Alex smiled, slid the sword back into the scabbard, and placed it back against the wall. “We do nothing,” he said, “until you're fully recovered.”
“But I must send a message to Henry.”
“Not yet. Argante is likely still searching for you. Let him think you're dead.” Alex's gaze drifted to Emma again. “I don't want the bastard sniffing around here.”
Stephen followed his gaze and understood.
“He would have to kill me,” he offered, “before he got to her.”
Lightning flashed a warning and thundered the storm's arrival.
“Aye, I know it, lad.” Alex closed the shutters with a bang. “But I pray to God it will never come to that.”
Chapter Six
She used a solitary fingernail to draw an erotic map on his skin, grazing a blood-red trail from his throat to his groin. Argante's greedy shaft responded to the sensation of painful ecstasy as the wench opened all ten of her claws and raked them over his chest. Licking her generous lips, she ogled his growing erection.
“Hmm,” she purred, breathing hot air across the sensitive tip of his manhood. “You're indeed a stallion, my lord.” She smiled, observing him through cat-like, slanted brown eyes that gleamed in the candlelight. The image of a serpent slithered into his mind and he glanced at her mouth, half expecting to see the flick of a forked tongue between her lips.
“A stallion like you should be ridden,” she said. Then, tossing back a mane of wild red hair, she rose up, bending her spine like a bow before straddling his hips and impaling herself on his rigid member. She groaned. “And ridden hard.”
With a grunt, he sat up, pushed the girl off him and snatched a thick handful of her hair, twisting her onto her stomach with a violent wrench. He ignored her scream, grabbed her hips and lifted her buttocks, a guttural growl rattling his throat.
“'Tis the stallion who mounts the mare, Salope,” he snarled, yanking on her hair again. “Let's see if you can take him.”
With a brutal thrust he buried himself deep inside her, excited by her whimpers of pain, pounding harder and harder until his body stiffened with climax. Shuddering, he sank his nails into her flesh, drawing blood, relishing the sound of her scream.
“How was that, my little mare?” he hissed, shoving her away. “Now get out. And tell Markus I want a bath. I need to wash your stench off me.”
The girl slid off the bed, picked up her clothes from the floor and started to dress.
“I said get out,” Argante growled. “I'll not say it again.”
The girl uttered a curse and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her. Argante heard a loud whistle from the corridor, followed by a scream. A moment later, Iain, Argante's man-at-arms, stuck his grinning face around the door.
“Can I have her now?”
Argante chuckled. “Help yourself. But tell Markus I want a bath.”
“Will do.” Iain's grin widened. “I'll only be a few minutes. The wench is already naked and I'm as hard as a rock.”
Argante laughed and stretched out on the bed.
Later, while relaxing in the tub, he heard the clatter of hooves in the courtyard. His men had returned from another day of searching. Argante clenched his fists under the water, thinking of how Henry's spy had almost fooled him.
Almost.
Three days had passed since the young knight had made his escape. So far, they'd found no sign of him other than the two corpses he'd left bleeding on the road.
Thoughts of Stephen de Montfort's deception wrung a string of curses from Argante's mouth as he left the warmth of the tub. He rubbed himself down with vigour, taking time to admire his superb physique. Argante knew he was in better shape than many men half his age.
The hour was late, so Argante dressed for comfort, pulling on dark hose and a plain velvet tunic. He sank his feet into soft leather and fastened his sword belt around him, running his thumb along the jewelled hilt. Rarely did he go anywhere without the familiar weight of honed steel resting at his side.
“Well?” All eyes turned to him as he strode into the hall. “Anything?”
“Nothing, my lord. The rain has covered any tracks he might have made.”
“But you searched to the north, as I suggested?”
“Aye, we did, and found nothing. Wherever he is, he can't have travelled far. I gave him and his horse a fair swipe with my blade. 'Tis certain they both bled to death and now lie rotting in the forest.”
Argante cursed under his breath, grabbed the man by his tunic and hauled him to his feet. Spittle flew, along with his bitter words. “You'd better be right, Thomas. Christ's blood, the man bested three of you.” He threw him aside and kicked at a chair. “To hell with de Montfort, then. We've wasted enough time. From now on, we focus on finding what we came here for.”
“Where do you propose we start?” Thomas asked, eyeing his lord like a rat might eye a snake. “What ancient king is buried in this God forsaken corner of England?”
Argante grunted. “We start by looking for this circle the old priest mentioned. There's an ancient stone circle on the slopes of Black Combe. Maybe there's a burial mound nearby.”
“There's sickness over that way,” said one of the soldiers. “We passed by there two days ago, looking for the spy. Remember? The Scottish peasant who lived in the forest? His son was sick. Sounded like the plague.”
Argante spat on the floor. “We'll not be mingling with the locals. Be ready at dawn.” He spun on his heel, but something the soldier said froze him mid-step. Skin prickling, he turned around.
“Wait. What did you say?”
“There's sickness over that way, my lord.”
“Aye, I heard that. But a Scot?”
Thomas nodded. “Sounded like. He had a bit of a Gaelic lilt to his voice.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall, with dark curly hair. Your age, maybe a bit older.”
“Did you see this son of his?”
“It was his son-in-law who was sick. And nay, we didn't see him. Saw his daughter, though. Pretty little wench.”
Argante stepped back into the room. A daughter? Then it couldn't be him. Unless...
“What did she look like?”
Thomas shrugged. “Hard to say. She was hidden behind her shawl. But she had the greenest eyes I've ever seen. I'll never forget those. Like emeralds, they were. Think she was getting sick too. Coughing and sneezing.”
“Jesus Christ.” Argante grasped the back of a chair, a cold hand of certainty clutching his heart as he thought of the old priest. “It has to be him. After all these years.”
“My lord?”
“Where is this place?” He leaned over and grabbed Thomas by the wrist. “Tell me everything.”
Warm winds had stripped the sky of clouds during the night. The sun had yet to burn a trail over the horizon, but a glow on the eastern hills hinted at its imminent arrival. Five men set out as the stars faded into the dawn.
They turned their horses inland, following the river. As they left the spread of the coastal estuary behind them, the riverbanks narrowed, squeezing the water between into a frantic cascade that tumbled over boulders and crags. Darkness still lingered in the forest, but the remains of night were already being picked apart by birdsong.
Argante noticed none of it.
He rode in stiff silence at the head of the group, grappling with his emotions. Sleep had evaded him that night, his rabid mind besieged by thoughts of things past, which had unearthed a long-buried desire for revenge. Yet Argante fought to restrain his rage, for it did not bode well to approach Alexander Mathanach with anything less than a sharp mind and a sharp blade. The Scottish knight had cunning equal to a leash of foxes.
What of this girl? Green eyes like emeralds, Thomas said.
Like those of her mother. Yet the girl couldn't be Mathanach's daughter. Could she?
His fingers tightened on the reins.
Another thought persisted, this one a constant remin
der of why he'd come to this remote part of England in the first place. If Alexander Mathanach was indeed the Scot who lived in the forest, the stone had to be nearby.
“The path is up ahead, my lord.” Thomas's voice broke through Argante's reverie. “By those large red boulders sitting in the river.”
Argante pulled his horse to a halt and his men followed suit.
“It goes straight in?”
“Aye.” Thomas shifted in his saddle. “It leads directly to the cottage. A little less than a league, I'd say.”
Argante dismounted and handed the reins to Thomas. “Wait here, all of you. Hide yourselves in the woods and keep quiet. I'll be back before dark.”
Thomas cast a puzzled look at the reins in Argante's hand. “What are you doing, my lord? You can't go in there alone. And on foot?”
“Aye, I can.”
“But –”
“Don't argue.” He pushed the reins into Thomas's hand. “Get yourselves off the trail and stay low. Do not follow me or come anywhere near the cottage. Understood?”
Thomas paused. “Aye. But I hope you know what you're doing.”
Argante glared at him. “I've killed men for lesser insults. Now move.”
Chapter Seven
“But Cùra, please let me go. 'Tis such a beautiful morning and I'm tired of staying here. It's been more than three days and we haven't seen a soul.”
“That doesn't mean no one is out there.” Alex leaned on the pitchfork and smiled at the expression on Emma's face. “You're pouting, child. I haven't seen you do that for several years.”
“I haven't been this bored for several years.” Emma folded her arms and glared at him.
“Then here.” He tilted the fork handle toward her. “Bart's stall needs to be cleaned out. The old fellow needs some fresh water as well. After that, you can help me with the thatch on the roof. There's a leak over the door.”
Emma ignored the proffered pitchfork. “But would you not like fish for dinner? I could be back in a few hours with some fresh flooks. You know how much you enjoy them. Besides, Stephen said he'll come with me. He's well enough to travel such a short distance.”
Alex dug the prongs into the dirty straw, pulled up a forkful, and tossed it into a wooden barrow. “How about we have eggs instead? That way, you'll only have to walk to the hen-hut. And your knight is a wanted man, not yet strong enough to wield a sword.”
“I can wield my own sword.”
Alex sighed. “You'd be no match for this particular demon. Do you have any idea what Argante would do if he captured you? I can't take that risk. You're too precious to me.”
He sensed the unspoken curses tripping through her mind and chuckled inwardly.
“That's not very lady-like, a ghràidh.” His brows lifted. “I don't remember teaching you such words.”
Emma's mouth twitched in an apparent attempt to suppress a smile. This time, Alex chuckled out loud.
Stephen appeared in the doorway, his sword resting in his left hand. He swung it in a wide arc, only a hint of discomfort on his face. “I'll go with her, Alex. My wound has healed quickly. Besides, I can fight left handed if need be.”
“Aye. 'Tis that 'need be' part which bothers me,” Alex replied, frowning.
“Please, Cùra. I'll take my sword and bow, and I promise we'll stay in the forest until we reach the sands.” She blinked at him, clasping her hands together beneath her chin. “We'll fish below the southern cliffs, out of sight. Plea-ease.”
“Christ forgive me.” Whenever she brandished her eyes like that, he was lost. A twinge of pain lanced his heart, for Emma's mother had also bent his will with similar ease. “Go, then. But step quietly and watch your surroundings at all times. Young knight, do not let her out of your sight. If you see or hear anyone – anyone at all – hide yourselves.”
Emma leapt on him, knocked the pitchfork clean out of his hands, and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you, thank you, I love you.” She clapped her hands in obvious delight. “We'll be very careful. I'll be right back, Stephen.”
With a whoop of joy, she ran into the house, her long braid whipping out behind her. Alex watched a smile cross Stephen's face.
“Emma is not like the noble women you're used to, lad,” he said, “and I take full responsibility for that. I raised her to value her own worth in this world.”
“She's remarkable.”
“Aye, she is.”
“Will you not tell me why you raised her? How she came to be here with you?”
The young knight's questions probed an old and painful wound.
“Maybe one day I'll tell you why.” Alex retrieved the pitchfork and dropped all levity from his voice. “But before you go to catch your fish, Stephen de Montfort, know this: if any harm comes to her, I shall kill you.”
Stephen met his gaze squarely. “If any harm comes to her, my lord, it will be because I'm already dead.”
They left a short time later, Emma dressed in a loose kirtle, a sword strapped to her side and a bow and quiver strung across her shoulder. She looked back at Alex and blew him a kiss before disappearing into the forest with Stephen. Alex smiled and raised his hand in reply.
A shadow flew over the sun and a crow settled on the cottage roof. It cocked a blue-black head at Alex, fixing him with an obsidian stare. He watched the bird for a few moments and then looked about, his eyes following the tree line surrounding the cottage.
Nothing stirred his suspicions and he turned a questioning gaze back to the bird.
“What?” he muttered. “What is it?”
The bird cocked its head to the other side, offered up a raspy caw, and took to the sky. A wisp of wind stroked a chilly finger across the back of Alex's neck.
* * *
Emma grabbed Stephen's hand as soon as they entered the forest, guiding him with sure, silent footfalls through the dense woods. The lass distracted him to the point of carelessness, and he reminded himself several times that danger might lurk in the benign shadows.
In subdued voices, they shared idle chatter and teased each other. When conversation ceased, she turned to him every so often and blessed him with a smile. If he snapped a twig underfoot, she reprimanded him with a frown and a shake of her head. Each time, he grimaced and shrugged an apology.
The lightness of her mood stirred his blood and set his heart racing. He loved the way she moved through the woods, graceful and sure-footed.
“You are indeed a faerie.” The soft breeze further gentled his hushed tone. “Or a wood-nymph, for no mortal can travel in silence through the forest as you do. Do your feet even touch the ground?”
Emma grinned. “Never. My invisible wings carry me over it. Too bad you don't have them yourself. A herd of deer makes less noise than your two big feet.”
He stifled a laugh. “How much farther?”
“Why?” Concern flitted across her face and erased her smile. “Does your wound hurt?”
“Nay, sweetheart, but your insult did. I've a sudden urge to heave you over my shoulder, wade into the sea with my two big feet, and drop you in it.”
Emma giggled. “It would do you no good, sir. This faerie can swim like a mermaid.”
“That doesn't surprise me.” Stephen glanced around him. “How do you know where we are?”
“I know every part of these woods. We're almost there. Do you not smell the sea?”
She tugged on his hand and turned down a narrow path leading through a dense thicket of elderberry. Stephen felt the ground subside, looked down and saw sand. A gull's plaintive cry descended from above and the sound of distant waves meandered into the shady grove.
“This way.” Emma ducked under a curtain of leaf-laden branches. “Mind your head.”
They emerged from the forest beneath the cliffs, where the river met the Irish Sea. The estuary lay ahead; a wide expanse of sand banks surrounded by placid pools of salt water and swirling eddies of tidal wash.
Warm sunlight poured over them,
a cool breeze played around them, and the sea whispered a welcome as it swept onto the beach.
Emma let go of Stephen's hand, threw her arms wide and spun in a circle. “Isn't it beautiful?”
“Aye.” Stephen looked about him. “'Tis very –”
She'd kicked off her shoes, dropped her bow and quiver on the sand, and unfastened her sword belt. He watched, speechless, as she pulled her kirtle off and dropped that on the sand too. Her thin shift moulded itself to her body in the breeze, leaving little to the imagination.
Stephen exhaled a lungful of air. “God help me.”
“What?” Emma glanced down at herself. “I cannot fish fully clothed. Do I offend you?”
He chuckled. “Not in the least, little one, but I fear my vow to Alex will be sorely tested today. Tell me, do you intend to catch these fish with your bare hands?”
“Ah!” She looped her arm through his. “I wondered when you'd ask. Come. I'll show you.”
She led him to the edge of a tidal pool of shallow water, circling around a large sandbank.
“Flooks are flat fish.” She let go of his hand. “They lie on the bottom, buried just under the sand. Watch me.”
“With pleasure.” Stephen stuck his thumbs into his sword belt. “Believe me, I'm enjoying the view.”
Emma wrinkled her nose at him and waded out to knee depth, taking small deliberate steps. Her cotton shift floated out around her legs, but she paid it no attention. Sunlight glanced off the ripples she made, casting a halo of sparkles around her. Stephen held his breath, spellbound by the extraordinary scene before him. All at once she stopped, her eyes widening, and then reached down.
“Got one!” Emma pulled a fish from the water and raised it in the air, a bright smile on her face.
Stephen laughed. “You felt it with your feet?”
“Aye, it's easy. Want to try it?”
“I can't wait.” He gave a wry grin, kicked off his shoes and stepped into the water.
The Cast Of A Stone Page 4
