Silverhawk (18 page)

“Well, well. Look who come to visit.” The men turned to stare.

Her stomach quailed, but she stepped forward, her voice even. “Is Lord Osbert nearby? Can you take me to him?”

The trio laughed, and the one nearest her rose.

“Lord Osbert? Now what would you want with him when we’re right here?” With a leer, he lumbered toward her. Emelin recognized him. He’d been at Langley. Was he a guard? From the look of his dirty face and stained clothes he hadn’t bathed in months.

“You must be searching for me,” she said. Perhaps they didn’t know her. Her appearance had likely altered during her ordeal. “I’m Lady Emelin. I was abducted from Langley two days ago. Lord Osbert and my brother, Sir Garley, must have sent you to find me.”

His small-as-currants eyes squinted, and he nodded. With each of his steps forward, she eased back. And smacked up against a tree trunk.

“Lady Emelin, a’ course. Glad you could join us.” He grabbed her wrist and hauled her close, then cinched an arm around her waist. She nearly choked from his rancid smell of rotten teeth, wood smoke, and filthy body.

An attempt to wrench free failed. This had been a mistake. They hadn’t been sent to look for her. Emelin struggled again, a kick connecting with his ankle. One arm flailed out to whack his face.

“Damned wench.” He grabbed the arm, twisted it behind her. With his free hand, he smacked the side of her head. “Stop that.”

Black spots danced before her eyes; her head rang. She couldn’t get purchase with her feet as he dragged her toward the fire. He shoved, and she landed on her stomach in the dirt. Again. She was getting mighty tired of falling flat.

The ruffian closest to her guffawed and reached out. “Here. Let me help.” A rough hand jerked the blanket from her shoulders, tossed it to the side, then grasped her upper arm and lugged her up. She felt a frisson of fear—soon wiped out by anger. This man looked familiar, as well.

Were these three outlaws? No, she had seen them before, but she couldn’t recall where around the castle they’d been. She gulped and struggled for her voice of command.

“Take me to Lord Osbert. At once.” That hadn’t come out with the authority she hoped for. She tried again. “I will not mention your disrespect if you return me now.”

One of the men pushed her hair from her face. “I seen her there,” he announced. “That’s the lord’s intended all right.” She wrenched her arm free and turned to find them eyeing her.

“What are you doing out here, then?” asked currant-eyes, who seemed to be the leader. “Not following us, are you?”

“I told you, I was kidnapped. Why else would I be miles away from my home?” She hoped she sounded more rational than she felt. “If you are not searching for me, then I ask that you see me back to Langley. Lord Osbert will offer a reward for my safe return, you may be certain.”

The three exchanged glances, then the leader stepped forward, an intent look on his face. “You say you was kidnapped. Who? Where is he?”

Emelin thought fast. If they knew Giles camped near, they might attack him. He had been wrong to take her, but she didn’t want him hurt.

She lifted her head. “My kidnapper set me free, just before dark. Said I wasn’t worth the ransom I’d bring, that my brother would kill him.”

The outlaw sneered. “If someone took you from the castle to hold you for ransom, why would he come this far just to turn you loose? What did he look like?”

Mary’s tears. She’d said the wrong thing. “He wasn’t tall, but he was big.” She gestured with her hands. “His hair was long, the color of straw.”

The three looked at each other in surprise. “Sounds like Chester,” grumbled the one who’d pulled her up from the ground. “Can’t be though. He’s dead. Him and Louis and Red-Eye.”

The leader swung toward Emelin. “Why did he turn you loose, did you say?” His soft, menacing voice sent a shudder down her spine. All right. That had not been a good story. What would they believe then? Her shoulders drooped, her head ducked.

“I should have known I couldn’t fool you.” She sighed and glanced up in what she hoped was an apologetic manner. “I escaped from him when we stopped at midday.” She gestured toward the east, the opposite direction from their trail. “I’ve been running and hiding ever since.”

He smirked. “That sounds more like it.” The other two moved closer. Emelin fought the urge to recoil. It wouldn’t be wise to show fear. The leader nodded to the side, and the men stepped out of earshot. She could hear the murmur of voices as they talked.

Please God, let them believe this story. If they would take her south for a few miles, surely the real rescuers would appear. A thought nibbled at her mind. Ruthlessly she squelched it. There
must
be a rescue party. It was just chance they’d not caught up to her yet.

As she waited, she searched her memory. Why couldn’t she identify this trio? Where exactly in the keep had she seen them? She looked up at the sound of their footsteps.

The moment she glimpsed the leader’s face, she remembered. These were the three who’d clomped into the hall in the wake of the king’s man. Warily, she straightened.

“We decided to take you with us,” the leader announced as the other two gathered their belongings. “Might be wise to go now, not wait for the light. You ride with Jem, here.”

Once they all mounted, they set out north, the way she and Giles had been heading.

“Wait,” Emelin called. “That’s the wrong direction. Langley is behind us.”

“Oh, we won’t be going to Langley,
my lady.
” The others sniggered. “We’ll take you to Lord Paxton. He’ll know where you belong.”

An arm squeezed her waist. “That’s right, sweetmeat,” murmured the one behind her. “You just come along with us. We’ll treat you right.” With a suggestive thrust of his hips, he chortled and flicked the reins.

****

“Satan’s balls!” She was gone. Giles slung the blankets aside and leaped to his feet. He couldn’t say what had awakened him, but he’d known before his eyes flew open that he was alone. He donned boots and saddled the horse, castigating himself all the while. How could he have once more underestimated this not-so-meek and mild convent maiden?

Giles strapped on his sword, stowed a dagger on the inside of his left boot, and grabbed the reins of both horses. Finding Emelin should be easy this time. Her path was marked with a broken twig here, a bush disturbed there. Fallen leaves had been pushed aside in her trek.

He hadn’t thought she heard the faint voices earlier in the day. She must have. It was not a search party from Langley, he would bet on it. The two of them had traveled too quickly, and their path had been obliterated by the storm.

After they stopped for the night, he’d thought to scout the area. But he rejected the idea of leaving her alone. He’d told himself the sounds came from travelers, headed toward the next village.

Now he regretted his decision as he tracked her path. It stopped at a clump of brush. Dirt was churned up where he halted. What appeared to be drag marks led toward a still-smoldering fire. She’d been discovered and forced forward.

His stomach clenched as he approached a cluster of rocks arranged in the center of the large clearing. Three men, from the looks of it. Giles followed indistinct boot prints and there, a smaller scuff. Emelin’s slipper. Here’s where they mounted three horses. One took her before him, then.

Giles felt his neck muscles cord, his jaw clench. Pulling Nuit forward he mounted. Thank God he’d put the one saddle on his own horse. He tied up the mare’s reins to let her run. He had no idea how long a start they had, but they couldn’t be too far ahead, riding in the dark.

They weren’t. Faint streaks of orange were breaking over the eastern horizon when he spotted darker shadows in the distance on the road. He urged Nuit faster, chanced that the noise from the other horses masked his approach. When he drew nearer, he directed the black gelding off the road where the grass would deaden the sound of hooves. He gained on his quarry until a rock formation forced him to detour. Back on the road, he topped a rise—and pulled to a halt. The travelers had disappeared.

Merde!

Then as the sun topped the trees, he caught sight of horses galloping across a harvested field to the right. With a press of a knee, he and Nuit were off again. Now with full light, he could see the last rider carried a figure before him. A flash of movement verified his assumption. His little nun had just kicked the man’s leg. He smiled grimly.

The three traveled a hard pace. Their mounts might be tiring. He’d catch them soon, before they had a chance to harm her. If they had hurt her already, they were dead men.

What the hell. He’d kill them anyway. No one would treat his Emelin like that. At these deaths, he would feel no regret, no remorse. He’d gained ground when the Devil’s luck prompted the second of the three to look behind. A shout alerted the leader.

That one waved at woods on the other side of the field, and the horses pounded in that direction. Again the gelding proved himself as he flew across ground. The outlaws had just disappeared into the trees when he reached the opposite side of the field. Instantly alert, he slowed the black.

Smart fighters would halt and wait for him. But he saw no horses. Would they dismount, give up that advantage? Would one guard the prisoner, or would they ignore her? Sure enough, as he passed an enormous oak, he sensed movement behind him.

Kneeing Nuit around, he reached for his sword. It sung in the autumn dawn as it left the scabbard. Giles paused. Where was Emelin? All three outlaws were here and all on foot. One man hung to the left, his stance and sword low.

No soldier intentionally maimed a horse. Yet the man crept forward, arms poised for a swing that would permanently disable Nuit.

Muttering curses, Giles leaped to the ground and slapped the black on the rump. The horse took several steps, then disappeared into the trees. He would remain nearby.

In a breath, the three were upon Giles. They were seasoned fighters he soon realized, but three to one odds weren’t bad at all. He’d faced worse many times. Yet if they were all fighting, where was Emelin? He didn’t dare chance a glance.

A sunbeam fell across the leader’s face. In that instant, Giles recognized him. One of his attackers days ago. Who had paid them to kill him?

A quick duck and lunge brought another close. He yelped as Giles’ sword caught him in the neck. The sound ended quickly. Two remaining.

They moved back and forth in front of him, slower now, catching their breaths. Then one tripped on a tree root and lost concentration for a split second. It was enough. Giles sent his sword into the man’s belly.

He jerked it free and gave all his attention to the last man. The leader—with tiny dark eyes like Gran’père’s pet boar. They circled just out of reach, gauging each other’s strengths. The man’s lips pulled away from stained teeth in an exaggerated smile.

“Looks like I get my pay after all,” he taunted. “I’ll just bring my lord your head.” He lunged. Giles turned the blow aside, blades screeching in the morning air.

“First—” Giles brought his sword around to the unprotected side. “—you have to kill me.” The man lunged away as the blade slashed his leg. “You haven’t managed—that yet.”

Anger brought the other fighter back with renewed vigor, blood pulsing from his wound. “This time,” he taunted, “you’ll not have—help.” On the last word, he swung, leaving his throat exposed.

“No-o-o-o.”

The wail fractured Giles’ concentration.
Emelin. She’s hurt.
He swung toward her cry, his howl of fury echoing off the trees. He was in time to see her slam a branch into the head of the outlaw who’d taken the sword to the belly. Poised on his knees, one arm in the air, the man had hurled a knife the moment before he pitched over.

Giles felt a sharp pain in his left side. Peering down, he saw the knife wedged between the rusty links of his mail jack.

“Get back,” he roared.

“Look out,” she screamed and pointed.

His focus slammed in place as he dodged the leader’s swing. Giles angled, catching the blade flatsided on his lighter but stronger sword. The impact sent him to the ground in a squealed grate of metal. He sucked a breath and reached to his side, fingers grasping the hilt of the dagger. It fell into his hand. Not in so tightly after all.

Pig-eyes loomed, sword poised above Giles’ throat for the final thrust. He paused. With a leer, he said, “Maybe I don’t need your head. I’ll just cut me out one of them silver eyes for proof.”

Giles clutched the dagger, ducked to the side and brought the tip up between the other man’s legs. Fury of battle gave him added strength as he shoved the now-dulled blade deep into the crease between groin and thigh. It hit bone. A bellow of pain bounced off the trees as the man fell. Blood spurted in throbs from the severed vein, soaking the ground, spraying Giles.

He pulled himself over to the assassin. “Who hired you?”

Bloodshot eyes tried to focus. White spittle dripped from the open mouth.

He lifted the man’s head and tried again. “Why? What were you after? Who do you work for? Tell me now.”

On a rattled sigh, the man muttered, “Tell you in Hell.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Emelin,” Giles rasped as he pushed to his knees. “Emelin!” His mind dragged away from the last throes of battle, struggled through the stench of metal and fresh blood. A drift of breeze dried the perspiration clotted on his forehead.