A Daring Sacrifice (15 page)

Pain radiated in my head, and I fought through the darkness to regain my wits. My fingers twitched against straw and the cold earth.

Where was I?

Voices penetrated the fog clouding my mind. I was tempted to open my eyes. Instead, I kept myself motionless and listened.

“You didn't need to hurt him,” came a woman's voice.

“You're lucky I didn't kill him,” answered another.

“I told you to be gentle.”

“I was.”

My chest expanded with sudden and overwhelming relief. I'd found her.

I lifted my lashes only slightly so that I caught a glimpse of Juliana standing several feet away in what appeared to be a dirt cave of some kind.

She stood before the same short, stocky man who had battered me, her hands pressed into her hips and her eyes narrowed in a glare. The man stared back with a scowl that would have made most girls cry.

When the sturdy peasant glanced in my direction, I let my lashes fall and feigned unconsciousness.

“I don't trust him,” the man snarled in a low voice.

“Well, I do,” came Juliana's quick, clear answer.

Inwardly, I smiled. Maybe I'd made more progress with her during our time together than I'd realized.

“I think he was being followed,” the man said. “He could lead us into a trap.”

I wanted to sit up in protest, but thankfully Juliana beat him to it. “Collin wouldn't try to trap me.”

“He's a nobleman”—the peasant spat the words—“and the only good nobleman is a dead one.”

For a long moment the cave was quiet, except for the crackling of wood in a fire across from me. I was close enough that I could feel the warmth of the flames, but far enough away that the dark shadows provided some privacy.

I peeked from between my lashes again and this time saw the young, thin accomplice who had ridden with Juliana the day she'd robbed me. Beyond the boy stood several other peasants, their shoulders stooped and heads bent under the low roof of the cave. Strangely, strands of what appeared to be roots hung from the ceiling. The light from several torches illuminated the crumbling dirt walls and a nearby tunnel.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the mustiness of damp earth that mingled with wood smoke. I dug through the straw until my fingers brushed against the soil of the floor. It was hard, almost clay-like.

Were we underground?

“Collin Goodrich might be a nobleman,” Juliana finally said, “but he's kind.”

“And kidnapping you was kind?” the man retorted.

If the peasants made their homes in underground caves, that would explain why I'd lost track of her. She'd likely entered through some secret passageway they'd made impossible to locate.

“I don't care what you think about Collin,” Juliana said. She was attired in men's garments, and she'd tucked her hair up into her knit cap. Even so, now that I knew she was a woman, I didn't understand how anyone could miss seeing her for the beautiful lady she was.

“I've had the chance to get to know him,” she said, “and I like him.”

I had to stifle another smile. She liked me. Suddenly the battering and humiliation I'd taken at the hands of the growling peasant was worth it.

The gruff man grumbled again. “If you don't want me to kill him, then I say we dump his body back on Goodrich land.”

“But he's hurt,” she protested. “I think you broke a couple ribs and gave him a concussion.” Her voice drew nearer.

I forced myself into absolute stillness as she knelt next to me. Her leg brushed against mine, the woodsy scent of her cloak whooshed over me, and the warmth of her hand soaked into my arm.

For a long moment, I couldn't breathe. She placed a fluttering hand upon my chest and then bent her ear near my mouth, clearly worried about my lack of breath. She drew close enough that her ear brushed my lips.

“I'm relieved to know you like me,” I whispered, unable to contain my grin any longer.

She gasped and jumped back.

In an instant, my attacker was at her side, his knife unsheathed and pointed against my heart.

I ignored the man and stared up into Juliana's luscious brown eyes. “Hi there, sweetheart,” I said with an expanding smile. “Aren't you a sight for sore eyes.”

She scowled at me. “How long have you been awake?”

“It's nice to see you too.”

“Did you see the entrance?” the peasant demanded, digging the tip of his knife so that it pierced my chest. I couldn't keep from flinching.

“Bulldog!” Juliana knocked the man's beefy hand away, sending the knife twirling to the hard-packed earth. “I told you not to hurt him.”

“And I told you I'm not,” the man yelled back. “If a couple punches and pricks hurts His Royal Highness, then he better crawl back to his mama's lap where he'll be safe.”

I chuckled, the movement rattling my sore ribs. I nodded at Bulldog. I had a feeling I was going to like this feisty man, but I also knew that I would have to work hard to earn his trust.

The warmth of my blood seeped into my tunic, turning the fabric a brown-red and drawing Juliana's attention. “Now look what you did,” she cried out, and pressed her fingers against my newest wound. “That was deeper than a prick.”

Bulldog muttered under his breath, shook his head, and then stomped away.

Juliana ripped the edge of her tunic, and before I could stop her she'd edged my shirt up to the spot above my ribs where Bulldog's knife had cut me. She pressed the piece of ragged linen against the slash.

I sucked in a sharp breath. I wasn't sure if it was from the pain or from the fact that I was lying before her with my bare chest exposed and her hand upon it.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, staunching the flow of my blood. “Bulldog isn't too happy you followed me here.”

“I thought he looked overjoyed.”

“He always has more bark than bite.” Her gaze flitted to the hard contours of my chest, her eyes widening before flying quickly back to my wound.

As much as I liked having her aid, I knew I was putting her into a compromising situation by lying before her half naked. I pried the piece of rag from her fingers, sat up, and let my tunic fall back down. “Bulldog is right. It's just a nick. I'll be fine.” I glanced at Bulldog, who was still watching my every movement, his knife ready to throw should I attempt anything.

Yes, I was surely going to like Bulldog. “He'll stop hating me once I show him the purse of gold and jewels.”

“I don't want your wealth.” She sat back and folded her arms. She'd been gone from the castle for less than twenty-four hours and already her face was streaked with mud and soot.

“I told you that they were yours, and I'm not going back on my word.”

“I won't hold you to our deal. 'Tis my fault that I didn't finish my week—”

I yanked the purse out of the secret pocket of my damp cloak and tossed it toward Bulldog, who was squatting in front of the fire. “This is Juliana's. But she's turning her nose up at it.”

Bulldog captured it with a swipe of his hand. He glowered at both of us, his dark brows furrowing together into a menacing line. Then he pried at the knot on the pouch. When he spilled the contents to the ground, the cavern turned silent.

I slid the diamond necklace from my pocket. “Here's one more thing for your collection.” I tossed the jewel to Bulldog.

The man caught the sparkling necklace and then let it dangle from his hand above the pile of coins. When he finally looked at me, his brow had arched.

I nodded at him solemnly.

Bulldog nodded back.

And somehow I knew I'd gained the man's approval, albeit barely. If only I could tell Bulldog he had nothing to worry about, that I wanted to keep Juliana safe more than anything. If only I could convince them all that the safest course was for her to return to the castle with me.

I was planning to stay and complete my part of the bargain, whether Juliana wanted me to or not. In fact, maybe I wouldn't leave until she decided to come back with me.

Chapter
12

“You left without saying good-bye,” Collin whispered
near my ear, making my stomach quiver.

He was sitting against the dirt wall next to me, in front of the fire. Its blazing warmth had finally dried our clothing.

“I didn't think you'd care,” I said softly, conscious that Bulldog hadn't stopped watching me, always scowling and ready to spring at Collin. The others had finally fallen asleep, as was our normal custom during the daylight hours—except for times I went on special “hunting” trips.

“Of course I care.” Collin's fingers brushed against my hand at my side. I was helpless to resist when he slid his fingers into mine and laced our hands together.

Heat shimmied from my hand to my arm and then to my heart, making my pulse sputter faster. I was tempted to turn and look into his eyes, realizing how much I loved looking into the green that sparkled with endless mirth.

I hadn't expected him to trail me back to Wessex land. Surely he realized by now that my presence in his home had only been a hassle and would eventually bring both of us trouble.

“Besides,” he said, “I promised you that I'd come visit your home for a week to learn more about what life is really like for the peasants.”

I shrugged. At the time I'd made the bargain, his visit had seemed like a good plan. But Bulldog had made it clear that, trusted or not, Collin wasn't welcome. He'd demanded that the young nobleman be blindfolded at nightfall and taken far from our cave homes.

Part of me wanted to agree with Bulldog. My wise friend was only doing what he thought was best for all of us. But now, with Collin's fingers intertwined in mine, I wasn't sure I could let him go.

“Won't Lady Irene be worried about you,” I asked, “and send out a search party?”

“I told her I was escorting you home, and that I would likely be gone a week.”

I let my shoulders sink back against the chilly earth wall. Surely no one would suspect anything if he stayed. What harm could befall us?

“And why would I want to return home?” he whispered, humor edging his voice. “Not when I received such a friendly reception. I wouldn't want to miss my chance at having a few more ribs broken.”

“Bulldog told me you didn't resist him or defend yourself.”

“That's because, every once in a while, I like being beat up by angry peasants.”

I smiled and nudged my shoulder playfully against his. “Are you ever serious?”

His fingers tightened against mine. In the darkness of the underground cave, the flickering flames of the fire cast a glow over his face and lit up his eyes. “I'm serious when I say I'd allow myself to be thrashed any day in order to see you.”

Had he let Bulldog capture him and almost kill him, just so he could be with me? “You're crazy,” I whispered.

“Not half as crazy as you,” he whispered back. His arm pressed against mine, so that the hard length of his muscles
rippled against me, reminding me of the smooth, defined contours of his chest I'd seen earlier when tending his wound.

I'd merely reacted to the sight of blood and hadn't stopped to think when I'd pulled up his tunic. I'd tended plenty of wounds for my friends in the past. But I'd never reacted to seeing their bare flesh the same way I had Collin's. He'd been noble to sense my discomfort and pull his garment back down.

The crackle of the fire filled the comfortable silence between us, along with the soft snores of my companions who were spread out on pallets around the fire.

Collin stifled a yawn.

“Why don't you sleep for a little while?” I suggested.

“If I close my eyes, I'm afraid Bulldog will slit my throat,” he retorted dryly, glancing at the bulky frame of my protector.

Bulldog had finally closed his eyes, but I could tell from the uneven rise and fall of his chest he hadn't fallen asleep and likely wouldn't as long as Collin was there. “He's a good man. A second father to me.”

“I think his son likes me even less.” Collin glanced to where Thatch lay sprawled on his mat next to me, his eyelashes resting against his thin, freckled cheeks.

Thatch had scowled at Collin almost as fiercely as Bulldog had. The poor boy blamed Collin for the whipping Bulldog had given him when he'd returned home without me last week. I didn't begrudge the boy his anger.

“He'll forgive you once he gets to know you better,” I said.

“He's besotted with you, that's clear enough,” Collin said. “And I think he's jealous because you like me more than him.”

“Thatch is only a boy.”

“A boy on the cusp of manhood. A boy who's beginning to see you as the beautiful woman you are.”

Was that true? Thatch's straw-colored hair poked out from his cap, which he wore even in sleep. He'd grown taller of late,
so that his braies rose above his knees. And his toes poked through holes in the worn leather of boots devoid of laces that had long-past rotted away.