After dipping her cupped hands in the water, she raised them to her lips.
Droplets raced along her chin and down her delicate throat. Boden watched her pink tongue dart out to catch them. And then, like a doe caught napping, she raised her startled gaze to his. He turned away, driving his thoughts from her.
The sun had burned the fog from the morning, leaving the day warm and humid. They rested in the shade of a tilted willow, ate more rabbit, and drank again as Thomas slept on his back beside the garrulous waters.
Sara watched the waves roll by, and Boden watched her. She had plaited her flaxen hair into a long, chunky braid that fell down the middle of her back, but still it seemed untamed, as though such a task was beyond mortal man. Twas a strange thought, because for the most part she seemed the epitome of genteel womanhood, and yet there was something about her that suggested she was much more, much deeper than the shallow confines conventionality would allow.
She toyed with a blade of grass for a while, then, ' Tis a bonny spot," she commented finally.
He said nothing. What kind of a woman could be attacked by brigands, forced to travel alone with an unknown man through the wilds of England, and still appreciate the beauty of the countryside?
There was a slight blush on her cheeks that accentuated the light sprinkling of freckles that frosted her nose. ' 'I oft played in a place much like this as a-child."
Arid what was she now? he wondered. If not a child, surely she had just left that stage behind, for she looked so untouched, except for her eyes. Sometimes, when he looked into her eyes, he could see a glimpse of a formidable past, of pain conquered but not forgotten.
"We would make tiny ships of bark and sail them to strange and wondrous new lands," she said.
There was silence for a moment, broken only by the chattering waves. "Shona, she was the youngest of the three cousins, yet hers always made it the farthest. She had an uncanny ability to keep them afloat. Mayhap Rachel and I overfilled ours, though we sometimes accused her of sneaking out at night to find the best bits of bark... in anticipation of the next day's adventures."
Downstream, a small fish splashed, silvery in the bright light. She turned toward it. "Say something," she said.
The water rattled on.
"Why?"
She turned slowly toward him, finally lifting her gaze to his. "Your silence makes me nervous."
He didn't answer right away, but lifted a stone, turned it in his fingers once, then skipped it over the waves. "I've seen you fight brigands with nothing more than a flaming brand," he said. "I thought mayhap, nothing made you nervous."
She laughed softly. "Ye know little of me, Sir Knight. Many things make me nervous."
"Does Lord Haldane?"
"What?'' Her eyes got very wide.
Boden cursed himself in silence. He shouldn't have broached the subject of her relationship to Haldane? Twas none of his affair. His task was to return her and the babe to Knolltop. Nothing else.
Neither her youth nor her feelings had anything to do with that mission.
Nevertheless, the question gnawed at him.
"We'd best move on," he said, rising quickly to his feet. "Every hour we delay will make your love worry more."
Chapter 6
It was almost dusk when they drew near a small lo-chan. Sara slipped from the saddle. After the nooning, Boden had mounted behind her, and thus they had ridden for endless hours. Her legs and back ached from remaining immobile for so long—trying, and failing, to keep a respectable distance between her and the huge knight that rode behind. But no matter what she did it seemed she could feel his nearness—if not his hands, at least his gaze.
Sara heard him dismount behind her. Thomas had been awake for more than an hour during the ride, and slept again now, secure in his pouch, his face scrunched against the soft fabric. Slipping the carrier off her shoulders, Sara turned her neck in an effort to ease the tension caused by the baby's weight. The discomfort remained, so she glanced about, looking for a safe place to settle the child. It wasn't difficult to find a branch suitable for her purposes, for an oak tree grew nearby. It was a venerable old tree, weathered by years and untouched by the transient problems of man. Its branches grew as thick as her waist, horizontal to the ground and just above her head. Twas a simple task to secure Thomas's sling to a sturdy portion of it. She watched him for a moment. He was undisturbed by this position so similar to his place against her heart. A gentle breeze wafted through the trees, setting the sling to sway slightly and soothing the baby even more with the tranquil motion.
Stretching her aching muscles, Sara walked down to the water's edge. The shoreline was sandy, and along the serpentine coast, prickly bushes grew in profusion. She knelt beside the lake, drinking her fill before washing her face with the sun-warmed waves.
She rose to her feet. Her stomach grumbled a complaint, and as Boden led Mettle down to the water, she wandered off, noticing that some of the thorny plants were raspberry bushes that twisted and twined up in profusion. Here and there she could see a small cluster of red. She picked what she could of the seedy berries. They tasted indescribably, almost painfully sweet as she savored them and moved on, searching for more.
Supper would be modest. But they had a bit of rabbit left. Perhaps if she were lucky, she might find something to use in a stew and boil up what little meat they had left.
She wandered on. The raspberries gave out. But in a quiet sheltered spot, where the sun still slanted kind and soft through the woods, she found a patch of wild potatoes. Breaking off a dead branch, she dug up the small tubers and put them in a pile. She noticed, too, a cluster of tiny, pink blossoms drooping beneath soft, green leaves. Comfrey, she thought, and smiled as memories of quiet evenings at Glen Creag soothed her. Fiona would often send the girls to bed with mugs of comfrey tea. Twas good for "what ails ye," she would say, and would launch into a litany of specifics. Most of that knowledge had bypassed Sara, but she remembered well that a poultice could be made from the roots and used to heal wounds or mend bones. Twas more than once that her father had sought out Fiona for just such a purpose.
Carefully pulling the plant up by the roots, Sara added it to her treasury.
Then, through a maze of brambles, she saw the straight, shiny tops of what looked to be scallions. She hurried through the woods. Perhaps it was her excitement over the thought of her stew that made her careless. But whatever the reason, she failed to notice the wild boar until she heard its disgruntled snort.
She turned, and froze. The b
oar lumbered to his feet, its beady eyes trained on her, its tusks protruding half a hand's length from its lower jaw. One side of the animal was covered in drying mud, but the flies still tormented it It switched its bristly tail, then rutted up a patch of turf and tossed it at its back.
The flies buzzed and settled again. The boar grunted, then angry at the insects that bedeviled it, threw its head back to chase them away.
The movement startled Sara, and she jumped. The boar started, stared, and then, without warning, charged.
Sara screamed and pivoted away. The woods were thick, her skirts long. Terror thundered through her as the boar crashed after her. A low-growing elm loomed ahead. If she could reach it she could scramble onto the bottom branch.
But suddenly tusks ripped at her skirt. Shrieking, she darted toward a broad-based oak, her heart in her throat. But the boar was gaining on her. She felt the rip of her skirts again and lunged for the tree trunk. But just then the beast's tusks caught the flesh of her calf.
Pain ripped up Sara's leg. She shrieked in agony as she fell and rolled, shielding her face with her hands. The pig came on, trampling her legs, head lowered.
She screamed again. Death swept down upon her.
But in that moment there was a squeal of rage. Blood sprayed into the air. The boar twisted away. His tusks skimmed past her face, and then, like a felled fir, his body crashed to the earth beside her.
She was frozen to the ground, her gaze locked on the grizzly sight of a black sword protruding from between the beast's ribs.
For a few moments there was no sound but for the ragged rasp of her breathing, then, "Dead?"
she asked on a breathy whisper.
"Aye." The answer came from her right. She turned shakily in that direction and watched Boden shove his dagger back into the top of his high boot. He looked casual and relaxed, as if he saved foolish maids from wild boars every day before breakfast.
Sara pushed herself to her elbows. Her stomach roiled, but she refused to gag, not with this giant warrior standing over her looking bored. True, she thought, he was a knight, and thus had seen much worse than this little drama. Still, it wouldn't have killed him to look worried.
The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides) Page 8