Sharon Schulze (9 page)

Assuming such a place still existed, she thought, then took herself to task for her cynicism.

They halted at the opposite edge of the clearing and hobbled the horses to graze along the grassy verge.

Rafe and Padrig appeared deep in conversation as they approached, but grew silent as they neared the shelter. Jock and Peter unsaddled the horses and followed them soon after.

Alys remained seated just outside the entrance to the shelter. Her aching body had stiffened despite the sun’s warmth, and she feared she’d collapse at their feet were she to try to stand.

Wouldn’t
that
be a lovely way to greet Padrig? As it was, after everything they’d shared last night—after her obsession with the topic all this morn—she scarce knew if she’d be able to so much as look at him without turning red as a cherry.

Would Rafe be able to see that there was something different between them?

“Lady Alys, well met!” Rafe cried, making an elaborate obeisance as he and Padrig stopped before her. Padrig’s bow, while far more reserved, was well within the bounds of courtesy.

She suppressed a sigh of relief; she’d not been cer
tain what his manner would be toward her now, though it didn’t seem his nature to expose what was private between them, nor to treat her with disrespect.

Besides, when they’d parted, they’d been on civil terms. She worried over nothing, as usual.

The other two men reached the hut, nodded courteously to her and went inside.

“’Tis good to find you up and about,” Rafe told her, dropping down to sit on the ground across the doorway from her.

Padrig dragged a short piece of tree trunk closer, brushed it off and offered it for her to sit upon. “Here, milady—this will get you up out of the dirt.”

She still didn’t dare try to get up. “Nay, I’m fine here,” she said, motioning for him to take the seat. “I doubt I could get much dirtier, and I’m too comfortable to move.”

Though he sent her a look she couldn’t interpret, he sat down on the log.

“It feels wonderful to finally be warm,” she said. “I wish I could have brought the others out here into the sun as well, but I didn’t dare try to move them. I did check on them and do what I could for them.” She motioned to the ground nearby, where she’d spread out all the wet clothing she’d found piled just inside the doorway. “I managed to get these out here, though. I believe most of this lot is almost dry already.”

“You shouldn’t have been working at all, milady,” Padrig chided. “You’re in little better condition than the others who are hurt.”

“I’m able to stay awake and to move about. I’d say that puts me in far better shape, Sir Padrig. Even with one arm bound to my body like a millstone.” Alys sent
him a stern look. “Unless ’tis that you don’t believe a lady should dirty her hands?” she asked with a challenging glare.

He shook his head, his lips twisting into a wry smile. “Acquit me of that offense, milady. I’ve lived a long while around noble ladies who work so hard, they’d put a slave to shame.” He stretched his legs out before him and sighed. “I’ve no doubt that they—and you—could keep up with any knight, should you wish to take up a sword and join us.”

“You’ll get the chance to prove your mettle soon enough, milady,” Rafe told her. “It will take all our resources to leave this hellish place.”

“Did you determine where we are?” she asked eagerly. In her excitement she straightened her back, sending a sharp bolt of pain along her spine. Undaunted, she winced, but kept talking. “You cannot have found other people, else you’d have brought them back with you. But do you know of any keep or village nearby?”

“Have a care, milady.” Padrig stood and moved to her side. Ignoring her questioning look, he bent down and swept her up into his arms, sending a flush of heat to her face and making her heartbeat soar. “Aye, we know, more or less, where we are.” He stood and turned to cross the clearing. “I believe there are settlements of some sort in the area—”

“Actually,” Rafe cut in from behind them, “you may know more about that than we do, milady.”

“Do you need me to ride out with you?” Mayhap that was why they were heading toward the horses. While she didn’t much look forward to riding in her present condition, if she could be useful, she could endure it.
“It’s been several years since I’ve traveled this route, but I’m sure I’ll recognize something.”

“Nay, milady,” Rafe said. “We’ve a fairly good notion where we are. But if you could tell us anything at all about the manors hereabouts, ’twould help us decide where would be best to go.”

Alys squirmed about in Padrig’s hold, trying to peer over his shoulder at Rafe.

“Alys, stay still,” Padrig murmured. “’Tis awkward carrying you with your arm in the sling. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You had no trouble holding me before,” she whispered so only he could hear. Her cheeks flushed with heat as soon as the words left her lips. “Dear God in heaven, I cannot believe I just—” She buried her face against the coarse linen of his tunic. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Hush, sweeting.” His back to Rafe, he pressed a kiss to her hair. “’Tis never any trouble to hold you.”

“Lady Alys,” Rafe called, jogging a few steps to catch up to them. “Are you all right? You didn’t answer.”

“I jostled her a bit and hurt her arm,” Padrig told him as Alys kept her face pressed to his shoulder. “She’ll answer you in a moment, won’t you, milady?”

Hoping her flush had faded, Alys raised her head and nodded.

“That’s good.” Rafe nodded. “I figured we’d want to learn anything you know soon, before you—”

Padrig shook his head to cut off Rafe before the other man could finish. Alys took one look at Padrig’s uneasy expression and immediately tried to wriggle free.

“Before what?” she demanded.

“Alys, Rafe didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” Pa
drig began, his tone similar to that of a parent about to dole out some sort of punishment.

“Actually, I did mean just what I said,” Rafe pointed out. “It makes no sense at all to wait till after to ask her— What if she swoons? We’ll get no answers from her then.”

Alys caught Padrig’s jaw in her hand and made him meet her gaze. He paused in the middle of the clearing, his blue eyes dark with some turbulent emotion, the muscles of his jaw like a rock beneath her fingers. “Whatever it is you’re talking about, I’m not going to like it, am I?”

Closing his eyes briefly, he shook his head. “No, milady, you will not.” When he opened his eyes, his expression was fierce. “Nor shall I. I must slide your arm back into the socket—and there’s no way to do it without causing you a great deal of pain.”

A
lys’s face might have been pink with embarrassment a few moments earlier, but ’twas pale as milk now. Padrig hadn’t realized it was possible for the color to drain from a person’s face so swiftly.

Yet her expression was composed, her touch firm as she cradled his jaw. “I know you’ll do your best not to hurt me,” she said. Her gaze met his, her amber eyes serene. “Rafe has the right of it, though. If I’m to tell you anything important, I had better do so beforehand. I fear I’ll be little more than a gibbering idiot once you’ve finished with me.”

Her courage astounded him, although he should not be surprised by anything about her. Lady Alys Delamare was an amazing woman.

He’d do well to remember that fact.

He started walking again. “Rafe will assist me, if you don’t mind. ’Twill be easier for both of us if someone holds you, and I didn’t think you’d want one of the others to do it.”

“That’s why you’re moving me away from the shelter, isn’t it?”

Padrig nodded. “We’ll give you as much privacy as we can. As it is, I’ll need to remove your gown. You’ll be covered by your undertunic,” he assured her.

“Ye needn’t worry, milady.” Rafe gave her an encouraging smile. “I can keep my eyes shut tight the entire time. I’ll not see a thing.”

Something about what Rafe said, or the way he said it, had made her chuckle. That was good; if they could keep her amused, distract her attention a little, mayhap she’d not be so apprehensive and tense.

“’Tis his usual custom when faced with a partially-dressed woman,” Padrig said, straight-faced.

Rafe nodded and squeezed his eyes closed in an exaggerated manner. Then, popping them wide open, he winked at her.

Alys giggled, then laughed at his antics.

“You’d best hold his hand good and tight, as well,” Padrig warned her, “for I vow he’ll be as nervous as a bride on her wedding night.”

They’d reached the far side of the clearing. Padrig stopped near an old log fallen along the edge of the forest and lowered Alys to her feet beside it, steadying her as she stood. He untied the knot holding her sling in place and, supporting her arm with his free hand, unwound the strip of linen and let it drop to the ground.

Alys stood watching his every move, her gaze intent, her face so pale he could see the faint smattering of light freckles dusting her cheekbones. She grimaced, slipping her hand beneath his to hold up her right arm.

Padrig held Alys’s gaze as he reached for the strings tied loosely at the neckline of her gown. The tails of the knot had wound into a tangled mess; muttering a curse, he began the tedious chore of unraveling it.

Rafe spun on his heel and stood with his back to them, positioning himself so that he shielded her from view, should anyone look across the clearing. “You may need to help me get about, Lady Alys, for I cannot see a thing. Got my eyes closed up tighter than a virg—” He abruptly cut off the word.

He’d spoken a heartbeat too long, in Padrig’s estimation, since ’twas clear from Alys’s suppressed laughter and raised eyebrows that she knew exactly what inappropriate comment the irrepressible rascal had been about to make.

Judging from her reaction, however, Rafe had not offended her. Far from it.

Perhaps that had been why he’d done it. Though Rafe could not see Alys, she
was
smiling, and a slight tinge of color brightened her skin.

“Thank you, Rafe,” Alys called.

Aye, thank you,
Padrig echoed silently. ’Twas precisely what she needed just now.

She glanced up at Padrig, her eyes alight with amusement. Leaning close, she asked, “Come, Sir Padrig—how can you remain so serious?”

“He’s a serious fellow, milady,” Rafe called over his shoulder. “All Welshmen are, ’tis a well-known fact. Think of it. When did you last see a Welshman smile? And when you add the fact that he has spent a good long time— How many years were you with Lord Connor at Gerald’s Keep, milord?”

Padrig shook his head, but went along with Rafe’s jabbering. “’Twas nigh seven years.”

“Sir Padrig spent nigh seven years—dear God, man,
seven years?
However did you stand it—living among the Irish? They are a most grave and solemn lot, so I’ve
been told. ’Twill be a wonder, indeed, if we ever see him smile again.”

Padrig bit back a laugh. “Mayhap ’twas you who spent years in their midst! I doubt there’s anywhere else in the world where you’d find so many silver-tongued devils spouting their nonsense.” He settled his face into a solemn expression, though he didn’t doubt his eyes gave him away. “’Tis almost enough to drive an honest Welshman to drink.”

“Speaking of drink—you didn’t happen to bring along that flask, did you? I could use a drink right about now. A man needs something to occupy him if he’s to stand about, waiting.” Rafe paced back and forth, keeping his back to them. Halting, he demanded, “What are you doing, milord? ’Tis taking an uncommon amount of time for what ought to be a simple task.”

“My lacings are knotted,” Alys told him. “I’m not any help, and Sir Padrig can’t get them untied.”

Rafe hummed a brief snippet of a lively tune, ending it as abruptly as he’d begun. “Do you know, milady, I believe Sir Padrig should shut his eyes, as well. He has already proven he can get you in and out of your gown—or is that out, then in?—without looking at you at all. Clearly, the fact that he can see you now is holding him back. Is that the problem, milord?” he teased.

Padrig ignored Rafe’s mocking question, instead focusing his attention on the unwieldy knot. He’d had no trouble with the lacing when he’d tied it—in the dark—during the night.

“What is he talking about?” Alys asked, her whispered demand no less intense for lack of volume.

She swayed on her feet. Padrig caught her carefully about the waist and lowered her to sit on the log, her
back propped against a fallen tree. “’Tis nothing,” he muttered without meeting her eyes. “Just ignore him.” His callused fingertips seemed huge and clumsy as he plucked at the narrow strings.

She rested her injured arm in her lap and closed her left hand around his wrist. “If it was nothing, you’d have tossed some jest back at him.” A bright tide of color rose to her cheeks. “Is he right? Did you undress me last night?”

Padrig glanced up at Rafe, who’d evidently seen the wisdom of moving far enough away from them to give them privacy—as long as they spoke quietly. Turning, he knelt before Alys and took her hand. “I brought you into the hut dripping wet, yet when you woke, you were dressed in dry clothing. How did you imagine that came to pass?” He toyed with her fingers, looked up at her face. Her color had not faded a whit. “Would you rather I’d had one of the others undress you?” he asked. “Not that they’d have harmed you in any way, but I thought it best that I look after you.”

He
couldn’t
have allowed anyone else to take care of her.

She turned her hand in his and linked their fingers together. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything you’ve already done.”

Unwilling to release her quite yet, he raised her hand and pressed a kiss to her wrist. “I truly did try to undress you with my eyes closed,” he told her, chuckling. He lowered their hands, still joined, to her lap. “However, I soon realized that working by feel was likely to get me into more trouble than by watching what I was doing.”

The feel of her flesh beneath his hands during the
simple act of searching for the lacing of her gown had sent his imagination soaring—and his senses reeling.

As if he hadn’t already felt like the most rapacious beast in nature. How could he feel desire and compassion for her at the same time? It couldn’t be right for the man to ache for the woman at the same time the knight wanted to look after the injured young noblewoman.

Yet both were how he’d felt.

How he still felt.

’Twas most confusing—but far beyond his scope to understand.

In any event, he would be better served to deal with the here and now.

“You needn’t worry that I saw anything. ’Twas very dark in the shelter, and I did all I could to maintain your privacy.”

“I trust you, Padrig.” She glanced over at Rafe, who continued to studiously ignore them, before shifting her gaze to Padrig’s.

Her flush had faded. Nonetheless, her amber eyes glowed with a tempting fire. “’Tis foolish, is it not?” she added, pitching her voice low so it would not carry. “To feel uncomfortable at the notion that you undressed me, when I all but invited you to do so later on.”

“The difference, Alys, is that you were awake later on, and aware of what we were doing.” He leaned closer, held her gaze, felt his body heat up. “Truth to tell, milady, if you were going to be undressing me, I’d prefer to be awake for the experience.”

“Sir Padrig,” Rafe called, jolting him out of the spell Alys seemed to cast over him. “The day’s getting away from us, milord. You might as well cut that knot loose with your dagger.”

Padrig looked behind him. Rafe had moved closer; Peter, who had come back outside and gone to the horses, hobbled nearby.

Rafe glanced meaningfully toward the other man before pointing to his own arm. “Do it now,” he mouthed.

Regretfully Padrig slipped his hand free of Alys’s and rose. “We cannot put this off any longer.”

“I know,” she told him. She smiled, her face surprisingly calm. “Don’t worry about me. Just do what you must. I trust you, Padrig. Let’s be done with this.”

“Aye.” He drew his dagger from the sheath on his belt and sliced through the knot.

Alys reached up and placed her hand over his. “Before we do anything more, did you still want me to tell you about my father’s holdings here? Perhaps something I remember will sound similar to what you saw this morning.” She glanced away, her lips thinning, her body tense. “In case I’m in no state to think clearly later.”

“All right.” He didn’t know if she’d recognize any of the details he’d noted, but he sat next to her and briefly described what they’d seen when they’d explored the surrounding area.

She recognized some of what he told her and swiftly narrowed down their location to the locale of Winterbrooke Manor, a minor keep and village under her father’s dominion.

He hoped she was correct. If so, even though they’d have to travel very slowly, they could get there before sundown.

“Thank you for your help, milady.” Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips. “Now—’tis time to take care of you.”

He’d been vaguely aware of Rafe sending Peter back
to the shelter. He’d rejoined them as Alys had finished her description of Winterbrooke Manor and its environs.

“How are you going to get this thing off over her arm?” Rafe asked now, pointing to Alys’s dress. “Mayhap you should leave it on?”

“Nay, it will be in the way,” Padrig replied. “’Tis difficult to get a good grip as it is, without—”

“Enough!” Rafe said, shuddering.

“You got my other gown off, and this one on,” Alys pointed out.

“You’d swooned,” Padrig said. “Nothing seemed to rouse you! I ended up cutting off the gown you were wearing. I’d the devil of a time wriggling you into this one. I’m amazed you didn’t awaken then.”

“You may cut up this one, as well, if ’tis easier.” Alys grabbed a handful of the loose sleeve and held it out. “Or slice this part open. Then I could wear it again. Mayhap you could just take off the sleeve, so you can get to my arm?” She gazed up at him hopefully. “Since I’m awake now, I’d really rather you didn’t wrench me about any more than necessary,” she added dryly.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Working carefully, Padrig poked the wickedly sharp knifepoint into the top of the sleeve and began to ease the fabric away from the dress.

Now that the moment had arrived, Alys felt as though she had become one huge ache. Her pulse thumped through her entire body with every beat of her heart. She couldn’t even bear to watch as Padrig worked on removing her sleeve, for so slight a movement as that action generated felt exaggerated, as though her arm were ready to explode from the merest touch.

She’d grown accustomed to the pain since last night, but now her stomach roiled with it.

She looked away and met Rafe’s sympathetic gaze. “If I scream, would you cover my mouth for me till I stop?” she asked him. Though she hoped she’d more courage than that, she couldn’t be certain.

Mayhap she was simply a coward who had yet to be put to the test.

“If ’tis your wish, milady.” Rafe knelt beside her and took her hand in his. “But I very much doubt ’twill be necessary.”

“There,” Padrig said, satisfaction lacing his voice. He dangled her sleeve in front of her and dropped it into her lap. “No undressing required, with eyes open or closed.”

Everything moved swiftly after that, when it felt as though the past day—since the storm came upon them—had lasted a week, at least.

Was it only yesterday morn that she’d awoken in their camp, found Padrig bathing in the pool, begun to realize the strength of the powerful attraction drawing them toward each other?

So much had happened in that brief time. So much had changed.

As she let Padrig shift her into place, braced herself against Rafe’s strong body with his arms holding her steady and Padrig holding her right arm in a firm clasp, she realized nothing in her life would ever be the same again.

When she fixed her gaze upon Padrig’s deep blue eyes, she was glad of that fact.

Drawing strength from somewhere deep within her, Alys closed her hand tight around Rafe’s arm and nodded to Padrig that she was ready.