Passion's Exile (11 page)

He frowned. “Ye wish me to have pity on a thief?”

The boy clamped his lips together, stifling his sobs. “I’m no thief. I know that now. That’s why I left the silver there. I mean to send word to him where it is hidden.”

“So, a
remorseful
thief.”

The boy sank his head onto his chest in shame.

Blade sighed and glanced at the oak where he’d cached the silver. There must be more to the story. “This man is your master?”

He swallowed hard and nodded.

“And ye are his…”

“His apprentice, a locksmith.”

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “Why would ye have need o’ his silver? A master provides for his apprentices.”

Guillot’s chin trembled, and tears welled anew. He whispered something, but Blade couldn’t hear it.

“What? Speak up.”

But the lad buried his face in his hands to hide his weeping. Blade reached into his pouch, whipping out a cloth to dry the boy’s tears, but to his surprise, the gesture made Guillot recoil in terror, throwing his arms in front of his face.

“‘Tis only a cloth,” he murmured, showing the youth. Then Blade glanced at the boy’s upraised wrists. They were purple with recent bruises. More mottling he hadn’t noticed before ringed the lad’s throat in shades of sickly yellow and green.

He swallowed hard. ‘Twasn’t the first time he’d seen signs of abuse. Images of Julian, his brother’s wife, flashed through his mind unbidden—a blackened eye, a bruised cheek, a burned hand. His fury rose like a roused wolf, the way it always had with Julian. But he was older now, and wiser, and instead of lashing out against the injustice, he leashed the beast and let the anger growl inside him.

“Your master beats ye,” he murmured with far more calm than he felt.

His blunt statement surprised the lad. He lowered his arms and self-consciously tugged his sleeves down over the bruises.

“And ye ran away,” Blade guessed.

Despite his shaking limbs and spindly frame, Guillot’s words were firm. “I will not return. No one can make me return.”

Blade’s eyes smoldered like banked coals. “No one will.”

If Rose had known the forest would be as busy as St. Andrews on market day, she would never have considered sneaking into the trees to answer nature’s call. Luckily, when the foot traffic began, she’d already taken care of her business.

First, Jacob passed by her hiding spot, then Lettie. A moment later, the timid French lad traipsed past in the opposite direction. Finally,
he’d
come skulking by. Blade. The dark outlaw.

Fortunately, no one seemed to see her standing frozen behind the clump of bushes. Blade was preoccupied with spying on the apprentice, who was preoccupied with stuffing a sack into the hollow of a tree. When the lad walked past again, Blade had nabbed him. What ensued was a fascinating exchange between the two.

Apparently, Rose wasn’t the only one using the pilgrimage as a means of escape to St. Andrews.

“I have to give the silver back,” Guillot told Blade. “I cannot go home to Calais with the stain of thievery on my soul. But I will not return to my master.”

Rose agreed. She wouldn’t return to her abuser either. But she thought the lad deserved to keep the coin as payment for the beatings.

“Ye can’t leave the silver here,” Blade said.

“I mean to send a missive to him, telling him where it is hidden.”

“It may not be here when he arrives,” Blade said plainly. “And if ‘tis gone, not only will he bemoan the loss o’ his silver, but he’ll also know when and where ye passed this way.”

“He might follow me,” Guillot realized, his eyes darting fearfully. “He might find me.” He pressed a bony fist into his palm. “What shall I do?”

“Take it with ye until we reach St. Andrews. There ye can find a priest to see it safely returned.”

The boy nodded.

Then Blade glanced about the dark woods, and a brief shudder betrayed his emotions. “Ye’d best retrieve your sack now. There’s no tellin’ what manner o’ men lurk in these woods.”

No sooner had he spoken than three such men emerged from behind a huge joined pair of gnarled oaks in the deep shadows. Quick as lightning, Blade curved an arm around the apprentice, pulling the lad behind him to protect him from the filthy fiends who approached.

Rose stifled a gasp. The men—if they could be called that—seemed made out of the leaves and dirt of the woods. Mud coated their faces and stained their garments, and oak leaves stuck out from their sleeves and hats. The only things not besmirched with camouflaging dirt were the vicious daggers they held before them.

“Aye.” The first man’s voice was coarse, like a rusty hinge. “Ye’d best retrieve yer sack now, young lad.”

“So’s we can take it back to its rightful owner,” the second sneered.

The third man, who not only looked like a tree, but had the same gargantuan proportions, mindlessly grinned. “Right, so’s we can take it back.”

Before they even finished giggling, Blade drew a dagger.

Rose’s heart lurched. She’d never seen a real fight, only tournaments, where the blades were blunted, knights were rarely injured, and men exchanged insults with harmless glee.

This battle would be real. Blood would be spilled. Blade was not only outnumbered, but shackled. No matter how good a fight he put up, the three thieves would surely defeat him.

She had to do something.

She sprang forward. At least, that was her intent. Actually, since her skirts snagged on the bushes, ‘twas more of a lunge and then a topple. By the time she managed to disentangle herself and scramble upright, cursing all the while, the fight was already well engaged.

Rose was astonished by Blade’s skill, his speed, his ferocity. Despite his shackles, he slashed with the dagger in bold arcs, forcing the thieves away. He yelled at Guillot to get back, and the boy wasted no time scurrying off, Rose hoped, to get help.

Blade’s dagger sliced forward, nicking the second thief’s arm, and the man howled in pain.

“Go get the silver,” the first robber whined to his wounded companion. “We’ll hold him off.”

“Nae!” Rose shouted. She astonished them all, for none had noted her presence till now. Without considering the consequences and before they could gather their wits, she tore off for the tree where the silver was cached.

Behind her, Blade suddenly bellowed, “Nae! To me!”

But the thieves were apparently more interested in the silver than his challenge. When she stole a glance over her shoulder, all three were lumbering after her.

She skidded on the leaves in front of the tree, and she was sure the robbers would simply push her out of the way, reach in, steal the treasure, and disappear.

She hadn’t counted on Blade’s speed. He roared up on their heels before they could grab anything, and his dagger whistled about their heads, taking the first thief’s hat and leaving a bloody gash alongside his ear.

The second thief, angered now, thrust his knife forward. Blade dodged out of its path just before it would’ve skewered him and dealt the man a bruising blow to the arm with his left fist.

Meanwhile, the giant retreated. Though ‘twas hard to see the bent of his dim-witted thoughts, he appeared to plan some mischief.

“Run!” Blade commanded, glancing at Rose.

But she set her mouth in a stubborn line and shook her head. She wasn’t some timorous maid to flee and hide. She intended to help him.

The first man recovered and seized the second man’s dagger.

“Come on! Come on!” the man snarled, whirling both daggers in his fists, egging Blade to strike so he could dodge in and inflict damage from two places at once.

The robber probably never expected to be struck in the back of the head by a flying rock. Rose beamed in triumph. She’d hit her target and successfully stopped his forward progress. Her victory, however, was short-lived. To her dismay, not only did it
not
knock the man senseless as she’d planned—it served to further enrage him. He wheeled toward her, bubbles of angry spit dotting the corner of his mouth.

“Ye’re next,” he sneered.

Rose was undaunted. Anything that broke the thief’s concentration had to be helpful to Blade. She searched the ground for another missile.

Blade fended off another attack, this time by both men at once, for the second had produced yet another short knife.

Rose glanced over to see the giant—his dim eyes narrowed, his tongue at the corner of his lip—poised to throw his dagger toward Blade.

“Nae!” she screamed, diving for the ogre.

Her shriek startled Blade enough to distract him, and in that moment, he earned a gash across his thigh from one of the thieves. But it also startled the giant enough to make him hesitate in his throw. She hurled herself at the muddy beast’s back, knocking him against a tree. Her pitiful weight couldn’t do much, but she hung tenaciously onto his immense neck while he thrashed like a hound trying to loose a kitten from its back. She clung to him for all she was worth, kicking at his legs and clawing at his face when she had the chance.

She should have known ‘twas hopeless. She might possess twice the dolt’s wits, but she was no match for his strength. And, unbeknownst to her, he still had the dagger.

With one powerful arm, he yanked her from his back and planted her between his two trunk-like legs. Then he hauled her back against his wide belly and set his dagger to her throat.

The steel edge felt cold and dangerous upon her neck. But the look Blade sent her when he saw what had happened was sharper and far more chilling, a glare that said she should have listened when he’d told her to run.

To her dismay, Blade, wincing with bitter regret, let out a great sigh, dropped his dagger to the ground, and raised his hands in surrender.

Blade silently cursed his wretched shackles and his lack of a sword. If not for those self-inflicted hindrances, he’d have been able to dispatch the thieves in a matter of moments.

Instead he’d been dealt a stinging wound, he’d been forced to relinquish his only weapon, and the lass…

Curse her—where had she come from, and why hadn’t she done as he’d ordered? The apprentice, at least, hadn’t questioned his command. What mulish stubbornness possessed the maid to make her interfere in what was clearly a man’s battle?

Yet ‘twasn’t anger, but icy dread, that filled him as he gazed upon her.

She was a pale dove caught in the talons of a monstrous griffin, her limbs insubstantial, her throat vulnerable. Why the ogre bothered with the dagger, he didn’t know. The brute could probably strangle her with one paw. The chilling thought crystallized the breath in Blade’s chest.

But strangely, as the lass returned his stare, her eyes weren’t filled with fear, but with frustration. She clearly realized the folly of her actions now.

As disappointed as he was, he couldn’t fault the maid, not really. He would’ve done the same in her place. Her bravery, apparent in the stoic tilt of her chin, caught at his heart, even as it terrified him.

But there was nothing he could do now. The robbers would take the silver and probably his dagger. He only prayed to God they wouldn’t take the intrepid lass’s life as well.

The first thief had one final act of unspent rage left inside him. Before Blade could draw back or cast up his chains to block the blow, the man rounded on him with his knife, slicing Blade’s cheek open.

The lass gasped in horror. An instant later Blade felt the burn of the slash, the welling blood. But the cut was shallow, dealt more as a punishment than to inflict damage. ‘Twould leave a scar, but little more.

“Get the sack,” the thief growled to his companion.

The second man began to lurch off toward the tree, but halted suddenly at the sound of distant voices. All of them stiffened. Faraway calls echoed among the trees, growing rapidly nearer.

Help. The apprentice had summoned help.

“Hurry,” the first thief hissed, nervously gesturing with his bloodied dagger.

Blade glanced at the giant. The approaching men obviously made the slow-witted oaf uneasy, for he furrowed his brow like a fretting child, swaying absently from foot to foot. Unfortunately, his grip was steadily, inadvertently tightening around the lass.

The pilgrims were unaware of the precarious situation, or else they’d approach with more stealth. Blade heard them breaking through the trees already. God’s wounds, if they crashed into the clearing and startled the fearful blockhead, one slip of his knife would end the lass’s life.

Blade clenched his fists. He had to do something now,
before
the men arrived. ‘Twas an enormous wager, but if he was right in his guess about the giant—that the poor fool idolized his companions…

Blade eyed his discarded dagger, lying among the leaves. ‘Twas too far out of reach. He’d have to use something else.

The robber before him wiped a hand across his sweating lip. The man still brandished a knife, but his attention was focused elsewhere. If Blade moved quickly…

“Hurry!” the man snarled again. “Hur-“

Blade lunged forward, knocking the man’s dagger loose. Before the thief could recover, Blade jerked him about, bringing his shackle chain down around the man’s throat and hauling back on it.

The man let out a strangled cry as his fingers scrabbled at the chain. And, to Blade’s satisfaction, the action had its desired effect.

The giant looked suddenly dismayed, as if he couldn’t fathom something so dire happening to his dear friend. He let his guard slip a notch. The knife faltered in his fist.

“Let her go,” Blade threatened.

“Nae, Jock! Don’t listen to him!” the second thief cried, his arm sunk deep in the bole of the tree. “Hold onto her!”

But ‘twas obvious where the Jock the giant’s loyalties lie.

“He’s hurtin’ Gib. Don’t hurt Gib,” the giant pleaded, slowly lowering the knife.

“Nae, ye fool!” the second robber spat. “He’s playin’ with ye! Don’t let her go!”

Blade jerked on the chain around Gib’s neck, and his captive sputtered, rising on his toes in panic.