Silverhawk (26 page)

“As to that, you must join my husband and me in the solar very soon. We should discuss what to do.”

Once everyone had gone, Emelin stood beside Giles. His eyes were closed. The pain of movement must have worn him out and he slept. That was good. The more he rested, the faster he would recover. With efficient movements, she replaced the bandage. On the new pad, she loaded a glob of the ointment Davy had retrieved. Pulling a blanket up to his shoulders, she brushed her lips against his forehead. Time to face her hosts. She only hoped they were as kind and understanding as they looked.

****

Soft lips stroked his skin. Giles caught the light scent of Emelin as she leaned over him. Then she was gone. His head rang like a brass gong struck with a mallet; his side throbbed the beat. God’s blood, he hated this feeling of helplessness. He sucked in a breath and exhaled evenly. Once. Again. The tense muscles of his chest and legs relaxed.

He was not a good patient, never had been. Still, his mind was clear. The trip across the quiet bailey had revealed much about Granville. There was no sound of training, no clatter that hummed around an armed encampment like minstrels’ music at a lord’s banquet. No king’s man was here with his entourage. Nor was this lord preparing for a mysterious sortie, as Langley was.

King’s man. What had that soldier who nearly dropped him said? Something about being left behind. So Lord Paxton had been here already. And it sounded as if he took some of Granville’s men with him. He’d told Lord Osbert he would warn the holdings he passed, not recruit soldiers. What was he up to? None of Langley’s fighters had accompanied him. Why would he need men now?

The story about brokering peace with Scotland made less and less sense. Damnation. Giles was slipping. If he hadn’t been distracted by landing at his father’s front gate, he would have realized it sooner.

His father, the lord of Langley. That thought led naturally to his beautiful mother, who had slipped away believing her love would return. Even as she died, she looked up, held out a hand and said, “You’ve come.”

All she’d left her son was a medallion that had belonged to his father. It had taken a score of years to track down where that medallion came from. Of course, he hadn’t searched at first. His gran’père passed not long after, and Giles had no intention of going to an aunt who would berate him as a bastard. Better he make his own way.

So he skulked the streets of Cambrai. He performed jobs for food when he could, and when he could not—pilfered. No, call it by its right name. He stole. When he was hungry, he took food. When he was cold, the extra cloak some drunken fool had overlooked at an inn.

Until one day, he took from the wrong man. As it turned out, it was the right man. For when Giles sidled up to a horse to nab a fat pack from its saddle, the long arm of Mercadier had plucked him up. Damn. He remembered as if it were yesterday. The young Giles had folded his arms across his skinny chest and narrowed his eyes at the fearsome knight before him. If he were to be hanged as a thief, he’d go like a man.

Years after, Mercadier said he’d been taken aback by the fighting spirit of the scrawny youth who tried to rob him. So much so, the mercenary took the homeless youngster along when he rode out the next day. Since then, Giles had been Mercadier’s man. Later, he’d earned his own place as a captain in the famous band of mercenaries that served King Richard.

He groaned. He had to get back to his post as quickly as possible. Richard’s truce with France’s King Philip was as solid as a pudding, as lasting as ice in July. If enemies fostered unrest in England, that added front in Richard’s war could be fatal. Giles must do what he could to thwart the traitors. Especially as he’d landed in the heart of the plot.

The pain in his side had eased. He adjusted the position of his shoulders and prepared to rest. He needed to recoup his strength. More than likely, Davy had been followed. He’d barely found a comfortable spot when the door eased open and a shadow darted inside.

“Ssssst, Silverhawk, y’wake?”

“Davy? What are you doing here?”

“Don’t a squire go where ’is master goes?” came the pert reply.

The lad eased to the pallet and peered at him. “I thought you might could use a ’and. ’Sides, it’s gettin’ strange at Langley. Lots of soldiers comin’ in, and Lord Osbert’s not even lookin’ for Lady Emelin. Neither’s ’er brother. Now there’s a mean one, I tell you. But I never said a word when they asked about the night the lady disappeared. Sam’l was wantin’ to get in good with the lord, so ’e told. But I fixed ’im afore I left. ’E’s got a empty space where ’is front tooth should be.”

When the boy paused for breath, Giles asked, “No one is searching for Lady Emelin?” Surely Davy got it wrong. Lord Osbert’s pride wouldn’t let another bride slip away.

“Sent out two men’s all.” Davy sounded indignant. “’E was all set to go ’imself, but the lady’s brother talked ’im out of it. Don’t know what was said, but the old man didn’t look too ’appy. Still, ’e did what Sir Garley said.”

Giles had a bad feeling about the activities at Langley. More soldiers being added meant someone intended to fight. What they planned, however, wasn’t a defensive action. Did Lord Osbert or Sir Garley lead them? Perhaps they worked together.

That damned Paxton, whoever in Hell’s kingdom he was. Supposed to be a peacemaker, but in no hurry to get to Scotland, not if he was gathering men as he went.

To fight for his country? That’s what the burly guard had said.

Was it possible Paxton didn’t intend to meet with Scotland’s king? Did he intend to attack England’s shaky ally? God’s blood. He rose up on an elbow, ignoring the twinge in his side.

“Did you happen to see Lord Henry before you left?”

Davy smirked in self-congratulation. “Trailed ’im north. ’E figured you was goin’ to Chauvere. But I caught sight of your trail in the woods and followed that.”

“You couldn’t have followed our trail here.” He leveled a look at Davy. “A squire is always honest with his master. How did you find me?”

A smile wreathed the thin face. “I’m your squire, then? You tellin’ true?”

Lips set in a grim line, Giles raised a brow.

“Oh. Sorry.” He didn’t look the least repentant. “I asked at the cottages I passed. The last one said you was lookin’ for Granville Castle. The old woman set me on the right road, and ’ere I am.”

A stealthy sound at the door stopped all conversation. Both watched as it cracked open and a kitten shot inside, followed by a small, tousled girl.

“Come back, Dammit,” she whispered to the animal, then stopped cold when she saw Giles and Davy staring.

“Oh,” she said with obvious disappointment, brushing at a blond curl that tickled her nose. “Yer awake. I was s’posed to watch you. Now I have to go back to work.”

With a groan, Giles eased down on the fresh-smelling mattress. Plagued with children. And a cat.

Cats made him sneeze.

From the moment he set foot on this cold, inhospitable island, nothing had gone as it should.

How had he lost control of his life?

Chapter Twenty

“Let me up or you’ll be sucking Satan’s teat.”

The two burly guards smiled in awe at the newest creative threat. Still, they shook their heads.

“Ye might try,” said the one called Ran’l. Giles recognized him as the soldier who helped move him the day before, whose brother went with the king’s man. “But milady says ye stay put ’til ye get yer strength back. And she’s got a powerful influence with Cook.”

Giles stopped struggling against the ropes. The wooden frame of his current bed in the tiny storage chamber was stronger than the pallet he’d occupied the day before.

“Untie me,” he ordered in a tone that never failed to move his men to action.

“Well, now, milady says as how ye’ll jest tear open that wound. And from the way ye be tossin’ around before, I’d say she be right.” Ran’l rubbed his jaw where a purple blotch bloomed.

“Milady” had a point. In his recent dream, Giles refought the battle of the woods, only this time Emelin had been the one with the knife in her side. When he awoke drenched with sweat, these two were knotting the ropes. Looked as if he scored a few blows before they’d secured him.

Ran’l settled onto the floor beside him. “The way I sees it is, we swore to serve our lord and his lady,” he said in a companionable voice. “Can’t go a’gin those vows. Ye wouldn’t, would ye? No, not with what we heard about ye. Ye expect yer men to stand loyal. Can’t blame us for doin’ the same, now can ye?”

What could Giles say to reasoning like that? He knew what he’d like to say, but he had to respect their loyalty. Not many common soldiers would tie Silverhawk to a bed and live to tell the tale. Nor would they plop down beside him for a chat afterward.

He blew out a sigh. His pride might rankle, but Ran’l had a point.

“You’re right. I can’t fault your loyalty. I agree to remain a’bed until milady gives the word.”

The two guards exchanged approving glances.

“Which one of you wants to help me relieve myself?”

Giles nearly grinned at the alarmed look the pair exchanged. Ran’l fumbled only once as he untied the knots.

“Oh, my,” a soft but steely voice put in, “is this the way you obey orders?” Guilt covered the guards’ faces when they turned to Lady Clysta in the doorway.

Giles took pity on them.

“They followed your command to the letter. I was impressed by their loyalty.” The two looked to him in relief. “I simply pointed out that I am healed now, and no longer need restraint.”

His voice was firm and clear. It didn’t reveal his restlessness at being confined. This enforced rest chafed at him. Whether it was the salve Davy brought or the foul smelling ointment Sister Ressa used, his wound was healing. But then, he always mended in a flash. Still, Lady Clysta extracted a promise to rest before she left, taking his two “jailers” along.

Peace at last. He settled more comfortably on the fragrant mattress and closed his eyes. Might as well sleep. Who knew when he’d have this chance again?

When he awoke, he had no idea of the time. He only knew he wanted to see Emelin. Was she still here? She’d ignored a perfect opportunity to make good her escape yesterday. Wasn’t that what she’d worked at so often? But she hadn’t visited this chamber, and he refused to ask whether she remained.

He missed her. Her humor, the way she perceived the world, charmed him. She lightened the darkness. Those nights they spent on the road were never far from his mind.

Odd dreams had haunted him in the tower room where he first lay. Had she really held him close, stroked his forehead, trailed kisses on his eyes? Whispered words of love?

Or were those fantasies of a fevered mind?

He struggled up, then swung his feet to the floor and rose. He needed clothes. The braies and shirt he wore were not his. The shirt was slit completely up the front, probably so the healer could better reach the dressing.

To his right a brazier popped. The warmth given off by sluggish coals was welcome. A candle burned on a low table, its shadowy light wavering against the dark walls. Not even an arrow slit lightened the chamber.

He pushed aside the bandage, angled his head for a look. From what he could see, the cut had knit well. His stomach growled. He should have asked Lady Clysta for food.

A sound at the door made him turn. Emelin. Energy streaked through him. She’d stayed.

“You’re awake.” From the sound of her voice, she surely blushed. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll bring something.” She turned.

“Wait.” He couldn’t let her disappear without asking. “Why didn’t you go when you had the chance?”

She paused, the long shadow of her flickering against the wall. “How could I leave when you were hurt because of me?” He strained to hear her murmur. “I owed it to you.”

So she remained out of obligation. Disappointment was as sharp as the sudden pain in his side. Fool. Why else would she stay?

“You were eager enough to escape before.”

“I told you, I wanted to be certain of your recovery.” Did he only imagine the catch in her soft voice? If she turned only a half step, he could see her more clearly. She swung toward him, then, and he exhaled at the uncertainty reflected in her face. The knots in his muscles eased.

“Well, you had your chance.” His low voice sounded ragged. “You can’t go back now. Davy tells me Langley has become an armed stronghold. The danger would be too great.”

“What
is
it you keep talking about?” Hands on hips, she stared him down. “How could I be in danger? If Lord Osbert is so eager for an heir, why would he harm me?”

“I never said your betrothed was the threat.”

She rolled her eyes and raised her palms. “No matter where the danger lay, Lord Osbert would have protected me.”

“He could not have shielded you forever. Nor himself.”

Emelin tilted her head, as if considering his words. “Will you tell me what it is you believe?”

The momentary energy faded and weariness weighted his shoulders. The conversation about her brother’s threat must wait. He eased himself down. “Not now. Were you going to bring me food?”

With a sound of exasperation, she swept out.

Before long, the door eased open once more, too soon for Emelin to have returned. Davy slipped in, but when he espied Giles awake and glaring, he abandoned any attempt at stealth.