скачать книгу бесплатно
Though he had many questions about her life in the village and why she was there, he did not ask them. Nor did he demand to know the paternity of the child. If it were her bastard, that would explain why she had lost favor with her own family and that of her dead husband. That certainly would be cause for her banishment and her mean existence. Henri did not want to know of it, he told himself. He did not wish to think of her as less than a lady.
She had saved him and he owed her his kind regard, despite anything dishonorable she might have done.
He could not fault her care of him in any way, for she was most solicitous. At times, too much so to suit him.
“I detest this bark,” he complained, popping a piece into his mouth when she insisted.
“Willow cools you and also reduces pain,” Iana explained. “I do swear ’tis nothing short of wondrous how quickly you are mending.”
He had to admit he felt better than he had since the ship sank. “What else have you to make me well again?”
“Tomorrow I hope to find yarrow to ease the soreness.” She handed him a wooden cup filled with water. “Drink this when you’ve finished with the bark. Then go to sleep.”
“Must I sleep, too?” Everand asked plaintively. “I’m not wounded.”
Iana smiled at him. “Aye, if we are to get an early start, we should all have plenty of rest.”
Well before dawn they emerged from the cave into the dewy darkness and began their journey. Henri ignored the stinging pains in his side, made worse by the slow rocking motion of the wide-backed bay that carried him.
Lady Iana had advised them to travel silently, but he saw no point in it. No one would be about this time of morning. Those with any sense at all would still be sleeping.
The waning moon barely gave off enough light to keep them from riding straight into the tree trunks. Soon it would be gone altogether in that darkest hour before the sun rose. Then, he supposed, they must ride with their hands before their faces to avoid low-hanging limbs.
“Do you think her suitor will give chase when he finds her gone?” Ev whispered from behind him. “We are hardly armed for a fight.”
Henri turned slightly to answer. “Very likely he will follow. In his place, I would. She is a comely woman.”
Everand’s soft, knowing chuckle made him smile. The boy had only recently shown any interest in females, but when the notion that he liked them struck, it had done so with the force of a battle-ax.
“What are we to do if that happens?” he asked Henri.
“Stand against him. Give her time to flee with the babe. I have my dagger and you have yours.”
Everand scoffed. “Mine is hardly larger than a paltry eating knife.”
“And you well know how to use it, not only at table,” Henri reminded in a chastising tone. “A blade is a blade, Ev. Remember your training.”
“Silence!” The order came from the lady. “You’ll be heard from here to the coast.”
Had she been listening when he’d called her comely? Henri wondered. She was that and more. Aside from that beauty, he had to admire her strength of purpose. For a woman, she certainly had proved resourceful. Left alone to fend for herself and that poor mite of a child, she seemed to seize every opportunity. Henri was happy he had provided one for her. He much feared what could have happened if she had continued to live there unprotected. Of course, he planned to see that she had what she needed to live comfortably after this.
He had her to thank for his life. Surely he would have died if she had not agreed to help and had not stopped his wound’s bleeding. Even then, he might well have perished from this cursed fever had she not found a place of shelter and fed him that thrice-damned bark.
Who was she, really? Highborn, he strongly suspected. No peasants, few free men and almost none of their women should be able to speak such excellent French. She had been tutored by someone, and none too briefly, at that.
Her frequently imperious manner indicated she had once held a position of some power, one important enough so that she fully expected to be obeyed when she issued an order. That supported her tale of the dead husband, a noble one with a household for her to direct.
Then again, she might have been a player or singer, one of a troupe of jongleurs who had only observed the behavior of nobles and thought to copy it. They traveled much, which could explain her French. Surely that had not been her lot of late, with a babe in tow. Of course, she might have been some lord’s leman who had acquired these attributes from her generous lover, got with child and been cast off by him.
Henri realized he might never know the truth about her, for he surely owed her the right to keep her secrets after all she had done for him. Yet curiosity bedeviled him as they rode for what seemed hours on end.
He had not been on horseback for several months, having spent that time at sea. Aside from the increasing discomfort of his wound, muscles unused for that while screamed in protest of the long hours riding bareback.
Soon he did not care who Iana was or what untruths she might have fed him. All he wanted was for her to cry off this journey for a while, so he would not need to ask for mercy. He had little pride left as it was.
The tantalizing burble of the stream they had followed since they’d left the cave beckoned powerfully. How good it would feel to lie down and wallow in the coolness of it. He had yet to wash the sea salt from his body and his clothing.
“We must rest and water the mounts,” he declared when he could bear it no longer.
She turned with a look of concern and immediately reined in. “Are you bleeding?”
Henri almost lied, certain it would be worth it to rip open his wound if that was what it took to get him off the horse. “No,” he snapped, as he leaned forward, slid one leg over the bay’s back and quickly dismounted before she could object. He grabbed on to the mane when his traitorous legs buckled beneath him.
He noted with satisfaction that she had a similar problem. Though she obviously knew how to ride—another clue that she was no underling—it was clear that Iana had not sat a horse lately for any length of time.
“You should have stolen saddles as well,” he told her, softening the rebuke with a forced grin.
Ev hurried forward and took the reins of Henri’s bay. “At least she managed to bring the tack, sir,” he declared in defense of her. “We might have had to make do with ropes of braided grass.”
“This way,” she ordered, dismissing Henri’s complaints as unimportant. Limping a bit, likely due to the weight of the babe, she led her roan mare through the trees to a very small clearing beside the shallow stream. “We shall rest here for a short while.”
What was her bloody hurry? Another mystery to solve. If the man who wished her hand in marriage—if such a one truly existed—were persistent enough to trail after her, he would still need time to discover that she was missing. She had been gone only one night and half a day.
Henri looked up through the trees. It was just before midday. “We should wait until the sun is not directly overhead,” he advised, “else we could err in our direction.”
“Oh? Very well,” she agreed reluctantly. “Sit. I will portion out our food.”
She untied the cloth from around her shoulders and set the child upon the grass. It did not move, like a fawn protecting itself by its immobility.
Henri observed it closely for some moments, reluctantly meeting the wary brown gaze it fastened upon him. He offered his finger to grasp. “Have you a name?” he asked softly.
“Her name is Thomasina. Tam,” Lady Iana informed him. “She does not speak.”
“Is she ill?” he asked, quite concerned about the too slender limbs and protruding belly. Even the child’s dark hair grew in thin and wisplike. “Does she eat well?”
A sharp “aye” was the only answer he got as Iana busied herself with the victuals. What did that mean? he wondered. Aye, she was ill, or aye, she ate well?
“So, Tam,” he said softly, offering her his hand, palm up. “What a gentle sprite you are.” The baby ignored his overture, but her lips parted as if she would utter something. Then she suddenly ducked her head and stuck her finger in her mouth.
He liked babies, though he had seen few of them since his sister was born some sixteen years ago. Alys had been nothing like this one. As he recalled, it had required three nurses, taking shifts on guard, to keep that rapscallion confined to the keep. He could still remember her earsplitting screeches when things did not go her way. The memory made him smile.
Iana shoved his share of the food toward him, cupped in a large leaf.
Oats and berries again, fewer than last eve, he noticed. “Suppose I catch some fish,” he offered.
“With what?” she asked curtly. “And if you managed that miracle, should we eat them raw? We cannot risk a fire to cook them.”
“Why not?” Ev queried before Henri could form the same words.
“Because…because someone might see and come to inquire who we are and why we are here. I did take these horses. We would all be hanged for thieves if the owners did not find, or else chose not to accept, the silver I left them in exchange.”
Henri knew that was not the real reason. She truly feared someone else was coming after them. “I shall deal with your erstwhile suitor if he troubles you,” he assured her.
She laughed and rolled her eyes, clearly not trusting that possibility. He could not recall a time when anyone doubted his prowess. That stung, especially in light of his recent loss of dignity before this woman.
Henri withdrew the long, wicked dagger from his soft leather boot and raised one brow. Question that, if you will, he dared silently.
“No man wields a short blade better, lady,” Ev told her.
Iana paled at the sight of it. Many had done so before her, for different and more urgent reasons.
Once she recovered, however, she warned him. “Even that weapon would not be proof against his sword. He wields it well…so I am told.”
Sword? Then this man who might come after her was knight or noble for certain. This did not surprise him. “I have yet to taste defeat at any man’s hand,” he declared. Only at the hand of the elements, the sea, he mutely added, the thought neatly dashing his pride. He replaced the knife in his boot.
For a time, he looked away from her and across the brook, seeing nothing, his mind on the men who had died in service to him. A small comforting warmth nestled softly against his left hip. The tickle of small fingers touched his hand where it rested against his thigh.
“Tam?” he whispered, and looked down. When he glanced at her mother to see whether she minded, he did not miss the unshed tears in her eyes. Yet she was smiling. It made no sense, but then nothing much had since he had set sail from France.
After a while, Iana reached for the baby and settled her on her skirts. He watched the feeding as if they were two strange creatures he had come upon in the wild.
“How anyone can enjoy that is a true source of amazement,” Henri commented when Tam had finished eating. He poked at his portion of the food. “I hate oats,” he muttered, staring at the offensive handful of grain. “It is the one thing about Scotland I truly abhor. Everyone eats oats. Munching them dry makes me feel like neighing and stamping my feet.”
To his surprise, Iana laughed, charming him unexpectedly with the sound and sight. “Do as I did. Add water,” she advised, inclining her head toward the brook.
He frowned down at the grain. “And make glue? I am of the opinion it sticks together the sides of one’s stomach so it does not feel so empty. The sole purpose of the mess.”
Henri leaned over and scooped up a bit of water from the stream. “A bit of mud for more crunch. Several minnows,” he said. “Voilà. A veritable feast.”
Stuffing his mouth full, he chewed with determination and very real dissatisfaction.
Iana giggled like a child, covering her mouth with one hand. Above it, her eyes twinkled merrily. A beautiful, clear brown, they were, like the finest ale. And just as intoxicating.
Henri thought he might go to extravagant lengths to see her laugh again. The sight and sound of it did something strange to his insides, like lifting his heart in his chest, making it feel light as a feather.
How long since a woman had dosed him with instant happiness? Too long, obviously. He smiled, completely forgetting his aches and the taste of oats.
It was then he noted Ev, frowning at Iana, at him, and again at her. With the quickness of a woodsprite, the boy abandoned the reins of the two mounts drinking at the edge of the burn and dashed off into the woods.
Ah, the old green-eyed monster, Henri deduced. Question was, did the boy resent his attention to Iana or was it the other way round?
Since Everand had been the one to find Iana, he might well imagine he had first claim to her regard. She was a beautiful woman and Ev had only just discovered the joy in having one of those nearby.
Then again, the boy had held the place of primary importance in Henri’s life these past few months. First keeping Ev alive in the dread battles at sea, then being kept alive by him after the shipwreck, had forged a bond Henri honored most highly. Enough to call Everand his son.
In either case, this was no time to allow friction within their threesome. They had a long way to go together.
Iana rejoiced that Tam had begun moving about on her own instead of merely sitting or lying where she was put. It spoke well for the knight, Henri, that he had not rebuked the child for her interest in him. Even so, Iana did not believe he would suffer it for long.
When they had eaten and rested for a while, she ordered the others to remount and they continued on their way, riding east and still following the stream. Having a source of water eliminated having to carry that with them, and the less the mounts had to bear, the faster they could travel. Iana had no guess as to how long it would take them to reach the place called Baincroft.
“Look, there is smoke up ahead,” Everand announced. They could clearly see several plumes of it rising above the trees.
“A village,” the knight observed, though they could not yet see any dwellings. “We could stop there for the night.”
“Nay!” Iana objected. She wanted none to see them. Newell might ask after her here, and so determine which way they were traveling. “We must not. They will surely be wary of strangers, especially you, sir.”
“Why?” he asked, sounding almost offended.
“You are foreign, for one thing, and obviously no common wanderer.”
He regarded her with no little suspicion. “You know we must find milk for the child and food for all of us. We cannot survive on berries for the rest of our journey, and the oats are almost gone, are they not?”
She could not deny it. They might deal with their hunger if need be, but the bairn required sustenance. “Aye, well, you two should remain out of sight. I shall go into the village alone and beg what they can spare.”
“Take the babe,” Everand suggested. “They will not refuse you then. She looks near to starving.”
Tam had been near to it, Iana admitted to herself. Poor wee thing came so close. If only she could tell these two how much the child had improved in the days since her mother had died, they would be astounded. It broke Iana’s heart to think what might have happened.
“Tend the beasts,” she instructed as she dismounted. “I shall go ahead on foot and see what might be had.”
They complied, though Sir Henri did not seem to like the idea. She knew that had more to do with her issuing the order than with what she had told them to do. He did not strike her as a man used to acting on anyone’s demand, especially a woman’s.
“Have great care,” he warned her. “Call out if you are accosted.”
And what did he think he would do about it if she were? Come rushing to her rescue? As it was, he swayed on his feet as though cup-shot. She approached and reached up to feel his face.
He smiled down at her as if she offered him a caress. “Not much fever,” Iana said, making clear her reason for touching him. “Go and lie down over there on the banks. Have your lad fetch you a drink. The bark is in this pouch.” She handed him the small bag containing the willow cuttings. He grimaced as he took it, then grinned at her.
She set off through the thinly treed forest in the direction of the smoke. Once out of sight of the knight and squire, she knelt upon the ground and removed the silver chain from the pouch at her waist. With her small blade, a large stone and a great deal of effort, she separated another link of the chain. Concealing the remainder of her treasure, she carried the link in her hand.
The villagers viewed even her with suspicion. She could only imagine how they would have greeted Henri and Everand. Only when she pled for their mercy did they reluctantly fill a sack with coarse bread, a bit of cheese and more oats. Her tale of being recently widowed and left with nothing but a sickly child stirred little sympathy. Only when she surrendered the silver did they agree to give her a skin filled with goat’s milk.
When one of the elders eyed her greedily, she made up a tale of how she had found the silver link among her husband’s things and had saved it until she became desperate.
Once she had their offerings, Iana hurried off into the woods in the opposite direction of where Henri and the squire waited. Walking hurriedly and stopping on occasion to see whether she was followed, Iana circled around the village.
“Success?” the squire asked as she approached.
“Aye,” she told him, holding up the heavy cache of food and skin of milk. “They proved generous.”
“Do not tell me,” Henri warned, making a comical face. “More oats?”
She laughed, but mirth died when she noticed what he was wearing. Rather, not wearing. “Where are your clothes, sir? You’ll catch your death!”
He drew Iana’s small, woolen blanket closer around his body. “They are clean and drying upon yon bush,” he said, inclining his head toward the swiftly running stream. “Free of salt and sweat, as am I, thanks be to God.”
She struggled not to look upon the solid muscles of his shoulders, chest and legs. Never had she seen a man quite so well made.
