by Scott, B. J.
Lazarus lowered the lad into his mother’s waiting arms, then climbed from his mount.
The boy squealed with delight when his mother set his feet on the ground, and he hopped up and down. “That was fun. Can we do it again?” He peered up at Lazarus, beaming. “Can we?”
“First we need to let the horses rest.” Lazarus tousled the boy’s curls and smiled at his mother. “You have raised a fine lad.”
Giselle bobbed a curtsy, then pulled her son close. “I would like to think so. You have a way with children, monsieur.”
“He has had a lot of practice. There is a large brood of children at Fraser Castle.” Franc chuckled as he joined them.
“You could say that.” Lazarus laughed. “I have lost count.”
“This is my friend Lazarus Fraser. We served together in the Holy Land.” He rested his hand on her back and nudged her forward. “This is Giselle.”
“It is my pleasure to meet you m’lord.” She curtsied.
“I wish it were under happier circumstances, m’lady.” Lazarus clasped her hand and kissed the back of it. “Franc told me all about you.”
“Good things, I hope,” she said shyly.
“Only good,” Lazarus quickly replied with a grin, then faced Franc. “It appears we managed to lose them, but dinna think we should tarry here for long. You know how relentless the buggers can be.”
“I agree.” Franc looped his arm around Lazarus’s shoulder and steered him toward the horses, and what he hoped was out of Giselle’s earshot. “Do you know if there is a priory in the area?”
Lazarus frowned. “I know of several convents, but all are about a day’s ride from here. Why?” He glanced over his shoulder at Giselle and her son, then back at Franc. “Are you planning to leave them with the nuns?”
“That is my intent. They will be safer there.”
“In whose opinion?” Lazarus asked. “Or are you more concerned that she is married and has a son.”
“You’re spouting nonsense,” Franc said. “Whether she has a child or not is none of my business. I just feel the nunnery is a safer bet.”
“He is a fine lad. Have you given any more thought to the possibility that you might be his father?”
“No. She was married to his father,” Franc replied sharply.
“Was?”
“She told me when we were in the loft that her husband, Fergus, was killed two years ago while fighting with Robert the Bruce. The boy is not my son.”
“I wouldna be so sure.” Lazarus stroked his chin and studied the lad who was playing by the stream under his mother’s watchful eye. “He may have the look of his mam for the most part, but I see a strong resemblance to you as well.”
“Then your eyesight is failing, my friend.” Franc leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Where is the nearest priory? It must be one where the king’s men are not likely to look.” While he waited for Lazarus to answer, he watched the boy wielding his toy sword against an imaginary foe.”
“Take that, dragon,” the lad shouted, then dropped the wooden toy to chase a butterfly.
“Have you mentioned it to her yet, Franc?”
“Not yet.”
“What makes you think she will stay with the nuns?” Lazarus cocked a brow, then added, “She strikes me as an independent lass with a mind of her own. Trust me I am married to one, and live in a castle full of them, so am familiar with the signs.” He chuckled.
Franc released a heavy sigh. “She may be a high-spirited woman. But she has no choice. It is far too dangerous for her to accompany us and she cannot go back to Kinloch. The priory is the only option, and she will have to accept it. She and the boy will be safer with the nuns.” Now, if he could just convince her he was right.
“Well this is your chance to tell her, they are headed this way.” Lazarus nodded in the direction of the stream and grinned. “I am sure the lad has a name too. You canna keep calling him boy.”
“When are we going to race the horse again?” The child bolted ahead of his mother and nearly lost his balance when he tripped over a rock.
“You must be more careful, Jean,” she said when she caught up to her son. “He keeps me on the go from dawn to dusk.”
“I’m sure he does,” Franc said, then cast Lazarus a quick glance. “So, your name is Jean.” He squatted beside the boy, then glanced up at Giselle. “You named him after your father?”
Giselle bobbed her head. “Oui.”
“Is it not the custom here in Scotland to name a first son after his father?” Franc inquired.
“It is.” Giselle twisted her hands and glanced at the ground. “But sometimes a boy is named in honor of his grandpapa’s memory.”
The lad tapped Franc on the shoulder, interrupting the discussion. “I’m hungry.”
Franc rose. “Then we must find you something to eat. Maybe Lazarus can get you an oatcake.”
Jean scampered over to where Lazarus was standing. “I like oatcakes,” he said, beaming.
“Then let me see what I can do.” Lazarus took the lad’s hand and led him toward the horses.
“He’s a smart boy,” Franc said.
“Oui. He takes after his father,” Giselle said smiling.
Franc waited until Lazarus and Jean were busy finding something to eat, then again caught Giselle’s attention. “You must miss your husband a great deal, and a boy needs a father.”
“Fergus was an honorable man and we became good friends in the brief time we were married,” she said. “Jean was less than a year old when he died, so the lad never really knew him. My Uncle Harold is the closest thing he has ever had to a father.” She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand, then peered up at Franc. “I have no idea how to tell him our uncle is dead, or how we will manage without him. I can only thank the Lord that you and Lazarus were there to help us escape.”
Franc didn’t envy her the task of telling the boy about his uncle’s death, and he couldn’t help wondering if once again, he was responsible for the loss of the man she held dear and counted on. Her father died because he offered him sanctuary, and now her uncle suffered the same fate when he tried to help him to complete his quest. “We need to discuss something important, chéri.”
“What did you need to talk to me about?”
“After your father died, you spent time in a priory. Is that not correct?”
“Because I had nowhere else to go,” she replied. “It was not by choice.”
Franc picked up a distinct note of distain in her voice. “Were you not content living with the nuns?” Franc asked. “At least there you were safe.”
“Was I safe?” she blurted. “I fled there after my father was killed, but lived in constant fear. The men who killed Papa, believed I knew the information about the Templars and their treasure, things that my father refused to divulge. I never knew when they might realize they killed the wrong woman, hunt me down, and drag me away.” She narrowed her gaze and pinned him with her stare. “Why do you ask?”
“We are headed to a castle in the north of Scotland.” He thought it best not to tell her their actual destination, believing the less she knew the better. “There is something I must deliver, and it is a long, arduous journey. Before we leave, I plan to find a priory in the area, a place that will offer you and Jean sanctuary.”
Giselle crossed her arms over her chest, then cast him a defiant glare. “I do not wish to go to a priory. Why can we not come with you?”
“The French Guard are on our tail and we have no idea what hardships we will encounter along the way. It is far too dangerous for a woman and small boy,” Franc explained. “The King’s men have been following me since the day I set foot on Scottish soil, and it is only a matter of time before they catch up with me again. I will not risk putting you
and the boy in danger.”
“Is the fact he was trying to help you the reason they killed my uncle?” she asked. “Why not just give them what they want and maybe they will leave?”
Her words cut through him like a dagger. He already felt responsible for her uncle and father’s deaths, but there was no way he could make it up to her. “I cannot do that.”
“Cannot or will not?” she asked harshly. “Nothing can be worth the loss of so many lives. When will the bloodshed stop?”
“This is more important than you know. I swore an oath, made a sacred promise and cannot break my word.”
“At what cost? I know all about Templar duty and honor. Too well.” She turned her back to him and wrapped her arms around her middle. “You once told me you loved me. If you meant what you said, why are you trying to get rid of me now that we have found each other again?”
“That is the last thing I want to do, Giselle. I only want what is best for you and the boy.”
She whipped around and caught his gaze. “What if being with you is what is best for us?” she countered. “Do I not have a say in this?”
Franc exhaled sharply and scrubbed his hand across his face. Convincing her to agree to his request was going to be far harder than he ever imagined. She twisted what he said to suit her purpose, and he was digging himself a deeper hole each time he spoke. When he told her he loved her, he meant it, and still did. He wanted nothing more than to see her safe, and believed the only way he could ensure that was to find a place for her to hole up, somewhere he was not. They were running out of time and he had to make her listen.
“You are going to the priory and I will not discuss it any further.” He thought perhaps if he used a gruffer, more authoritative tone, she might comply, but his assumption swiftly proved to be a mistake. If anything, it only sparked her ire, making her more rebellious and obstinate than ever.
“I will not stay. If you leave me there, I will follow you.” She defiantly inclined her chin. “We are no safer with the nuns than we are with you and Lazarus. I thought I had lost you once and do not want to lose you again.”
Her voice cracked with emotion when she spoke, and while Franc suspected she was on the verge of tears, she did her best to stand her ground. He’d always admired her spirit. It was one of the many things about her that he found refreshing and appealing. True, he had felt an immediate attraction to her the day they met, but it went beyond the physical. She’d been through so much in her life, yet she faced each day with hope and courage. She cared for her father and then her uncle, always putting other’s needs before her own. Her love for her son was obvious, and he imagined if cornered, she would prove to be a fiercely protective mother. He could tell the boy adored her too.
“I hate to interrupt, but we best be moving on.” Lazarus approached. “I dinna doubt we are being followed, and the more distance we can keep between us and them, the better.” He looked from Franc to Giselle. “Have you settled things?”
“Oui,” Franc said.
“No, we have not,” Giselle answered at the same time. She scowled at Franc.
“I see.” Lazarus snickered, then frowned. “Best you decide quickly, or the buggers will decide for you.” He returned to where Jean played with his sword. “Time to mount up, little knight.” He lifted the lad and placed him on his horse, then climbed up behind him. “There is still plenty of daylight left, so I say we go as far as we can before dark, then make camp for the night.”
“That sounds good to me.” Giselle stomped toward Franc’s horse, and after pulling herself into the saddle, she glowered down at him. “Are you coming?”
Frustrated and furious with her refusal to do as he requested, Franc threw his hands in the air as he stormed toward his destrier, still grumbling under his breath. Given Lazarus’s reservations about leaving her behind when he told him his plan, coupled with Giselle’s unfavorable response, the odds were clearly two against one. And he had yet to ask the lad’s opinion. He snatched the reins, then mounted behind Giselle. “The discussion is not finished.”
“It is as far as I am concerned,” she answered smugly. “But Lazarus is right. We need to make the most of the daylight we have left.”
Chapter 15
“We have been riding for several hours, and I think it is time to rest the horses.” Lazarus road up beside Franc, then reined in his mount, and pointed to a dense grove of trees. “Over there should do nicely. We can take advantage of the shade and protection the forest provides. With the added weight on your mount, and given we still have a way to go, best we na push the beasts too hard. And I would imagine Giselle would like the chance to stretch her legs and tend to her needs as well.”
Franc grunted, then urged his horse forward, stopping when he reached the edge of the forest. He slid from the saddle, then helped Giselle down.
Lazarus tied his mount to a tree he found tucked behind some bracken, before hoisting Jean from the saddle and placing the lad’s feet on the ground. “Go with your mam, we willna be stopping for long.” He pointed him in the direction of his mother, then patted his behind. “Off with you.”
“Take the boy and find a spot to see to your needs, but mind you do not wander far. We are unfamiliar with these woods and have no idea how closely we are being followed,” Franc said to Giselle, then waited for them to disappear into a nearby thicket.
“I hope you dinna plan to scowl all the way to Rosslyn Castle,” Lazarus chided. “The lass made up her mind that she and the lad were coming along, so there is no point in dwelling on it.”
“I still say they are much better off at a priory,” Franc barked. “This is no place for a woman and young child. It is far too dangerous, and I shudder to think what they will do to her and the boy if they catch up with us.” Franc closed his eyes, and the vivid possibilities flooded his mind.
“Then we must be sure and stay one step ahead of them and na take any unnecessary risks,” Lazarus replied. “The sooner we reach our destination the better.”
“The next convent we come to, I am leaving them there, regardless of what Giselle wants,” Franc announced. “I refuse to have their brutal torture and deaths on my head.”
Deep in their discussion, neither man noticed Giselle’s return, or that she could overhear their conversation.
“Wait right here, Jean,” she instructed, then released her son’s hand and stormed toward Franc and Lazarus. “Would you please keep your voices down when referring to the men who are following us. I know it is impossible to ignore the fact they could come upon us and do us harm, but I have tried not to alarm Jean or frighten him any more than necessary.” She kept her voice low, so only the two men could hear.
“Maybe you need to stop sheltering him from reality, and explain to the boy that he should be afraid of them. As should you.” Franc snagged her upper arm and tugged her toward him. He lowered his voice to a whisper, but his tone remained harsh. “These are ruthless bastards we are dealing with, and if caught, they will show no mercy to you or the boy. You saw what they did to your father and cousin. And what about your Uncle Harold?”
Giselle wrung her hands, but refused to back down. “What happened to Papa and Suzanna was horrible, but we do not know for certain that Uncle Harold met the same fate.”
“There is no doubt in my mind,” Franc snapped. “I only pray they ended it quickly and did not torture him long.” He hated to paint such a vivid picture, or to destroy any hopes she had that her uncle may still be alive, but she needed to realize just how dangerous the situation was.
Lazarus grunted. “I will leave the two of you alone to discuss this, while I tend to the horses. Mayhap Jean would like to help me.” He bowed, turned on his heel, and headed off. “Make haste. We dinna have time to dally.”
“He is right. We must keep moving,” Franc said. “Had you not insisted on accom
panying us and slowing us down, we would be nearing our destination by now.” Convinced by the look of anger on her face, he had already said more than she wanted to hear, and afraid if he continued to rant, he might say something he did not mean and would later regret, he decided it was best he go and help with the horses, thus hastening their departure. He turned to leave, coming face-to-face with Lazarus.
“Have either of you seen Jean?” Lazarus dragged his fist across his chin. “I canna seem to find him.”
Giselle craned her neck and clutched a hand to her throat. “He should be right there by the horses. I told him to stay put.” After frantically searching the clearing, she called out to him. “Jean!”
“It would be best if you do not shout,” Franc cautioned and brought a finger to his lips. “If the French Guard are close, they might hear you.”
“I do not care who hears me. My son is lost, and we must find him before anything terrible happens,” she sobbed.
Seeing her so distraught tore at his heart. Franc rested his hand on her forearm, and softened his tone. “He likely wandered off and has not gone far. We only took our eyes off him for a minute.”
“Please hurry. He is just a little boy.” She sniffled and scrubbed the back of her hand across her damp cheeks.
“Dinna fash. We will find him,” Lazarus reassured her. “Stay here in case he returns. Franc and I will search the woods.”
“We must go, now.” Franc spun on his heel and darted down a footpath leading into the forest, with Lazarus following closely behind.
As they entered the dense stand of trees, the two men halted, taking time to familiarize themselves with their surroundings. Finding the lost boy was one thing, but being able to find their way back to Giselle once they had, was imperative.