Silverhawk (21 page)

“I sat all morning,” he replied. His voice was rusty, and he cleared his throat. “I need to move around.” He stood still. “If your friend at the cottage gave the right direction, we should reach Granville before dark. You’ll be safe there.”

He looked at her at last, and she swallowed hard. His eyes were glazed.

“We must find help.” She touched his arm. “Your injury may be infected, and you need to rest. I see nothing here that I can use, and I have no herbs with me, as you know.”

He shook off her hand. “We go on.”

How either of them were to remount, Emelin didn’t know. But somehow she reached the stirrup with a foot, clutched the saddle, and driven by determination, pulled herself up. This time she didn’t bother to congratulate herself. But she wanted to kiss the mare for standing patiently through it all.

As for Giles, he grasped Nuit’s mane, and the gelding did something Emelin couldn’t believe. The black folded its front legs and kneeled. With a muffled grunt, Giles slid on and the horse rose.

“Ready?” he rasped. Before she could answer, he kneed his mount and set off.

****

Giles concentrated on breathing. In. Out. Pain could be mastered. After a moment, he forced his mind back to the road. Scan left, then right. Watch for movement, flashes of sun off armor. No use to listen for unusual sounds; the ringing in his ears drowned anything. He clenched his jaw against the black spots at the edge of his vision.

It was a struggle to stay upright, to remain alert for any other attackers. Would the three he dispatched yesterday be missed? Had anyone found the bodies? Was their employer awaiting their return with proof he was dead? He had to protect Emelin, get her to safety. Once they reached Granville Castle, he could leave her and proceed.

His mouth was wooly from the fever that burned through him. The damned knife had done its work after all. If the monks’ ointment hadn’t been lost… Nothing to be done about that right now. Perhaps at Granville, he could find a healer before he continued.

From the corner of his eye he saw Emelin ride closer, saw her head swing his way. She worried about him. He wasn’t used to a woman’s concern.

He’d jeopardized her with his arrogant insistence that he knew best. Dragging her across the middle of England, through storm and cold, he’d exposed her to the worst kind of danger—the dogs who had taken her.

Her own stubborn determination to escape hadn’t helped.

No. He couldn’t blame her. She was a good lady who should have a fine home, an honorable lord to protect her. Not a bastard knight whose only claim to fame lay in killing.

Still, she showed courage and resourcefulness. Not only had she slipped away from him, but she’d wielded that branch with audacity. He was proud of her.

His stiff lips curved a mite. His Emelin was quite a lady, all right. Spirited and passionate. Had he mentioned stubborn?

They’d traveled but a short distance when Giles caught sight of movement ahead to the left. Riders. Likely nothing to worry about. Nevertheless, the two of them should leave the road.

When he turned to tell Emelin, hot pain sliced from his side into his chest, and he pitched forward. He steadied himself, tried to push upright. His body wouldn’t cooperate.

He wrapped his hands in the black’s mane and held fast. As if Nuit sensed his master’s problem, the horse stopped.

Damnation. Such a small jab to lay him out. He’d never live it down back in Normandy. How his men would laugh. The spots converged before his eyes and darkness enveloped him.

****

Emelin heard horses approach as she dropped to Giles’ side on the ground. She hoped the newcomers didn’t signal more outlaws bent on abduction and murder.

Right now, more important things crowded her mind, such as Giles spread out in the dirt of the road. Pray God the fall hadn’t injured him further.

She did a quick count as the riders came into view. Five. They didn’t look vicious as they circled her. And she couldn’t smell them from where she knelt. They bathed. That was a good sign.

“What’s the problem, girl?” asked the one who’d halted nearest her. At last she noticed they wore the clothing of knights. Thank God. They could be of service.

A trace of suspicion marked the leader’s rough voice when he looked at Giles.

“That man is hurt. You just crawl away from him right now, wench. Don’t be trying any of your tricks, robbing a wounded knight.”

For a shocked instant all she could do was stare at the speaker. Did he really think she was a common thief? Emelin swiped her dirty hand across her face, pulled a strand of hair behind an ear. With no thought of her appearance, she rose to her knees, fisted hands on hips.

“This knight has been stabbed. You’d be advised to stop talking like a lackwit and get down here to help. We’re on our way to Granville Castle. Do you know how far it is? I must find a healer for him before it’s too late.”

The rider looked nonplussed at her fierce reply.

How could they just sit there when it was obvious Giles suffered? Men could have such thick heads.

Her chin lifted. “Step lively, now. He’s consumed with fever.”

The leader glanced at the others, motioned to one. “See if she speaks true.”

The creak of saddle leather and jangle of spurs echoed in the quiet of the countryside. No travelers in either direction. She was alone with these men.

For an instant, Emelin wondered if she should fear their intentions. If only she had a weapon. The thought vanished when Giles groaned.

She turned back, then lifted the edge of his tunic for the approaching knight to see. After a quick examination, the man nodded.

“Knife wound to the side,” he pronounced. “Looks to be bad.”

Emelin raised her eyebrows at the leader. Wasn’t that what she had said? His opinion of her must have changed, because his answer was more respectful. “Lady, I ask your pardon. We’ve followed a band of outlaws, and we’d reason to think they came this way.”

She nodded. “They are likely the very ones who set upon us. You’ll find their bodies some distance back. This knight was able to kill them, but not before one scored a hit. Now. Will you provide assistance or must I try to get him back on his horse alone?”

The leader gestured to the men and dismounted.

“We’re not far from Granville if you cut across the fields,” he allowed. “I am Sir Thomas, captain of Granville’s guard. Sir James will take you and your man there. We’ll find your attackers, see if they’re the ones we’re after.”

Arms folded across his chest, he studied the still figure on the ground. “Took down three of ’em, did he? Good fighter.”

“Yes.” Her voice grew thick. “The best. I owe my life to him. But he needs attention immediately.”

Three of the men lifted Giles. She pointed to the mare. “Put him there. Perhaps if we tied him to the saddle—”

When that was accomplished, he still drooped forward precariously. Through all the jostling, he had not uttered a sound. Emelin was very worried now. If he could not hold on…

“I’ll ride behind to steady him,” she announced. Before she could ask for help, Sir Thomas had deposited her on the horse. She clutched Giles, then realized the flaw in her plan. His wound was right beneath her arm if she reached around his waist. Blast.

Groping lower, her fingers encountered the rope used to secure him to the saddle. Her left hand curled around it, then she adjusted her right arm higher on his chest.

The knight named James took the reins. “I’ll lead your horse.”

Nuit had followed when Giles was moved and now stood at the mare’s side.

“If you tie up the gelding’s reins, he’ll come along,” Emelin directed. With an incredulous look, Sir James did as she asked and, sure enough, the black kept pace.

At last. Her forehead pressed against Giles’ back, she sighed. A tear rolled down her cheek, then another. With a sniff, she lifted her head. No time for weakness. She had to make sure her man got help. Her man. Sir Thomas had called him that. It sounded…right. If only it could be true.

Chapter Sixteen

“Not far now, my lady.” Relief washed over Emelin at Sir James’ shout. It seemed they’d ridden for hours. At some point clouds had drifted in to block the sun. At least the temperature remained steady.

She lifted her cheek from Giles’ back. Her face burned from the heat pulsing through his shirt and tunic. They had to find help soon. Pray God he’d awaken before her arms refused to hold his sagging body any longer. The horse sidestepped, and Giles’ muscles tensed. He was awake.

Her first reaction was to ask how he felt. A stupid question. Instead she said, “Can you see the castle?” She listened for the cogency of his reply.

Silence lengthened before he finally answered, “Yes. Through the trees there.” Good. He was rational. Leaning carefully to one side, she looked but didn’t see a large structure.

Instead, she spotted a cluster of dwellings that marked the village, laid out much like a cross. Each cottage had a small plot of land. Several other cottages, set away from the main streets, were larger and looked to boast more property.

A good lord, to allow his tenants this generous use of land. Perhaps such a lord would shelter Giles until he healed enough to travel again. In the last few hours, Emelin had realized this was her chance. With Silverhawk incapacitated, she could leave, return to Langley, and he couldn’t stop her.

First, however, she would see his injury treated. He rescued her, after all. Once she determined he was well cared for, she’d set out.

No matter how right the words “your man” sounded when Sir Thomas uttered them, Giles wasn’t her man. She was bound to another. Even should she want, there was no way to break the betrothal.

And in spite of his drugging kisses and caresses, Giles had never indicated a desire to wed her. She tamped down a bubble of disappointment. Of course she did not want him to do so.

Yet she shivered at the memory of his lips on hers. She should be ashamed of herself, lusting after a man she didn’t know—one mortally wounded at that.

The odd thing was, she felt she
did
know him. Awareness fairly hummed between them. And no matter the dangers, with Giles she felt safe.

A rumble in his chest vibrated against her hand. Oh, Lord. Lost in thought, she’d caressed him. She jerked away and nearly tumbled off the horse at the abrupt movement. When she looked up, Granville filled her sight.

Across a gentle hill not far from a small woods ran a massive stone wall. The upper stories of a square keep were visible above the enclosure. In the center of the wall, tall towers flanked double wooden gates that creaked open at Sir James’ signal. Shorter towers anchored each corner where the thick walls met.

A heaviness jerked at her arms. Giles had pitched forward but caught himself at the last moment. Praise God, they had made it in time. She didn’t know how much longer he could remain upright. If he lost consciousness again, the ropes must hold him, because she could not.

A few soldiers met them at the open gates, and curious servants appeared. Sir James sent for the healer and ordered the lord and lady be notified. Emelin slid from the mare to make way as the men untied Giles. She kept pace as they carried him toward one of the towers flanking the gate. Inside, they placed him on a low table.

“Gently,” she cautioned and managed to catch his boots before they hit the edge of the flat wooden surface. She gained his side and brushed back his dark hair. Fingertips lingered on his forehead. Warmer than before? Oh, why didn’t the healer hurry?

From the keep came a short, plump lady wearing a wine-red gown girdled with clanging keys. Beside her limped a gray-haired man whose stooped shoulders could not disguise his height. Sir James met them at the door. This must be the lord and lady of the castle.

Moments later a woman in a nun’s habit hurried across the packed earth of the bailey. She carried a bag and she, too, entered the tower room.

“Tell me about the injury,” she ordered Emelin as she bustled in, ignoring the other three.

Emelin described the knife wound, but omitted the events that led to it. The nun listened as she removed jars and strips of linen from the bag. The gray-haired man approached one side of the pallet where the men worked Giles free of his tunic and shirt as the healer waited. The lady made her way to Emelin’s side.

“I am Lady Clysta, my dear. That is my lord, Sir Daviess. Sir James tells me you and your knight were set upon by outlaws yesterday.” Her kind face softened. “You’re lucky you’re unharmed.”

Emelin nodded. “Sir Giles was stabbed as he fought the men. He thought the wound was minor, but it grew worse last night.”

The older lady patted her hand. “Don’t worry, our Sister Ressa will take care of him. You are welcome here. Would you like to go inside now and rest?”

Emelin was suddenly aware of her dirt and disarray, but she was too concerned to care. Only Giles mattered right now.

“Thank you for your hospitality. But I will remain here.”

Lady Clysta nodded. Her clear gray eyes held a question, and Emelin was relieved courtesy required it not be voiced. She wasn’t ready to face the decision such an admission would demand.

“Mangan.” The exclamation drew both their attention. Lady Clysta gasped, clasped hands moving to her mouth. The old lord stared at Giles. “Our boy’s home, my love. Come, look.”