Twilight Magic (20 page)

“Aye, but that was hours ago.”

Several hours, given the lack of light. “Do you intend to ride all night?”

“Not all. Are you comfortable? Need to take a rest?” “Not as yet.”

“You will let me know when you do.”

His concern sliced through what little fog remained in her head. What he’d told her earlier now made more sense. For whatever reason, Darian believed the man inquiring about purchasing his horse might be one of Bishop Henry’s soldiers. Getting out of the bishop’s reach had been one of the reasons William sent Darian to Hadone.

Darian hadn’t been concerned about the bishop’s men when they’d left Hadone, and a horrible knot began to tighten in her gut.

“Darian, if not for me, you would have stayed in London, would you not?”

“Perhaps, but that is not important right now. Why not try to go back to sleep, get what rest you can?”

Emma closed her eyes, hoping the sway of the horse would again lull her back to oblivion, not wanting to face that Darian had retreated not for his own well-being, but because of her.

She’d become an impediment, a heavy chain that bound his hands and put him at disadvantage. She hadn’t the least notion of how to break the links.

Darian awakened from a soldier’s sleep—his body resting, but his senses alert—with his back against a tree, Rose’s head heavy on his thigh. The morning fog had already begun to lift, hovering a few feet off the ground.

Emma still slept within arm’s reach in a patch of long grass, using his saddle as a pillow.

He leaned over to push a cloak’s string from near her mouth, still unsure if he’d dragged her from bed for naught.

The man’s inquiry might have been just that, nothing more sinister. However, he’d heeded instincts prodding him to leave London, and so here they were, sleeping on the ground.

He’d ridden as long as he dared, until he could barely see the road. They’d traveled slowly, but they’d gone a fair distance by traveling late. Deciding anyone pursuing them would also be wise enough to pull up for the night, he’d given in to arms that ached from holding Emma upright while she slept.

Rose stirred, her head coming up to nudge his elbow. He dug fingers into the shaggy hair behind her ears and scratched vigorously. For a time he savored the simple pleasure of the hound’s company.

Rose truly wasn’t much trouble, and made for fine company and a guard for Emma. At some time he would have to take the hound back to Hadone, but right now he enjoyed Rose’s companionship.

Rising hurt. Stiff muscles protested movement. A few bends and long stretches eased some of the soreness.

How long dare he allow Emma to sleep? This road between London and Oxford, along the river Thames, was well used during daylight. Not long from now, travelers would begin passing by and the road would be somewhat safer, though brigands were still a worry.

The bishop’s soldiers, if indeed they’d followed him, might be along soon, too.

He decided to wake Emma and see how she felt. Depending on whether she still felt poorly or if he could determine if they’d been followed, perhaps they could stop in Bray tonight and continue on to near Oxford on the morrow.

He bent over and grasped Emma’s shoulder.

Rose growled low and deep in her throat, the warning freezing his spine for the barest of moments.

He shook Emma, watching her intently, listening for whatever had altered and disturbed the wolf hound. A rustling to his left told him where the intrusion came from, but whether wild beast or human he didn’t yet know.

Emma opened her eyes, and he was singularly relieved to see no pain.

Just above a whisper, he said, “Stay where you are, but be alert. We may have a visitor.”

“Who?”

“Could be anything from a squirrel to a bear. Or a man.” He pulled off his cloak, wanting no encumbrance, and dropped it on the ground beside Emma. “Stay here while I see what is out there that bothers Rose.”

Emma sat up, fully awake, her wide eyes expressing concern, but not fear. That was good. The last thing he needed to deal with was a hysterical woman.

“Rose, guard.”

Darian strode straight ahead, hoping whatever lurked to his left would stay there until he could come around from the side or behind. When well into the woods, he drew the dagger from his boot and veered left, taking care where he stepped so he made no sound.

He found two men standing statue still, swords in hand but not poised to fight. Soldiers, obviously, and likely in Bishop Henry’s service.

With the toss of his dagger, he could kill one soldier where he stood and then quickly dispatch the other. Except the soldiers were probably under orders to take him alive, if they could, and haul him back to the bishop. If he could talk them out of it, perhaps he could spare their lives.

Darian wasn’t averse to slitting an evil man’s throat without warning, but these two were mere soldiers, following orders. They didn’t deserve death unless they meant him harm.

“Looking for me?”

Their swords came up as they spun toward him, their eyes going wide. After a moment of stunned silence, they looked questioningly at one another. At long last, one became bold enough to speak.

“You be Darian of Bruges?”

For an instant he thought about denying his identity, but knew it would do little more than prolong the inevitable.

He nodded. “Who are you?”

“Bishop Henry of Winchester would like a word with you.”

“Kindly tell the bishop I must decline his invitation.” “ ’Tis not an invitation. You are to come with us.”

“I take orders from no one other than William of Ypres, so I fear I cannot oblige. Pray give the bishop my regrets.”

They rushed forward. Darian flipped his dagger and, with straight and true aim, hit the bold one midchest. With his arms flung wide, the soldier staggered, then dropped, much to the horror of his companion.

Now all he need do was disarm the second soldier and send him on his way.

The soldier looked up from his fallen companion. He scowled, but Darian also saw a lack of confidence.

“Should be easy now,” the soldier said. “You ain’t got a weapon.”

Darian calmly spread out his hands, palms up. “None at all.”

The soldier quickened his pace. Darian stood his ground and watched the man’s eyes. The sword rose high, primed for a savage blow.

From the distance Darian could hear Rose growl viciously. Damn! There must be more soldiers than these two!

Emma!

The sword sliced through Darian’s sleeve, punishing the tunic’s owner for his irregular and unpardonable lack of attention.

Emma backed up against the tree.

Rose paced in front of Emma, the hound’s feral snarl holding three men at bay.

Three men, one hound. Good odds, if not for the men’s weapons. The swords didn’t concern Emma as much as the spear. If its wielder judged the hound’s movements correctly and accurately let loose that spear... the result was too horrible to contemplate.

Rose needed help. The hound couldn’t take on all three armed guards at once and survive.

One of the soldiers waved his sword. “Tell the hound to stand down, milady. You come with us peaceful like and no one need get hurt.”

Emma seized the chance to stall the soldiers from taking action. “The hound listens only to her master. You must put your weapons away and await his return.”

The soldiers looked from one to the other. Through the silence came the piercing cry of a man in horrible pain.

The soldier bearing the spear smiled maliciously. “Sounds like the master ain’t comin’ back.”

Emma swallowed hard, fearing the worst. Ye gods, how many soldiers were there? Had Darian fallen? If he had, she and Rose were doomed, too.

But even as her heart pounded against her ribs, Emma took hope in Rose’s continued steady pacing. Had the cry of pain been Darian’s, Rose would have reacted differently, wouldn’t she?

Emma gathered her bravado. “Or the master is even now hurrying back to us. Do you truly wish to face both hound and master?”

The soldier who seemed to be the leader turned to the man with the spear. “Kill the hound!”

Horrified, Emma searched the ground for a rock or stick to use as a weapon... and spotted the saddle. Calling herself all kinds of a fool for not recognizing the obvious weapon, she bolted toward Darian’s horse.

“Stop her!” came the command.

Emma ran faster, praying the spear wasn’t headed her way. Or Rose’s.

Darian hadn’t hobbled the horse. He’d simply looped the reins over the branch of a bush, and the horse was well-enough trained so it thought itself tied.

Rose was barking now, sharply.

Emma forced herself not to glance over her shoulder, to concentrate on mounting the horse. If naught else, she could provide Rose with a distraction by dividing the men’s attention.

“ ’Ware the hound!” one of them ordered.

Emma flipped the reins from the bush. The battle-trained horse snorted and pawed at the ground. Sweet mercy, all she’d ever ridden alone were gentle palfreys! Darian had always ridden this horse with her, or at least held the reins.

Too late for doubts now! Still, her hands shook as she led the horse to a log she used as a mounting block.

One of the men let out a blood-curdling scream. The other two were shouting.

Emma grabbed hold of the mane and leapt, barely making it onto the horse’s back.

What she saw from that great height sickened her.

Rose had chosen one of the sword men as her victim. The two grappled on the ground, Rose’s massive jaws clamped on the man’s shoulder. The other sword man stood back, shouting at the spear’s wielder, who sought an opening to kill the hound without killing his fellow soldier.

Emma kicked the horse and charged into the melee; her target, the man with the spear.

Darian jerked the sword from the now-dead soldier’s belly, irate over how long he’d taken to disarm and vanquish his opponent.

The cut on his forearm wasn’t deep or bleeding heavily, but it burned and the pain had hampered him.

Quickly, he retrieved his dagger from the other soldier’s chest, then turned his thoughts and steps to the battle he’d heard but not seen.

Rose had ceased growling. No longer did men shout. Either the wolfhound had emerged victorious or Darian was too late to help her.

Running, breathing heavily, he reasoned that the soldiers wouldn’t kill Emma, not if they’d been given orders to take her, too, to Winchester. But they could harm a defenseless, unarmed woman in ways he didn’t want to think about.

Darian burst into the clearing. On the edge of his vision, he saw two bloodied soldiers sprawled facedown on the ground. Rose lay near them, also bloodied.

Dead, he judged them all.

Enraged, he sprinted toward the soldier intent on dragging Emma down from the horse. As trained, his horse didn’t cooperate—sidestepping, backing up, tossing his head to free the bridle from an enemy’s hands. Emma gripped the mane and she pressed her knees in tight to avoid sliding off the horse’s bare back. A formidable feat. But she couldn’t hold tight much longer.

Darian whistled sharply and the horse instantly went still. Emma’s head swiveled toward the sound; the soldier turned around to meet the threat head-on.

Without any thought other than the soldier had dared try to lay hands on Emma, for the second time within minutes, Darian let fly the dagger.

The blade bit deep. The soldier fell where he stood. Emma stared down at the dead man, then across the expanse of clearing separating them. Anguish twisted her features before she buried her face in the horse’s mane.

Her distress was damn near more than he could bear. He should go to her, comfort her, assure her all was now well. Tell her how damn proud of her he was for having the intelligence and courage to use the horse as a weapon.

Except his hands were shaking and guilt clawed at his innards for bungling.

His misjudgment had put her in horrible danger, forced her into a deadly situation. Somehow he had to tell her how sorry he was for not protecting her as he ought.

He’d taken no more than two steps when Emma slid down from the horse’s back. Sobbing, she hiked up bloodstained skirts and ran toward him. He managed to drop the sword and brace his legs before she hit him full force.

Silently, he held her while her tears flowed, thankful the blood on her skirts wasn’t hers. He didn’t even mind her tears, simply because she was alive and able to wet his tunic.

In short order her tenseness eased and the sobs became less harsh and heartrending.

“I am . . . sorry,” she said between gulps of air, her forehead pressed against his chest. “I thought if I . . . scattered the men she... she might win out. I... could not... get to her...in time.”

Darian’s throat closed up. He could barely breathe for the arrow of grief piercing his heart.

He’d seen the hound lying near the soldiers. The spear and the blood. But now it finally hit him that the hound he’d ordered to guard Emma had done so to her death.

Darian blinked back the tears threatening to fall, remembering the last time he’d mourned—and the vow he’d taken to never allow himself to care for anyone so much that he would mourn their death.

He’d allowed Rose a place in his heart and now he paid a price. Never again. Not ever again.

He cleared his throat. “Rose killed the soldiers?”

She nodded. “Rose killed one. I... your horse...we trampled the other.”

Sure that Emma had never killed a man before, he tightened his hold, not wanting to think of what that cost her. “You did what you could. ’Tis I who must beg your pardon for not being where I was most needed.”

“I heard a man cry out in pain. Are they all... gone?” Darian dearly hoped so. “I need to find their horses to know for sure.”

“I am going with you.”

A bad idea, but he couldn’t deny her because he couldn’t leave Emma alone amidst the carnage. He could no longer tell Rose to guard. Damn. Damn. Damn!

He took another fortifying breath. “Let me get my dagger and then we will go.”

Slowly Emma’s arms slipped from around him. She took a step back, and through moist and reddened eyes, noticed his arm.