Claire Delacroix (29 page)

Thierry looked at the men below and spotted the young squire whose hair Eustache had ruffled in Paris. His jaw tightened at the signs of the strain the boy had borne, for his eyes were red rimmed and his countenance ashen. ‘Twas evident the boy had worshiped Eustache, and ‘twas a cruel blow that he should be the one to find his hero thus.

“And the lady?” Dagobert asked. Thierry’s gaze flew to the other man in time to see him shake his head slowly.

“Not a sign of her, milord,” he confessed. Thierry saw sympathy dawning in the man’s eyes and hastily looked away.

Not a sign. Mayhap not to him.

Thierry’s gaze meandered over the jutting rocks and meager trees that covered the slope on this face of the mountain. Some small sign he sought that Kira yet lived, though when he spotted the broken branches, he thought at first his eyes deceived him.

Then he saw another snapped branch, a bevy of stones disturbed from the places they had long rested. The evidence was there and widely scattered enough that it could mean only one thing. A number of people had passed this way. Nogai lifted a finger and pointed to the same broken branches that Thierry had noted.

“Mayhap as many as twenty,” he muttered. Thierry nodded, feeling his father’s questioning gaze upon them both, but did not elaborate.

Only too clearly did Thierry recall the way they had departed Paris. Now that the fullness of his heritage was clear to him, he understood the king’s response. Indeed, ‘twas much like the thinking of Abaqa to eliminate all threats to one’s hegemony.

But why this way? Why come to the wall, kill Eustache and leave without approaching the fortress itself? It made no sense to so quickly abandon an objective.

Unless... Thierry’s heart chilled as the only answer became clear to him. Kira was the missing clue. Eustache had died defending her. Eustache had failed and they had taken Kira. Mayhap someone recalled that she had been with him, mayhap they sought to draw him out without sustaining the casualties necessary to storm an old fortress like this one.

It mattered not what their intent was. The more Thierry reflected upon it, the more certain he became. Kira had been abducted and he could not leave the matter lie.

“Where are you going?” his father demanded. Thierry glanced over his shoulder and saw the approval in his
anda
‘s eyes.

“To fetch my pack,” he said simply. “‘Tis evident they have taken Kira,” he added grimly and turned away.

“Wait!” his father cried and Thierry halted unwillingly. “We will summon a party to go with you. Already had Eustache made preparations for battle.” Dagobert paused and swallowed carefully. “Should you choose to accept the fullness of your legacy, well might this be the time to stake your claim,” he added quietly.

All eyes fell to Thierry and he felt the will of those surrounding him. All their lives had they hoped and worked for the return of the rightful king. For years had this moment been their dream and for long Thierry had thought it might be his.

The time was ripe. His own ambitions were within his grasp.

But he could think of naught but Kira. Assembling a war party would take time, time that might be critical to her safety.

Thierry was surprised to realize that that fact mattered to him more than any ambition he thought himself to have. Should he be with Kira alone and be important to her, it would be enough to satisfy his ambitions.

This task he would do alone.

“Nay,” Thierry said flatly. “This is betwixt this king and me.”

He paused for a moment and acknowledged the concern in his father’s expression. Nogai stood silently and Thierry knew his old friend understood his choice to go alone. “Let the man see the manner of opponent he has engaged,” he added quietly. Something flashed in Dagobert’s eyes, but Thierry turned hastily away, mentally composing a list of all he might need.

If they had harmed Kira in any way, he would see they sorely regretted the day, he resolved grimly.

* * *

‘Twas dusk before Kira saw her chance.

The foreign knights had set a killing pace once mounted on the horses hidden at the mount below Montsalvat. That she was increasingly farther away from the fortress and any chance of aid did naught to reassure Kira, especially since the knight who had killed Eustache had yet to relinquish his grip upon her wrist.

They halted to let the horses drink from a passing stream and Kira dared to take a chance.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but I fear I must relieve myself,” she said meekly. The knight granted her a skeptical glance and Kira was grateful to feel her color rise. More credence would that lend to her tale. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I fear I may not be able to hold my water much longer,” she confided.

“Troublesome bitch,” the knight snarled. He dismounted all the same, hauling Kira in his wake. She struggled to give no sign of the thrill of victory coursing through her. The knight moved no farther and Kira’s hope faded.

This would not do.

“Sir!” she declared in a scandalized tone. “Surely you do not expect that I...that I should, should...here amidst your men.” Kira’s cheeks heated yet further at her own audacity and several men around them chuckled.

“Oho, a lady fine have we,” chortled one. Kira’s chin shot up proudly and the knight who held her wrist granted her an assessing glance.

“For pity’s sake,” he snorted when she thought he might not give in. He turned and plunged into the woods, the chuckles of his men lending impatience to his step.

She would have to be quick about it, should she make the most of this chance. ‘Twas dark in the shadows of the trees, yet still Kira played the demure maiden.

“Please, sir,” she implored as she fingered the hem of her kirtle. The knight’s lips set stubbornly and he turned his back upon her.

“Make haste, woman. Far have we to ride this night,” he growled.

Had it been Thierry before her, Kira knew well he would have missed naught of what she did. She could only hope that this knight was less observant.

A man shouted and the knight’s head turned. Kira’s heart leaped. ‘Twas her chance and likely the only one she would get.

Before she could question her impulse, Kira scooped up a broken tree branch. She crept up behind the mercenary, feeling it took a week to close the distance. She barely dared to breathe as she raised the heavy branch high. Kira swung it at the back of his skull with all her might. He turned, evidently hearing some hint of her presence, but had only time to open his mouth before the branch crashed into his brow.

He crumpled to his knees, his fingers grasped wildly for Kira’s kirtle. Terror flooded through her. She danced out of range of his grip and raised the branch high. The knight curled his lip in a snarl. Kira panicked. He was going to summon the others! She swung the branch and squeezed her eyes closed so that she wouldn’t have to see the damage she wrought.

The branch hit the ground with a thud. Kira had missed.

Something whistled past her ear. Her eyes flew open in time to see the knight lunge forward, then suddenly stop mid-gesture.

The shaft of the arrow buried in his throat quivered for a long moment, then he fell face-first onto the forest floor.

Kira gasped and spun on her heel. Everything within her dissolved at the sight of Thierry’s grim countenance and she thought her knees might give way. She took a gulping breath of relief and he held up one finger for silence as he stepped to her side.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded with blazing eyes. Kira shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. Thierry slipped one hand into the hair at her nape, the warmth of his fingers there reassuring her as naught else could.

Thierry was here. She was safe, despite her foolishness. Kira willed her heart to slow its pace.

“Woho, Gunther! For whose relief do you take the wench?” The men laughed in the clearing beyond. Thierry stiffened, then crouched lower, his eyes narrowing as he peered through the forest growth.

“I will fetch him,” another growled. “Is he not the one in such a rush to return to Paris?” The other men laughed amiably and the sound of the horses in the stream carried to Kira’s ears.

“How many?” he whispered.

“Twenty-two,” Kira supplied.

Thierry nodded, then a footfall in the brush brought his head up with a snap. He shoved Kira behind him and drew several arrows from his quiver. The silhouette of a knight appeared and Thierry moved so quickly that the arrow was planted in his chest before Kira saw Thierry draw his bow.

The knight grunted and fell, the thick carpet of leaves muffling the sound.

“Jean-Luc! Tell us not that the wench accommodates you both!”

A trio of men burst abruptly into the woods, but Thierry dispatched them with similar efficiency. Kira gaped at his skill, but he merely spared her a wink. He grasped her hand and tugged her hastily farther into the woods.

A cry rose behind them and Thierry ducked behind a tree, pressing Kira into the tree before him. He leaned against her protectively and silently threaded another arrow into his bow. Kira did not dare breathe lest she give their location away.

Thierry was completely motionless.

“What is this?” cried another man in dismay.

Another swore and Kira glanced up to see a third cross himself. They were close, too close for her comfort, but still Thierry waited.

“Who could have done this thing?”

“Where is the woman?”

“Naught did I hear.”

A babble of outrage rose from the cluster of men. Kira felt their gazes rise to scan the forest and she closed her eyes, willing herself invisible. The scent of the cedars flooded through her and she hoped against hope that they would not be discovered.

Thierry had pursued her! Despite her fear, the thought sent a thrill through her. Was it possible indeed that he cared for her?

“Naught do I see,” whispered another man. Awe there was in his voice. “How do we track a silent foe?” The group of men shuffled their feet in response to his question.

“Is the woman worth seeing our demise?” demanded another.

“But what will we tell the king?”

“Back to the fortress should we go!” cried one man. His suggestion was not greeted with enthusiasm.

“Nay! We should ride directly to Paris!” snapped another and Kira sensed this one would take the lead.

“Fool!” spat the first. “I would not darken that portal with this task unfulfilled.”

“Mayhap you would not, but I fully intend to do so,” the second man maintained frostily. “Any who would rather ride into battle uninformed are free to accompany you on your futile mission. Mayhap you will even manage to survive.” A ripple of dissent rumbled through the company of knights.

“Uninformed?” argued the first man. “‘Tis more than evident what we were bidden to do.”

“Hardly that. Well you know that Gunther alone knew the fullness of the deed,” the second knight snapped. “Without Gunther, we are best to return,” he maintained haughtily.

“We need not a foreigner to conclude business here—” The first got no further before he was summarily interrupted.

“Have you not a whit of sense in your head?” the second knight said impatiently. “Can you not see that this is but a fairy tale we chase? The old king is becoming whimsical. Enough ‘tis that we have ridden all the way to this cursed southern country, without wasting yet more time here.”

“But this southern lord covets the crown.”

“Plenty of others are there closer to Paris who covet the crown,” sneered the second. Assent rippled through the ranks at that assertion.

“But he bears the mark of the old kings of Rhedae,” the first knight objected, some of the vigor fading from his tone.

“Indeed,” his companion said skeptically. “And you have laid eyes upon this mark?”

“Nay,” the other admitted reluctantly.

“Nor have I,” the second insisted, a telling confidence in his tone. “And that fortress does not inspire my fears. Poorly kept ‘tis, for all its reputation, and any fool knows that a major battle of any kind, never mind a play for the crown itself, requires a fat purse. There is no threat in these southern hills.”

“But the woman—?”

“Was not fetching enough to merit the trouble.”

Kira might have gasped at his bold assertion, but Thierry’s lips were suddenly warm against her ear. “He lies,” he whispered, the fan of his breath making her warm all over.

“But what shall you tell the king?”

“Did you see this Mongol in Languedoc?” the second knight challenged his companions. Kira watched yet another knight bend over one of the fallen men and snap the shaft of Thierry’s arrow. He turned it speculatively beneath the second knight’s nose, though that man showed no sign of relinquishing the fight.

“‘Tis said the bow is their weapon of choice,” this new knight asserted calmly. “And this is fashioned unlike any arrows I know.”

The second knight held his gaze for a long moment, then snatched the arrow from his hand. He snapped the shaft twice more, then cast the pieces on the ground. “I went to Montsalvat and found a deserted keep,” he asserted boldly. “Save Eustache de Sidon who lay dead from this arrow. Unfortunately, it seemed the old knight and his men were deceived by those he took in.”

“And the Mongols?”

“Mercifully, we caught sight of them riding south on the road and gave pursuit,” the knight responded smoothly. “Sadly, several of our companions were lost in the resulting exchange, but the Mongols—” he lifted one finger “—were chased along the road and into the sea just south of Montsalvat.” His voice dropped and he eyed his companions speculatively.

“Which of you will call me a liar?”

The other knights avoided each other’s gaze as Kira held her breath.

“The Mongols might return,” one finally protested weakly.

The second knight laughed skeptically. “Only to hang your sorry hide,” he retorted and leaned closer to the objector. “Think well, Didier, whether you would be more afraid of him or of me,” he murmured before he straightened and cast an eye over his companions. “Be not fools. Subscribe to this tale and we shall all be paid in short order. Have you no desire to be paid and sleep well in your own beds?”