The Chase (26 page)

Aware of the sudden tension in her body, Blake followed her gaze and stilled. In the next
moment both of them were moving. They were on their feet with swords in hand in a
heartbeat, and instinctively putting their backs to each other as they faced the men now
surrounding them.

English, a dozen in all, Seonaid noted, and suspected they must be Greenweld's men. If so,
telling them that Greenweld was dead might be enough to stop whatever they had planned.
Unfortunately, Seonaid never got the chance to test this theory. Even as she was thinking
it, two of the men moved toward her, swords swinging. The clang of metal at her back told
her that Blake too had been engaged; then she was kept too busy fending off the attackers
on her side to concern herself with anything else.

Seonaid tried to remember Blake's advice and not simply fend off the blows coming her way,
but it was difficult to be more aggressive with so many coming at her. She had never had
to contend with so many opponents at once. She had never been in a battle where she was so
outnumbered and knew she did not have the skill, or the strength, to keep them from
killing her, were that their intent. But it obviously wasn't, she realized after several
moments had passed. The three men attacking her seemed to be more concerned with keeping
her busy than anything elsewhich convinced her they must be Greenweld's men. They would
have been ordered to kill Blake but not to harm her. Allistair had wanted to marry her,
after all.

She was well aware that the men Blake was facing would not be fighting as lightly. He was
the one they were to kill. Concern for her husband distracted her, and she found herself
paying more attention to the battle taking place at her back than the one she was involved
in. She was listening to the sounds and trying to glance over her shoulder to see how it
was going for Blake when she tripped on something; a

good-sized rock perhaps, or the root of a tree. Whatever it was, it put her off balance as
she raised her sword to fend off another blow, and Seonaid cried out as she stumbled back
and crashed into Blake, taking him by surprise and setting him off balance too.

It was then she heard what she had been listening for during the last few minutes: a
surprised grunt from Blake as he stiffened against her. She turned to look, then glanced
down in horror at the blade at her hip. It had either been driven through Blake's side or
she had knocked him into it, but it protruded out of his back, his blood staining it.

Seonaid released a battle shriek of pure fury and, ignoring the men facing her, moved
around Blake and slammed her own sword into his attacker just as he finished drawing his
blade out of her husband.

Another battle cry echoed in the silence that suddenly descended on the clearing, and
Seonaid glanced around in time to see Little George and Aeldra on their horses, driving
them into the center of the men. Obviously, they had returned to see what was going on and
had immediately gone for the mounts. Seonaid could have kissed them both. Instead, she
grabbed Blake under the arm to help keep him upright when he swayed, and urged him toward
the animals.

Aeldra released the reins of their mounts the moment she saw that Seonaid was grabbing for
them, then joined Little George in hacking at Greenweld's men with both her sword and the
hooves of her horse as she made the animal rear and paw at the earth before them. The
sudden appearance of the couple, and the distraction they offered, gave Seonaid the chance
she needed to help Blake onto his mount, then climb up behind him. Wrapping her arms
around him, she caught the reins of both his horse and her own, then shouted at Aeldra and
Little George before putting her heels to the mount they were on to send it charging out
of the clearing.

Seonaid set the beast at a dead run and kept it up for several minutes before she became
aware that Blake was leaning into her more and more with every passing moment. She had one
arm around him to grasp the reins of his stallion, and was holding the reins of her own
horse with the other to drag the beast along behind them. Seonaid suspected she would soon
need both hands to hold Blake and control the mount they rode.

A glance around showed that Aeldra and Little George had followed and were hard on her
heels. She only managed a quick look, but it did not appear as if either of them had
sustained injury. Relieved, she shouted at her husband's first, who immediately rode up
beside her. Seonaid tossed him the reins to her horse.

“Blake was hurt!” she shouted, once he had a firm grip on the reins.

“Aye, I know,” he shouted back, and there was worry on the giant man's face as he eyed his
lord.

“How bad is he bleeding?” she asked, unable to see for herself.

His grim expression was answer enough, and Seonaid almost slowed her mount. As if reading
her thoughts, Little George yelled, “They are following us! And not far behind!”

Seonaid cursed. This was bad news. “We need to get him somewhere safe so we can stop and
tend him!”

“We are close to Eberhardt.” It was Blake who spoke those words, turning slightly to do
so. The wince of pain on his face suggested turning was not a comfortable action for him
at the moment.

“What did he say?” Little George yelled to be heard over the pounding hooves of the horses.

Seonaid wasn't surprised he hadn't heard. Blake's words had been faint enough that she had
barely caught them. “He said we are close to Eberhardt,” she called. “Are we headin' in
the right direction? How close are we?”

“By my guess we are less than an hour's ride out,” Aeldra's husband announced, then added,
“and, aye, we are heading the right way.”

Seonaid hesitated, then asked Blake, “Do ye think ye can make it that far?”

He gave a brief nod rather than try to turn again, and Seonaid frowned. She wished she
could see his wound for herself; she didn't know whether to believe him or put his answer
down to male pride and stubbornness. Men could be so foolish that way.

“Here!”

Seonaid glanced to her other side to find that Aeldra had ridden up to join them and was
now holding out a strip of cloth she had ripped from her own plaid.

“He's bleedin' badly,” she said as Seonaid released Blake long enough to snatch up the
cloth. “Bind him up or he willna make it far at all.”

Seonaid nodded, then hesitated. She could hardly hold the reins, help steady Blake, and
wrap the cloth around his waist as well. Little George solved the problem by taking the
reins of their mount as well, as the riderless horse and leading both animals while she
quickly and clumsily managed to get the cloth around her husband. She tied the cloth as
tightly as she could, wincing at but not giving into, Blake's grunt of pain. She knew she
was hurting him, but they had to slow down the bleeding if he was going to survive.
Seonaid had caught a quick glance at the back of his doublet as she worked and the glimpse
at the amount of blood he was losing had lodged a cold ball of fear in her chest. The
knowledge that he would be losing just as much from the front had left her feeling sick.

“We have to move faster!” she yelled as she reclaimed the reins from Little George and
urged the mount to ride as quickly as it was capable of moving. It was a dangerous thing
to do. Riding at night was risky in itselfthere was always the danger of not seeing some
obstacle in the dark, or of the horse stumbling or setting its foot down wrong. But it was
a risk they had to take. After waiting so long for him to come claim her, Seonaid would be
damned if Blake was going to make her a widow now by bleeding to death in her arms.

Seonaid set a grueling pace, and one that might have left their pursuers behind had
Blake's stallion been able to sustain it. But, forced to carry their combined weight, the
horse began to slow after a time. Little George and Aeldra slowed their own mounts to keep
pace, but Seonaid soon wished they hadn't. While Blake was slumping more and more against
her until she was wholly holding him upright and could not glance around, the increasing
frequency with which Aeldra began looking over her shoulder to the trail behind them told
Seonaid that their pursuers were slowly catching up. When she began to actually hear the
drumming of their pursuers' horses, she began to think they would not make it. Then the
inky black of night in the woods suddenly gave way to moonlight as they broke out of the
trees and onto the wide expanse of cleared land that surrounded the castle they were
approaching.

Seonaid almost released a sob of relief at the sight of the castle ahead. Instead, she put
her heel to

Blake's mount, urging the beast to one last burst of speed, grateful when the animal
responded.

They were halfway between the woods and the castle walls when Seonaid judged by the fading
sound of hoof-beats behind them that their pursuers had begun to rein in and give up the
chase. Still, her concern for Blake didn't allow her to slow down. She kept the animal at
a full gallop until she was forced to slow to a stop by the fact that Eberhardt was closed
up tight for the night, its bridge up and gates closed.

Stopping at the edge of the moat, Seonaid glanced back toward the woods in time to see the
last of their pursuers disappearing as Little George yelled up at the wall, identifying
who they were and shouting that Sherwell was injured. Fortunately, whoever was on watch
that night recognized the name and let the drawbridge down at once. Still, it seemed to
take forever.

The moment the way was clear, she urged Blake's mount forward, trotting across the bridge,
into the bailey, and straight up to the stairs to the keep before stopping. The moment she
did, Blake began to slide sideways in her arms. Seonaid was straining to keep him from
tumbling to the ground when the keep doors slammed open and a man almost as large as
Little George came charging down them. Long dark hair flowing wild around his head and
dressed only in a pair of black braies, the man had obviously been roused from his bed.

For all that, he seemed wide awake, and he rushed straight to where she sat holding Blake.
Assessing the situation at once, he raised a hand to brace Blake, then ordered, “Let him
go.”

Seonaid followed the order without hesitation. The moment she did, Blake dropped sideways
off the saddle, but the newcomer was there to catch him and ease him to the ground.

Seonaid quickly scrambled off the horse and knelt at Blake's side just as his eyes slowly
opened. His gaze slid from her to the man on his other side, and he managed a weak smile.

“Amaury.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and they both had to lean closer to hear.
“Thought we would visit on the way home. Should introduce my wife,” he added, and Seonaid
frowned at the slur to his voice. “Wife, Amaury. Amaury, wife.”

They glanced at each other, and Seonaid was not surprised to note the concern on the other
man's face. She knew her own expression mirrored it.

“Blake!”

Seonaid glanced over Amaury's wide shoulders to see a short, curvaceous blonde rushing
down the stairs toward them.

“What has happened?” she cried with alarm as she reached them and eyed Blake's
bloodstained doublet. Then, before anyone could answer, she turned toward the servants
gathering at the open keep door and roared,“Maude!”

“Aye, my lady?” A plain-faced servant started down the stairs at once. “I shall need my
medicinals!” “Aye, my lady.” The servant turned in midstep and flew back up into the keep.
Seonaid's gaze dropped to the man kneeling across from her, who grinned slightly.

“My wife, Emmalene,” he explained.

“Ah. She... er... has a fine set of lungs for such a small woman,” Seonaid commented, then
winced as Lady Emmalene proved her words true with another bellow.

“Sebert!”

“Aye, my lady?” A male servant started down the stairs, only to turn and rush back up them
when Lady Emmalene said, “Bandages!”

“Tell them to bring everything to the room Blake occupied on his last visit,” Amaury
ordered, slipping his arms under Blake and standing as he lifted him.

Seonaid scrambled to her feet and rushed along at the man's side as he carried her husband
inside.

Seonaid watched as Amaury laid her husband on the bed; then she immediately moved forward,
intending to remove Blake's tunic and doublet. But his friend started on it before she
could. Telling herself that he was stronger and so would be quicker about it, Seonaid
waited impatiently as the clothing was stripped away and Blake was eased onto his
uninjured side.

Her mouth tightened when she got her first glimpse of the wound. It was an angry, jagged
hole in the front that was echoed in the back. It looked ghastly.

“Here, m'lady.” The servant Emmalene had sent for her medicinals rushed into the room,
followed closely by the fellow who had been sent for bandages.

Emmalene accepted their offerings, then turned toward the bed.

“We'll needuisegebeatha ,” Seonaid said, then used the English word to prevent any
confusion. “Whiskey. We'll need it to clean the wound.”

Emmalene sent for the whiskey, then hesitated briefly before offering the medicinals and
bandages to her.

As Blake's wife, Seonaid supposed it was her place to tend her husband, but she almost
wished it wasn't; her stomach was roiling and she feared making a mistake. Considering
this weak behavior, she straightened her shoulders and stepped forward to tend the task.

Seonaid had mended hundreds of wounds over the years, from small cuts that needed no more
than a splash of whiskey and a bandage to major injuries like the one her husband sported.
She could do this.

Seonaid sorted through the salves and other items Maude had brought in search of a needle
and thread. Once she found them, she set to attempting to thread the needle, but much to
her frustration, her hands her very armswere trembling so badly she could not manage the
task.

“Emmalene, mayhap you should tend to stitching Blake up,” Amaury suggested, apparently
noting the problem. "Seonaid's muscles are worn from holding him in the saddle for so
long, and her hands will

tremble until they have had rest."

“Shall I?” Emmalene asked.

Seonaid handed over the thread and needle with relief. While her armswere weary from
holding her husband, it was not entirely the source of her shaking. She was anxious and
afraid for Blake. The injury was a deadly one, and she feared the ride here had been too
long, allowing him to lose too much blood. He might not survive.

When the whiskey arrived, Seonaid poured it liberally over, and into, the wound, front and
back. Blake did not even stir at the action. Had he been awake, he would have screamed in
agony, for while the liquor cleaned a wound well enough, it was not called the fire of
life for nothing.

Seonaid handed the whiskey back to Maude, then glanced past her, her attention drawn by a
soft sob. There was a buxom blond servant standing by the door, crying softly. Seonaid
eyed her for a moment, then asked her hostess, “Who is that?”

Emmalene turned to glance at the girl, then frowned and ordered, “Maude, you stay. The
rest of the servants are to wait in the hall in case we need anything.”

Once the other servantsincluding the teary blondehad left, Emmalene turned back and set to
stitching up Blake. She had neglected to answer Seonaid's question, but she let it go for
now.

Once Emmalene had finished sewing up the wound, both front and back, Seonaid helped her
spread a salve over the injury on both sides, then bandage him up.

“There,” Emmalene said as they finished and both straightened.

“Will he live?” Amaury asked as he, Little George, and Aeldra moved closer to the bed.

Anxious to hear the answer, Seonaid waited for the other woman to speak. Seonaid herself
felt his chances were poor, but they at least had some cause for hope. He'd lost a lot of
blood and she'd almost feared he might die before they could stop the bleeding and stitch
him up. But the fact that he had survived this far suggested to her that his chances were
a little better than they had been on arriving. Every moment that passed with him still
breathing made his chances better, but she feared she might be fooling herself and wanted
to hear what Lady Emmalene had to say.

“He has lost a lot of blood,” Emmalene said, her brow knitted with worry as she peered
down at Blake's pale face. “But if he does not take a fever, he may survive.”

Seonaid let her breath out on a whoosh. The possibility of infection hadn't even occurred
to her. She would have to watch over him through the night. If Blake didn't show signs of
fever by morning, he probably wouldn't have one.

“We will know better by morning,” Lady Emmalene said, her thoughts obviously running along
the same lines as Seonaid's.

Amaury gave an abrupt nod, then glanced to Seonaid, Aeldra, and Little George. “Have you
eaten?”

Little George shook his head. “Aeldra and I were just returning with a rabbit to cook for
sup. We arrived back to find Seonaid and Blake surrounded and battling.”

“How many men?” Amaury asked.

“Twelve, I think.”

“Aye,” Aeldra said. “There were twelve o' them, but there are only nine left now. Blake
had apparently dispatched two 'ere we got there, and Seonaid killed the one who put his
sword to Blake as we fetched the horses to join them.”

“Aye,” Little George agreed. “There were nine left in the end.”

“Who were they?”

Little George opened his mouth to answer again, and Seonaid left him to it as she walked
to the fireplace to grab one of the chairs there and drag it back to the side of the bed.

“Mayhap we should move below so they can eat while they explain?” Lady Emmalene suggested,
interrupting Little George.

“Aye.” Amaury nodded. “Come, Little George. I would hear all that has taken place since
you and Blake left Eberhardt with Lord Rolfe.”

The two men moved out of the room, but Aeldra and Emmalene hesitated.

“Will you not come below and eat... Seonaid, is it not?” Lady Emmalene asked tentatively.

“Aye. Seonaid.”

Amaury's wife smiled. “And I am Emmalene.”

“Aye. I ken. Blake told me about ye and Amaury,” she admitted, then gestured to her
cousin. “And this is me cousin, Aeldra. She's Little George's wife.”

The lady's jaw dropped and she gaped at Aeldra with amazement. “You and Little George?”

The woman's reaction startled a laugh out of Aeldra, as well as a smile from Seonaid. Some
of the tension oozed out of her, leaving her feeling limp. “Shockin', isna it?” she
commented with amusement, and Emmalene forced her mouth closed, then managed a smile.

“Nay, nay. I am happy for Little George,” she said quickly. “He has had a most tragic time
of late.” She hesitated and cleared her throat, then asked, “Will you come below and eat?
One of the servants can sit with Blake while you do.”

“Nay. I am no hungry.” Seonaid's gaze moved to her husband's face. A frown of worry
immediately claimed her expression at his pallor. He was almost gray from lack of blood.
If he died on her

“I shall send some food up to you in case you change your mind,” Lady Emmalene murmured,
then turned to Aeldra and asked, “Will you come below and eat with your husband?”

Seonaid glanced to her cousin and, seeing her indecision, said, "Go on with ye, Aeldra.
Eat with Little George. There's no need fer two o' us up here. 'Sides, 'tis sure I am Lady
Emmalene would enjoy news

o' her cousin, Lord Rolfe.“ ”Oh, aye, I would,“ Emmalene agreed, obviously pleased at the
prospect. ”All right,“ Aeldra agreed reluctantly. ”But shout if ye need me, Seonaid, an'
I'll come runnin'."

Seonaid nodded, then turned her attention back to her husband as the other two women left
the room. She stared at Blake's still face for a long time until she felt sure his
features were burned so securely into her memory she could bring them up in her mind's eye
at will for the next fifty years if necessary. She hoped it would not be necessary. She
was too young and too newly married to be a widow.

Seonaid awoke in her chair, still seated upright, head tipped forward and chin resting on
her chest. The moment she started to lift her head, pain shot through her neck. She'd
apparently slept more than a few minutes.

Grimacing, she rubbed a hand at the back of her neck and slowly straightened, barely
restraining a groan. A glance toward the window showed that the sun was rising on the
horizon. Seonaid had pulled the window's tapestry aside during the wee hours of the
morning to find it hid glass windows, and had been terribly impressed. Then she'd opened
the window, hoping the fresh air would help keep her awake to watch over Blake. Silly as
it might seem, she had a terrible fear that the moment she stopped watching him, he might
develop a fever. She'd sat up most of the night, until exhaustion had claimed her.

By her guess, she'd slept an hour or two. It was early morning.

Turning back to the bed, she leaned forward and gently pressed a hand to Blake's forehead.

“Thank God,” she murmured, equally glad that he was neither warm with fever nor cold with
death. He was so pale, she would not have been surprised to find he'd died while she slept.

Seonaid sat back in the chair, then shifted uncomfortably. She was still tired, and now
that morning had arrived with Blake still alive and showing no sign of fever, it should be
all right for her to get a proper sleep. His having survived the night had been a big step.

Standing, she took a moment to stretch muscles aching from remaining seated in one
position too long, then moved around the bed and carefully climbed in next to Blake. She
arranged herself on the edge of the bed, as far from him as possible, to prevent bumping
him should she roll over in her sleep. She closed her eyes and let sleep claim her again.

“Ye've been locked up in this room for two days.” Aeldra stood, hands on hips, an air of
determination about her as she glared at Seonaid from the other side of the bed. “And he
isna even awake to ken yer keepin' vigil. Ye have to come out o' this room some time.”
Giving up her angry stance, she tried a more pleading approach. “Just come break yer fast.”

“I already broke my fast.” Seonaid scanned Blake's face for the hundredth time since
waking up two hours earlier. He was regaining some of his color but was still pale and
hadn't yet woken. It was worrisome.

“Then come out in the bailey with me and practice for a little bit,” Aeldra coaxed. “Just
for a little bit. Ye can come back up here afterward, and one o' the servants will sit
with him. Canna they?” she asked, glancing to Lady Emmalene for support. The little
blonde, about the same height as Aeldra but much more curvaceous, immediately nodded.

“Aye. Maude or one of the other women would be happy to take your place,” Emmalene said at
once.

Seonaid considered her cousin's suggestion and found herself tempted. She had been cooped
up in the bedchamber for two days. Two long, wearying days spent staring at her husband's
face and willing him to wake up. The longer he slept, the more worried she became. He
hadn't awakened for even a moment in that time, and if he didn't awaken soon and eat, she
very much feared he would just fade away in the bed and die.

“Once he recovers, we'll be traveling on to Sherwell. What if we're attacked again? Ye'll
need all yer skills to keep him safe,” Aeldra added slyly, and Seonaid glanced at her
sharply.

“Has Amaury no found the men yet?” she asked with a frown. Lady Emmalene had informed her
the morning after their arrival that her husband had sent warriors out searching for the
band of men who had attacked them. She hadn't mentioned the matter again since, and
Seonaid hadn't really thought of them. Her concentration had all been focused on Blake.

“Nay,” Lady Emmalene answered. “He says he thinks they have gone to ground like a fox
seeking its hole. But he is sure they are still out there somewhere.”

Seonaid frowned over this, then stood abruptly. “Aye. I'll practice with ye,” she decided.
She needed to be in top form when they left. She would not see Blake injured again once
he'd recovered. If he recovered. If he didn't... She'd hunt the bastards down herself and
send them to meet Greenweld.

“Maude!” Lady Emmalene roared, and all three women glanced to Blake's face hopefully, but
her bellow did not even make him stir in his sleep.

Seonaid's mouth tightened at this added proof that his was not a normal sleep. She had
already known that. She had tried to wake him several times to get him to eat some broth,
with no success.

The maid, Maude, had obviously been waiting in the hall. The door opened almost at once
and she slipped in.

“Please sit with Lord Blake while Lady Seonaid takes some fresh air,” Lady Emmalene
instructed.

The maid nodded and moved around to her side, and Seonaid hesitated, then got stiffly to
her feet. She had been sitting too much the last several days and was stiff everywhere.
Moving out of the way, she let the servant take her seat, then said, “Call me if he wakes.”

“Aye, m'lady,” the servant murmured as she settled in the chair. “Call me if there is any
change at all,” Seonaid added. “Aye, m'lady.”

Seonaid opened her mouth again, but Aeldra grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the door.
“Ye'll only be gone a little while. He'll be fine.”

“Aye,” Lady Emmalene agreed, following them out of the room and pulling the door closed
before bustling along the hall beside them. “A little walk in the bailey, some practice
with Aeldra, and perhaps a quick bite for the nooning meal, and then you can come right
back up.”

Seonaid glanced around curiously as she was led down the stairs into the great hall. She
hadn't really looked about on arriving, her attention and worry had all been on her
husband. Now she took in with interest the well-ordered castle with its small army of
servants. “Why are the servants all wearing black?”

“Oh.” Emmalene flushed slightly. “We were in mourning. Well, we still are really, or
should be, but” She paused and shook her head. “My husband has only been dead a short
while.”