The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  Sara's hiss of fear was loud in Boden's ear. Already the old man was behind them, like a wraith, his black cape swept wide, his cackle loud.

  But Mettle righted himself. And they were off, flying down the rutted street, fear streaming after them. Hoofbeats sounded from behind. Terror rode them hard to the city entrance just ahead. They had to get through.

  "Open up!" Boden yelled, though the gates were already spread wide. Two bodies lay crumpled in death across the road as onlookers stared in horror.

  "Their eyes!" He heard the hushed words. "Their eyes are gone."

  The moon was nearly full, showing the cart trail that led from the village. But it would also show their exodus. Boden urged Mettle to greater speed. Behind them, the hoofbeats drew closer, for Mettle was slowed by a double load.

  Ahead, a river flowed silver gild beneath the moon. A bridge yawned across it. They thundered over the wooden planks with the noise of their crossing echoing around them. Thomas shrieked nearly as loud. Black forest stretched just ahead of them. They leapt across the final expanse of bridge, then at the last second, Boden wheeled Mettle about. They careened downhill well aware that the riders were nearly upon them. He could hear the pounding hoofbeats of their galloping horses. There was no time to turn back. No time to change course. Water rushed against Mettle's legs. He tripped on an unseen rock and nearly went down. But in a moment, they were beneath the bridge.

  Hoofbeats boomed like heavy artillery above their heads.

  Boden sat immobile, knowing he could not fight, yet prepared to do just that. But in an eternity, the hoofbeats dimmed into the distance and the night became still.

  "Sara." He breathed her name as he turned in the saddle.

  "I am well. I am fine," she said.

  "And the babe?" He noticed now that she had somehow wrestled the child from her back and had managed to quiet him.

  "I thought I had smothered him with my hand—quieting him. But he is fine."

  He touched her hand and felt his heart fill with that one simple gesture. They were safe. For now. "You've the heart of a lion, lady."

  "Me!" Her laughter sounded on the verge of hysteria. "Nay. Tis ye that saved us. Ye to whom I owe me life again."

  Their gazes fused. If he had any balls at all he would ride north and keep riding and damn the consequences. She was his, and Haldane could rot in hell. But he would not do that, for without his damned knighthood, he had nothing.

  Turning Mettle downstream, they stumbled into the darkness.

  Some hours later they stopped in the midst of the dark, dank woods. Except for a few cuts sustained from their flight through the window, they were all unhurt. Fatigue was a heavy load and yet, after the terror-seeped events, the idea of sleep was ludicrous. Thus, they sat in the darkness, trying to pretend they were not afraid.

  Thomas, however, had the very young's innate ability to sleep, and did so now, snuggled deep in his handmade sling.

  "How did you find me?" Sara asked, fear making her voice tremble.

  "I don't know." His words were slow and deep.

  "I prayed ye would. I prayed you'd come!" Her voice brake. She could feel his gaze on her face.

  "Why did you leave the inn?"

  She rose stiffly to her feet, unable to remain immobile any longer. "I could feel the evil." Her hands were shaking again. She clasped them together and stared into the darkness, certain she saw eyes watching her. For an instant she couldn't breathe. But finally she realized the image was nothing more than the reflection of the moon shining off a wet rock. "I was so afraid," she whispered. Even now she could sense the evil, though it did not seem so close. "I could feel it coming." Sometime long ago she had heard it was helpful to talk about one's fears. What a crock! With every word, the terror seemed to creep in anew. "I could feel it like a hand on my throat," she whispered. "All I could think was that I had to find ye. I grabbed my pouch and Thomas and I ran. We hid but... I forgot his feeding gourd." Her voice broke.

  "Sara."

  "I forgot his blanket."

  "Sara, come here."

  A noise startled her. She jumped, turning to find it was only Mettle, wandering close to stare at them from the woods. And yet her heart hammered in panic.

  It was Boden's hiss of pain that drew her attention back to him.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  He winced, spreading his fingers over his right thigh as if he tried to hold back the pain.

  "Nothing. I'm fine."

  "Nay, you're not"

  "Aye," he said. "I am well." He bent his leg and grimaced. "Don't trouble yourself."

  But she hurried over and knelt down beside him. She had been a selfish fool, worrying about herself when he was the one wounded. "Is there ought I can do to make ye more comfortable."

  "Nay. Just rest, lass," he said, forcing a brave smile.

  "Please," she whispered. "Ye've saved my life, and Thomas's. Let me help ye."

  "Well, I..." He shrugged. "I could use something to support my leg."

  She was on her feet in an instant, hurrying into the darkness. In a moment she found a stout log, as tall as herself and nearly as big around. It took some effort to move it, but she did so, wrestling along with it between her legs.

  "Here," she said, falling to her knees to push it closer to his thigh. "If ye can bend your leg, I will shove it under."

  For a moment she almost thought she saw the hint of a smile.

  "Boden?" she said, thinking it must have been a grimace of pain. "Are ye well? Do ye need help bending it?"

  "Aye," he said. "A bit of help would be appreciated."

  She hurried to do as requested, grasping his leg near the knee and gently lifting upward. Then, straddling the log again, she tugged it underneath.

  "Better?"

  "Much." He sighed. "Much better."

  "What else can I do?"

  "Nothing. You've done more than enough."

  "But there must be something." She glanced around. Thomas was content and sound asleep.

  "Well, my arm does hurt a bit."

  "What can I do?"

  "It feels better propped up. Perhaps, if it's not too much trouble,, you might... sit here beside me?"

  She was there in an instant. He slid over an inch, allowing her back room against the rough bark of the buckthorn. Very gently, she took his arm and raised it about her shoulders.

  "Better?"

  "Could you scrunch down? Just a mite?"

  She did so slowly, careful not to jostle him as she slid down so that her hip was cocked against the earth and her head rested on his chest. She blinked up at him. "Like so?"

  "Just so," he said.

  "Are ye certain this helps ye?" she asked. It seemed a ridiculously comfortable position for her to be in when she was intent on helping him.

  "Absolutely."

  They both fell silent. Far away a nightjar sang. The darkness stretched away. Sleepiness stole over her.

  "Boden?" She could barely keep her eyes open, for through his tunic, she could hear the strong, rhythmic beat of his heart. "Were ye scared?"

  He tightened his arm around her and closed his eyes. "I'm a knight," he rumbled as if that answered everything, and she fell asleep with a smile.

  They were coming! She could feel the evil! But she couldn't run! She was tied down! Couldn't breathe! Her eyes! No!

  Sara awoke with a smothered shriek. Boden jerked up from beside her, his hand already tight about the hilt of his sword.

  Tilly bleated again and trotted out of the trees toward them.

  "Addai's arse!" For a moment, Boden was certain he would faint, so great was his relief.

  "Tilly!" Sara scrambled to her feet. "Tilly! How did ye find us?"

  Boden just stopped himself from putting his hand to his heart to make certain it hadn't leaped from his chest.

  Sara's sharp gasp brought him back to the present.

  "I'm fine," he said, certain she could see the terror in his expression, but she was star
ing at his hand instead of his face.

  "Yer sword!"

  He glanced at the blade. It was broken off less than a hand's breadth from the hilt.

  "Damnation!"

  "How—" she began, but then memory flooded back and her face went pale.

  "Damnation," he said again.

  "Do ye still have the other blade?"

  "Nay. Twas left behind."

  He frowned then glanced at Mettle. The horse stood

  not far away, his ears laid back irritably as Tilly tried to nuzzle his nose. Behind his saddle was the crossbow but it would do little good in hand-to-hand combat. Damnation.

  "We must get ye another sword," she said.

  Boden almost smiled, for she made it sound like she spoke of purchasing a wooden doll for a child.

  "Where might you suggest?" he asked, sheathing the truncated blade. "I'm in no great hurry to venture into another village."

  "But I fear we must," she said. "For I've no way of feeding Thomas."

  It was the problem of the hour. Although Tilly was happy enough to be relieved of her milk, the feeding gourd was lost. Finally, they dipped a bit of cloth into the still-warm liquid and let the babe suck on the tip. But it was unsatisfying and messy.

  By noon they were traveling again, skirting the road and heading north. They kept their minds open and their eyes sharp, trying to think of a new way of dispensing the milk. But it was no use.

  Thrice more that day, they milked Tilly and repeated the entire procedure, but it was clear they could not continue like this. The process was slow and frustrating, for the child as well as the adults.

  They spent a cold and hungry night with a fussy baby and a light drizzle. By morning they were moving again. The day was just as miserable. Towards dark, Boden shot a buck. Hunger drove them to chance a fire, and that night they feasted.

  "If I'm not mistaken, there's a village some leagues ahead," Boden said.

  Immediately, he could feel Sara's tension. And when he glanced at her across the fire, he could see that her face was pale.

  "I'll go in alone," he said.

  "Nay. I will go with ye."

  "Twould be foolish to endanger us all."

  "Then I am foolish," she said, and by her expression, he could see there was nothing he could say that would dissuade her.

  Morning had passed by the time they reached the village Boden remembered. It was more a shamble of gray stone hovels than a town. Though enclosed by a wooden palisade, the gates were open and gave the impression that they had not been closed for a long while.

  Two small boys played in the mud, their feet nearly as black as the soil in which they sat. A woman turned from the well, her face marred by the scars of a plague long past.

  There was an oppressive feeling about the place.

  Some way down the littered road was a long flat building constructed of the same gray stones as the rest as the town. Above its warped, arched door hung a sign slightly askew that showed a picture of a mug and a loaf.

  Sara dismounted first. Boden followed, trying to ignore the ache in his leg as he scanned the street behind him. But if the dark wizard was there, they neither saw nor sensed any sign of him.

  Inside the public house it was dark and smelled rancid. A woman cackled and a man swore.

  Boden glanced at Sara, sorry now he hadn't tried harder to dissuade her from coming with him; but leaving her alone was unthinkable.

  "And what might you be wanting?" The woman straightened away from the three men by the fire. They were a beefy trio, burly, bearded, intoxicated. The smallest of the three had buck teeth with hair the color of chaff showing beneath the cap that was tied below his chin. The other two might have been twins, matched almost identically in size and girth, though one was nearly bald while the other was thatched with dark, greasy hair. Who were they? Mercenaries? Brigands? Either way, the scenario was not good, Boden decided, for he was wounded and they were... alive.

  "We wish for a meal," he said, turning his attention to the woman. She canted her head at him and chuckled. The sound was low and strangely suggestive.

  "And is that all?"

  "My steed would benefit from a bit of barley and a stable."

  She laughed. "Birney!" she screamed again and after a bit a man staggered out of the nearby side door, hitching up his hose as he did so. "M' lord needs his horse seen t'."

  "So long as yer not on your back, why don't you do it?"

  She turned her head and glared at the man. Perhaps at one time she had been pretty, but years and ale had changed that. "Just because you can't get it up, don't mean the rest of us don't want it sometimes."

  Birney raised his hand as if to strike her, but Boden caught the arm before he had time to consider his actions.

  The man's evil expression turned to one of anger.

  "My horse," Boden said softly. "He needs grain." He dropped the man's arm. Birney stumbled back, sloppy drunk, his eyes shifting. "And a gentle word. You will treat him gently, won't you?"

  Boden asked.

  It took Birney a moment to realize it was a question, longer still to understand it was a threat.

  "Aye. I... I will," he said and in a moment he was gone.

  "Well, Leoma ain't never had me a champion," said the woman, pacing around-Boden to study him from another angle. " You might just get yours for free."

  Boden ignored her words, falling back on the stiff, knightly formality he had learned at Knolltop. "We'd be willing to barter some venison for a meal," he said.

  From near the fire, the large, dark-haired man said, "She weren't offering no meal. She was offering a good f—"

  "Shut yer trap, Will," she said, then chuckled. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hair tangled.

  Dear God, this was no place for Sara, that was certain. But one glance at her eyes showed her fatigue. Surely twould be best to spend the night here, for he, too, felt the drain of the days past.

  "So you want to trade venison for..." The woman called Leoma paused, eyeing him speculatively. "A meal?"

  "Aye." He said. "And a bit of information."

  "I can give you both." She glanced at Sara then twisted up one side of her face into what might have been a smile. "And more. 'Ave a seat."

  Boden ushered Sara to a plank table as far from the trio of drinking men as possible. She had taken Thomas from his pouch, and the babe fussed now, whimpering and squawking at intervals.

  "Is he well?" Boden kept his voice low when he spoke to her, for surely the less attention he drew to them the better.

  "Just hungry, I think," she said, but there was worry in her eyes.

  It had been so simple to distract her with his own needs, simple to know she would soon forget her own cares in exchange of another's. And the solution had been so sweet, with her head pillowed against his chest and her breathing soft and quiet against the beat of his heart.

  But right now he couldn't afford to be distracted by that memory, or by his worry for her.

  Perhaps they should have traveled on. Mayhap they should have taken more time to find an alternate way to feed the child. But he had no way of knowing how long a babe could last on a limited diet.

  Leoma reappeared, carrying nothing but a bottle.

  "The meal?" Boden inquired.

  "You forever in such a rush?" she asked, bending close and leering at him. Her breath smelled foul, and her breasts, half freed from her failing bodice, nearly fell into his face.

  "We are in something of a hurry," he said.

  "A hurry, aye?" She straightened with a huff.

  Thomas began crying.

  "What's wrong with the brat?"

  Sara looked up from the child. Boden could feel her increased tension and willed her not to speak. She may be unaware of her allure, but men, even dense, intoxicated men, would notice if she gave them any provocation.

  "He's hungry." In the crude surroundings her voice seemed to ring with an unheard sweetness.

  "He needs milk."

 
; The woman reared back with a snort. "So give him a tit."

  "We need some way to feed him," Boden said quickly, not allowing himself to glance at Sara, and thinking perhaps he should have let Birney slap the wench. "Might you know of a way?"

  "You mean them little titties of hers don't even give milk?" Leoma laughed out loud, throwing back her head so that her fat breasts jiggled. "You'll not find that problem with mine," she said, changing gears quickly, and leaning forward again. "I've nursed a babe, I have. Pampered her proper —for all the good it did—"

  "Do you know where we can find a milk bladder?" Boden asked. Please God, don't let him think of her raising a child.

  She scowled at him, not happy about the interruption. "Years back there was a sickly woman."

  She turned her gaze to Sara again, her expression derisive. "She couldn't feed no babe neither. Me, I offered to help her." She smiled, though the expression was evil. "But she was too good for the likes of me. The babe died." She laughed. "And I didn't shed no tears."

  Boden felt Sara shiver beside him, and wished again that they had not come here.

  "Where might we find the woman?" Boden asked.

  "Tis not my task to—"

  "I know where she is," said Birney, entering clumsily.

  Boden shifted his gaze to him. "Where?"

  "Hard to find," Birney said. "But I'll fetch her for you—for a shilling."

  Everything in Boden made him want to slap the man up against the wall just for sport. But it probably wasn't honorable. "If she comes with a bladder, I'll give you half that."

  "My time's worth more," Birney sputtered.

  Boden stared at him in silence, then, "By morning you'll be sober," he said. "Think about it."

  Birney narrowed his eyes, then glanced at Leoma and stumbled from the room.

  Boden poured a tankard of whiskey and passed it to Sara as Leoma returned to the kitchen. Sara shook her head, but he nudged the drink toward her. ' 'Twill do you good," he said.

  She glanced toward the trio of men by the fire. "It doesn't seem to be doing them ought but harm."