Jennifer August (26 page)

She thought for a brief moment of all Quinn had accomplished with the knights, their training and how they worked almost seamlessly as one unit now. It was possible she need not show herself. Not this time.

But still, if her appearance saved even one knight, the masquerade was worth it.

Especially if that knight was her husband.

She scooped up both swords, ramming them into the twin sheaths hanging at her sides and sped from the room to the chambers she shared with Quinn. Her shield sparkled from above the hearth and she hefted the metal gingerly, strapping its weight to her left forearm. She was ready.

Snow loped at her side as she walked through the keep. Servants gasped and crossed themselves as she passed by, but she ignored them all, her only thought to reach Quinn. She strode into the stable, and ordered Bluefire saddled.

Gavin, the stable lad looked at her as though she’d grown a second head, but quickly complied. She understood his surprise, always before it had been done in secrecy. Never had she so boldly walked through the keep clad in her armor, carrying the sacred shield.
Stirling
swallowed hard. She would face many questions when she returned.

“My lady, he’s ready.”

She unstrapped her shield, handing it to the slight boy and mounted her horse. He bucked at the weight and she soothed him, then retrieved her shield. Clucking her tongue at Bluefire, she led him from the stables and past the curious crowd of onlookers gathered in the bailey.

“Godspeed,” Gavin yelled as she kneed the horse to a faster clip, racing through the gates as they swung open.

“Find Quinn,”
Stirling
ordered Snow, following the hound as she caught the scent and tore down the dirt road leading to Calvin’s fortress.

Sighting the column of mounted knights,
Stirling
turned off the main road, shadowing them through the trees. She urged Bluefire to a faster gait, hoping the men’s own horses would cover any noise from the snapping branches and dead tree limbs she came across. Finally she spotted Quinn at the lead and slowed her horse, keeping pace with him. She looked for
Temple
’s men among the others, but did not see him and wondered where they’d gone.

 
As though she’d summoned him,
Temple
ran to Quinn’s side, appearing from the opposite direction. Quinn halted the garrison and conferred with the Scot. Stirling realized
Temple
had been scouting the area ahead and was now reporting. She took advantage of the brief respite and leaned back in the saddle, stretching her spine and wiggling her toes against the iron sides of her boots. She’d forgotten how damnably hot the armor could become and longed for a draught of mead or ale, even Quinn’s vile red wine would be welcome. She licked her lips, cursing her own stupidity, her own lack of planning. She had not even thought to bring meal rations.

Snow crept toward Quinn, belly low to the ground, tail tucked between her legs. “Nay, hound, ‘twill ruin everything should he see you now,” she hissed and the animal whined softly, but obediently returned to her. She bit her lip and stared at Quinn, hoping he’d not heard her rebuke. He glanced toward the dense foliage concealing her, but did not approach. When he signaled the men onward, she breathed a sigh of relief and sent another sharp, scolding glare at Snow.

She nudged Bluefire’s flanks until they reached Quinn again. Following at a safe distance, she calculated the length of their journey, dismayed at the thought of three nights spent in the hot, sweaty armor, with no food or drink.

While she could easily doff the armor, ‘twas more the thought of the stench she was sure to project than any other discomfort that annoyed her. She sighed, checking the surrounding growth for edible berries, roots and leaves. ‘Twas not the most appetizing meal she’d ever consumed, but far better than starving.

Blessedly, Quinn made camp near a water source, one she could access without rousing their interest. Tying Bluefire to a low-hanging tree limb,
Stirling
removed the gauntlets, leg casings and shirtmail covering her, then opened her arms to the wispy breeze darting through the forest. ‘Twas meager relief, but welcome all the same.

Snow stayed by her side as she picked what palatable fruit she could find, even nibbling some of the round berries when she offered them. Thirst parching her throat,
Stirling
peered through the trees across the small pond to Quinn’s camp.

The soldiers were bedded down for the night and Quinn lie on his back, head propped on his saddle, arms crossed over his chest. She could not tell if he slept or stared at the night sky, but decided to chance discovery anyway, her thirst would wait no longer.

She scooted silently through the branches, under the brambles and parted a large bush where the pond lapped at its roots. She glanced at Quinn before greedily scooping the cool water into her mouth by the handful. Again and again she dipped into the blissful reservoir until finally she quenched her thirst. Replete, she scrambled back to her own meager bedroll and dropped down, suddenly exhausted, wondering where she would next find water. To her knowledge no other pool formed between their lands and Calvin’s.

‘Twas difficult to sleep knowing Quinn was but a few feet away. She longed to lie down next to him, to wrap herself in the shelter of his arms, but knew the futility of her wish. He would send her home should he discover her presence and she could not allow that to happen. Her men, if not his, might need the presence of the Knight of the Mist to inspire them to successful battle. Wearily she cursed the burden put on her by the past dames of Falcon Fire and vowed her own daughter would not bear it.

The bushes to her left rattled and she rolled away, jerking her sword from its sheath. Snow crept from the foliage and grinned at her, the strap of a drinking horn clamped between her sharp fangs.
Stirling
dropped the sword and took the horn from the hound’s mouth. ‘Twas filled with sweet honey mead and she smiled with delight.

“How did you manage to steal this from under their noses, thief?” Snow rolled on her back, paws in the air and wiggled her backside. Obligingly,
Stirling
rubbed the dog’s pink belly. “Nevermind, ‘tis an angel you are, Snow. My thanks.” She tamped the cork back into the neck of the drinking vessel, her worries abated. The horn carried enough mead to last her several days, at least long enough to reach Calvin’s estate, show herself to the battling warriors of Falcon Fire and return home. She refused to contemplate her husband’s reaction once he spotted her. God willing she would be able to appear and disappear ere he could confront her.

Stirling
laid back down, Snow snuggling against her. She stared at the twinkling points of light in the sky until her eyelids drooped and she finally fell to sleep, images of Quinn filling her dreams.

The next two days passed much the same,
Stirling
shadowing Quinn’s army and Snow pilfering food from their cooksite when they camped.

“We will return home soon,” she told Snow as they sat on their concealed rise, looking at Calvin’s stone fortress. Guards prowled the battlement walls and smoke drifted from various vents in the roof, but she could not see within the bailey proper.

Quinn had made camp well back of the keep and to her disappointment ordered no fires. She’d become accustomed to Snow’s nightly gift of roasted venison or whatever animal
Temple
’s men captured that day.

Snow nudged her shoulder and she scooted away from the crest of the hill, sinking into the obscurity of the trees as
Temple
, Quinn and Sir John crept by, faces darkened and clothing black. She wished she was close enough to hear their muted conversation, curious about her husband’s battle tactics, but found no safe concealment.

Snow disappeared into the thicket and she returned to Bluefire to brush the horse down, desperate for a diversion from the interminable waiting. Her only thought when she began this fool’s errand had been to boost the morale of her knights, but now, as imminent war harkened, the image of Quinn, wounded and at Calvin’s mercy battered her. With each stroke of the brush her mind conjured a more hideous and gruesome fate for her husband, until ‘twas all she could do not to run to his side. Only the knowledge that he would surely kill her forestalled her flight.

“Goddamn it,
Stirling
, why can you not just obey me?”

Chapter Nineteen

Quinn caught
Stirling
’s scream against his palm, furious with her half-witted actions, and glared into her wide golden eyes. “What have you done, you little idiot?” he ground out.

She mumbled into his palm, her words indistinguishable, the repentant tone clear.

“I do not care how or why. You will return to Falcon Fire today.” He released her and grabbed the horse’s reins then spun on his heel and stalked toward his camp. Her hurried pace quickly caught up with him.

“My lord, I can explain,” she whispered, tugging on his sleeve.

Quinn stared at her incredulously. “There is no explanation, no reasonable argument you could offer that would calm me
Stirling
. Walk, do not speak.”

Quinn fought the urge to comfort her when her face crumpled at his harsh words. Her actions were ridiculous, absurd, not to mention dangerous.
She’s lucky I do not take her over my knee.

Her head came up and her back stiffened and he nearly groaned aloud, recognizing the signs of her willfulness about to resurface.

“I mean it, lady-wife, not one word shall you speak. When we reach camp, you will be sent home like the disobedient child you act.”

“Disobedient child? I am sworn to protect my people, and ‘tis what I am here to do. And you shall not stop me.”

He gritted his teeth. “Your oath means naught. ‘Twas an absurd notion created by a woman’s brain to battle boredom, nothing more.”

She stamped her foot, the iron boot crushing the brittle tree limbs on the ground. “You are wrong, Sir Norman. ‘Tis what they fight for, what they look for.”

“You will not --”

“Have you changed tactics, my lord?”
Temple
’s sarcastic brogue cut through their heated words. “‘Twill be simple enough for Calvin’s men to find us if you continue this caterwauling.”

“Enough
Temple
,” Quinn ordered, stepping in front of
Stirling
. He held no desire for the Scot to discover his mistress attired in chainmail and armed for battle. “Return to the encampment, I shall join you shortly.”

“And Lady Stirling? Will she accompany you as well?”

Quinn glared at the grinning man, wondering how long he’d followed him. “Aye, she will.”

Stirling stepped around him, holding her gauntlet-covered hand out to
Temple
, who promptly clasped it and bent low. “‘Tis ravishing you are, no matter your dress, my lady.”

Stirling
tossed him a triumphant look over her shoulder. “Aye, though I will not be with you long as your lord is bent on sending me back to Falcon Fire.”

Temple
snapped straight, pinning Quinn with a disbelieving stare. “Impossible. We’ve not the manpower for such an escort.”

“‘Tis not a request. Find one,” Quinn growled and tramped between them, pulling Bluefire behind him.

“He is very unreasonable,
Temple
, surely you have learned that by now.”
Stirling
’s pert words stung like bees, edging Quinn’s temper higher.

“Guard your tongue, lady-wife, or suffer the results.”

“I do not fear you, my lord.”

“You should.”

Temple
cleared his throat and plucked the horse’s reins from Quinn’s unresisting grip. “I will take the wee beasty to camp and feed it while you discuss this.” His grin turned to a serious glower when he looked at Quinn. “We’ve not much time, so be quick about it.”

“
Wait
Temple
,”
Stirling
said. “Keep him on the outskirts of the camp and let no one see him. Especially the men of Falcon Fire.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Quinn stared after him, choosing his words carefully. His willful wife must be treated with diplomacy if he was to convince her to return home. How ironic, he thought, that something he never believed existed, a woman’s honor, now put her life in danger.

“I shall not go away even if you ignore me, Sir Norman,” she challenged, hands on hips, brow smugly lifted. “You surprise me. ‘Tis a tactic generally employed by women.”

Overlooking her jibe, he hooked his hand around her upper arm and tugged her toward the encampment. “You can not stay, I will not allow it.” He never had grasped the finer points of diplomacy, he admitted.

“I will.”

“‘Struth must I gag and bind you to gain your cooperation?” he muttered in frustration.

“You would not dare.”

Quinn smiled at the pleasing thought. “Do not tempt me further.”

They strode to the edge of camp when she dug in her heels and refused to go further. “They cannot see ‘tis me in this armor, my lord.”

“I’ve no time for games,
Stirling
. In less than two hours we march on Thornhatch.”

“‘Tis no game, why can you not see that?” Her eyelids dropped and she bit her bottom lip. “For generations the knight has shown himself to the warriors of Falcon Fire when times were bleak, wars were fought and lords died. It can be no different now. They need me.”

“Nay. They have become a well trained unit of soldiers who no longer need superstition to win a battle.”

Her shoulders fell. “Please my lord, I will return to the keep, but do not allow them to see me thus.”

He looked at her skeptically. Another ruse? “I have your word?”

“Aye.”

“Stay here.”

“My lord, a question first.” She gripped his arm. “How did you discover me? What did I do wrong?”

“‘Twas not you, ‘twas your thieving mongrel we caught pilfering our supplies.”

She gave him a quirky half-grin. “‘Tis good to know you would not have found me otherwise.”

Quinn shook his head at her cockiness. Yet another lesson to be unlearned, curse her father’s liberal soul. “I will be back in a moment.”

“Where is the escort,
Temple
?” Quinn demanded when he found him squatting among a group of men, throwing the dice. The Scot stood leisurely, scooping up his winnings before answering.

“‘Tis too dangerous to attempt, my lord.”
Temple
pulled Quinn away from the group of knights and lowered his voice. “Think with your head, not your heart. I, too, would have the bonny lass safe at Falcon Fire, but we canna spare the men to see her there.”

“She requires but one, two at the most.”

“Curse your stubbornness lad, I’ll no risk my men for your peace of mind. ‘Tis obvious the lass can defend herself. Secure her oath to remain here and flee at the first sign of trouble, but do not take away any of the knights in your service. We will need every sword.”

Quinn glared at the rebellious Scot. “She has infected you as well.”

Temple
grinned and winked. “Aye, lord, praise God. She’s a rare woman, one to treasure, not smother.”

Quinn raked a hand through his hair.
Temple
was right, they could not spare the men to see her home. His army was powerful, but small, a well-trained unit that worked as one. To break the link between them could prove disastrous. “All right then,
Temple
, she stays. But no one can know of her presence. She thinks if her knights see her in the battle armor ‘twill shatter their confidence.”

“Aye, lord, but I would know the story behind this when we return home.”

Quinn sighed heavily. “Done.”

###

Stirling chewed her lip as
Temple
and his Scots stealthily approached Thornhatch’s walls, quickly swarming up and over them. Neither of the two guards pacing the battlement raised the alarm. Each paid the price for their neglect, going down quietly at the hands of the silent warriors. Still no cries issued from the bailey as the wooden gate swung open allowing Quinn and his mounted regiment to slip inside. Her heat skipped as his broad shouldered form disappeared from view.

“Come back to me, my love,” she whispered, winging a prayer to God for Quinn’s safekeeping. ‘Twas a certainty she could no longer live without this Norman invader who’d claimed her as his own.

The strident cry of a battle horn split the air and she stiffened. Curse her promise. ‘Twas nearly impossible to wait amongst the trees while he fought Calvin’s force inside.

“‘Twill be quick and effortless,
Stirling
,” Quinn had assured her. “He’ll not expect an attack and certainly not one within his own walls. The arrogant fool posts but two guards.”

Skeptical, knowing Calvin’s devious mind,
Stirling
tried to argue, but Quinn’s mind was set, the battle plans drawn. Snow paced in front of her with long, loping strides. Head hung low to the ground, the dog’s prowling reminded her of a lion stalking prey. Her gaze shot to the keep as the warring armies spilled from the bailey, fighting in the valley below her. Bluefire snorted and stamped his feet.
Stirling
grabbed the reins and soothed him, eyes riveted on the battlefield.

“Where are all of Calvin’s men?” she asked. Snow offered no answer. The two armies appeared evenly matched, but she knew Calvin commanded a greater number of men than fought. And those wielding weapons against Quinn’s regiment did not even wear the colors of Thornhatch, clad instead, in mismatched, dark armor sporting blank shields and no banners. Mercenaries. Vicious men who fought for profit, guarded Calvin’s keep.

Even as she watched, Quinn’s small battalion faltered, the knights falling back to form a tight circle. The mercenaries attacked from all sides and though Falcon Fire’s men battled back, she could see their spirit decline.

“‘Tis time,” she whispered and donned her helm. Looping the strap of her shield over a low hanging branch, she struggled onto the horses waiting back. With no assistance, no mounting box, ‘twas a time-consuming and difficult feat, but she persisted, finally gaining the saddle. She grabbed the shield from the tree, secured the heavy buckler to her forearm and urged Bluefire from the cover of trees. They broke through the foliage and
Stirling
pulled back on the reins, poised on the edge of the hill, praying the men would take note. None did. Not one of her men hailed the Knight, nor did they appear to see her. Snow burst from the thicket and ran past the horse, racing down the hill into the middle of the fray.

Stirling
saw no other way to gain their attention and nudged her horse to follow in the hound’s wake. The sun winked overhead as they galloped closer to the crash of armor and clang of swords. Angling the shield toward the rays, she spread the silver light over the battling crowd. A soldier bearing her standard stood in his stirrups and pointed in her direction. Bluefire slowed at her signal, prancing sideways, as both Quinn’s men and her own looked. Even the mercenaries paused in their brutal assault, their heads turning to her. The brief respite lasted only a few seconds, but ‘twas long enough to rejuvenate Falcon Fire’s regiment and they resumed the battle with vigor.

Seeking Quinn’s broad form and black steed, she paced the horse along the lines, but could not find him. Her gaze swept over them again, lighting on two mercenaries charging her. Startled, she whirled Bluefire away, urging the horse back up the hill, but they closed the distance too quickly and surrounded her.

Throwing her shield up, she blocked a slashing blow even as she pulled her own sword and fought off another. She was not prepared for this. Panic seized her as they continued their onslaught and she desperately sought a way out. She held no desire to kill again. Each time she turned her horse, they responded, continually flanking her. Her arms grew tired, shaking from exertion coupled with fear. John’s training, she realized, had not adequately prepared her for true battle.