After the Storm (9 page)

"By trying to murder a hostage?"

Libby would very much have liked to jump in and ask that question herself, but she forced herself to be silent and let her chivalrous godfather deal with the nasty priest.

"The woman was of no—"

"The woman is my best friend's daughter, an innocent Christian soul, and was in danger enough without your interference. Aiming an arrow at her is unforgivable."

"I thought only to stop the wolfshead. I aimed for the outlaw's head." Father John waved a dismissive hand toward Libby. "I would not bring much harm to a valuable heiress."

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

"Much?" She couldn't stop herself from shouting in outrage. "How do you define

'much'?" The arguing men ignored her, but Sir Reynard gave her a wide smile before he turned his attention back to Sir Stephan and the priest.

"I mean what I say, priest." Sir Stephan pointed toward the door as two guards stepped forward. "Be gone."

The guards grabbed the priest by the arm. As he was hustled away he glared over his shoulder at Libby. "This is your doing, wicked woman. No woman should have power over men. I'll see you chastised for it, mark my words."

Libby watched in complete consternation as the man was dragged out the door.

Much of the crowd followed, laughing and calling, treating Father John's banishment as another entertainment of the holiday. Libby just stood by the dais, shaking her head in confusion as the hall emptied. "What did I do to him?" she wondered. She'd asked the question before, and Bastien had answered with a compliment to her beauty. He hadn't meant his flattering words, of course. She knew that everything he-d done and said had been a lie, but she remembered his voice clearly as he'd answered her question. She remembered the look in his green eyes and the tilt of his head as he'd spoken. She remembered, and she blushed as if his assessing gaze were on her still.

Actually, it was a very good jailbreak, she thought as she pulled herself together and followed the crowd back out to the May Day celebration. Bastien organized a rather brilliant plan, she conceded. She didn't know why she'd criticized him when he really had had the situation well in hand.

Maybe she'd complained about his excellent strategy because she'd been a tad upset. She'd had a right to be upset, of course. But ever since she'd had amnesia she'd tended to mouth off at the least bit of stress. Hopefully this was a side effect and not a normal behavior pattern for her twenty-eight-year-old self. She doubted it, though. She already knew that enjoying adventures was a part of her Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

personality. She could only hope that it was a part that had toned down in the years she was missing from her memory.

She decided not to brood about her behavior, or Bastien of Bale's, either, as she stepped outside. Today she was going to enjoy the festivities. Tomorrow she was going to bid a fond farewell to her godparents, go to Lilydrake, do her research, get her memory back and then go home.

"Everything's going to be just fine," she said as she turned her face up to the warm, spring sunlight.

"Lady Isabeau?"

She turned her head to discover Henry standing by her side. The round, red mark on his forehead went well with the sheepish look on his face. She didn't want to talk to Henry. "Yes?" she asked.

He gave her a jerky bow. "I want to apologize."

"You already did."

He looked even more sheepish, if that was possible, as he went on, "Not just about today, but about everything. I've been very rude and ill-tempered lately.

I'm sorry. It's not my fault."

She glowered. "I hate when people say that. If you did something, it's your fault."

Henry blushed and looked away. "You sound like my mother."

He was so boyishly contrite that Libby couldn't help but smile. "No, I think I sound like
my
mother. Besides, you haven't been rude to me," she pointed out.

"You've been rude to Matilda."

"There is no need to pay any heed to Matilda's feelings."

"Oh, really?"

He didn't heed her sarcasm. "It is you I have offended and your good graces I Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

seek to enter."

Yeah, right. The kid might be contrite, but he had a convenient memory. "Why have you been rude, anyway?"

"Because of my father."

She had expected him to blame the exiled priest. "Sir Stephan?"

"When Father John was sent from court to be our chaplain Father didn't trust him. So he asked me to gain the man's confidence. So I did. I did what Father John told me, and acted the way he said I should." He looked around furtively, then added, "I came to enjoy the role I was playing."

"Oh?"

"Until today, that is," he hurried to add. "When I nearly struck you I realized that I'd gone too far, that

I'd become the man I was playing. I am so sorry," he said one more time, and went down on his knees in front of her. "Lady Isabeau, forgive me."

Libby looked around in embarrassment. "Gladly. Get up." People were watching, Matilda among them.

He stayed firmly planted on the ground before her. "I will make it up to you, I swear."

"Fine. Let's go look at the—"

"Marry me."

"No way." Her mother had not taught her how to say those words in medieval French, so when she spoke in English all Henry did was look at her and blink.

"Was that 'yes' in Welsh, my lady?"

The sardonic question had come from Sir Reynard, who stood nearby with Marj and Matilda. Matilda, of course, was crying. Libby didn't blame her a bit.

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

Nobody deserved this kind of public repudiation.

She turned back to Henry and swatted him on the ear. "For shame!" she shouted at her underaged suitor. "How dare you speak so to me?"

"Lady, I love you. I would make you ha—"

"Silence! What of my honor? What of your betrothal? What of all I owe your parents? You offend them as well as me with such improper suggestions." This situation had to be resolved quickly, and there was only one way to do it. She backed quickly away from where Henry knelt, his mouth open in shock. "I will not stay under the same roof with a man who has no right to speak so to me."

She looked at Marj. "Fetch Edward and Joseph. We're leaving for Lilydrake."

Marj gave a relieved sigh. "Yes, my lady."

"Right now," she added as the historian hurried away.

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

Chapter 5

"
There's dried blood
on your chest, lad. Are you hurt?" Cynric asked.

Blood? Bastien touched the spot where his bare skin was stiff with the small dry patch of the stuff. Her blood. He hadn't meant to hurt the girl. He had never intended to do her any real harm.

"Damn the priest."

"Damn all priests, I say," Cynric answered. "But what about the blood?"

There wasn't much, but the sight of it was a caustic reminder. It almost burned the flesh where it clung. "It isn't mine."

He didn't explain further. Cynric seemed fond of the noblewoman, and the last thing he wanted right now was the sharp side of the old man's tongue. He didn't want to talk about Isabeau, but he couldn't help but think of her. He remembered her kissing him, the heat of her mouth, the soft curves of her body molded to his, and how his treacherous body had responded even in the midst of danger. It had been a long time since he'd been kissed. She'd set him on fire, then pushed him away.

He'd left Passfair dazed and still wasn't sure if it was from the fall or from Lady Isabeau's bold kiss. Had she meant to kill him or aid his escape when she toppled him off the wall? Not that he need think of it any more now that he was well away from the poisonous influence of her kind.

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"Well, lad, are you hurt or no?" Cynric demanded.

"No. No more than usual." He would have shaken his head, but lights were beginning to flare behind his eyes and movement would only bring on the pain sooner.

Cynric's hand landed on his shoulder. "The headache again, lad?" he asked in a whisper.

"Not yet." The pain didn't come as often as it used to. He'd learned to anticipate just how much he could do before excitement and action brought on the murderous headaches. He could keep going for a while yet. Bastien pushed his friend's hand away. "Let's get back to camp." He wanted to lie down in the darkness of his hut, to be alone and free from thought and movement. "There's a feast of king's deer waiting for us," he added as they set off along the nearly invisible forest trail. "To celebrate your homecoming."

She was restless. Far too restless to just sit and stare at a bank of blank screens.

The power pack was working, but the remote monitors were still dead. She was
alone in a small, cramped building, but she complained out loud anyway. "It's
very difficult to do psychological assessments of barbarian hordes when you
can't see them. I thought somebody was supposed to come and fix this
thing. It's been hours. Somebody ought to tell the new wonderkid in the physics
department that his latest toy isn't working," she added as she lifted the entrance
flap.

She walked outside to get some fresh air and turned to look back at the structure
she'd just left. On the outside it looked like any other yurt, a round tent made of
white felt squatting on the rolling grass plain. On the inside it looked exactly like
what it really was, a high-tech observation post set up by Time Search. Libby
found the dualism of the lonely structure fascinating. On the outside it blended
Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

perfectly into its ancient setting but held the secrets of the future hidden in its
heart.

"Amazing, isn't it?" she murmured. "And totally weird."

"Yes."

She turned toward the sound of the agreeing voice
—
and found Bastien of Bale
looking coolly at her from a few feet away. He was shirtless, leaning casually on
his staff, his thick dark hair whipped away from his spare-boned face by the
relentless wind
.

"Oh," she said. "It's you."

"I've come to fix the monitor."

She eyed the outlaw skeptically. "What are you going to do, poke it with a stick?"

He shrugged. On him the simple gesture was a poetic play of skin and muscle.

He looked her over with the most insolent expression she'd ever seen on anyone's
face. It sent a rush of heat through her. A pleasant rush
—
until he put his hand
on his dagger hilt and said, "Well, if that doesn't work
…"

And terror drove her from sleep.

Libby woke up clutching the suddenly throbbing cut on her throat and biting hard on a scream. A whimper came out of the surrounding darkness, sounding over the wild pounding of her heart. Then something warm and wet scraped across her cheek.

It was just the dogs.

And it had just been a dream, she realized as the comforting presence of the animals on either side of her air mattress registered on her senses. It was just a dream, she reminded herself firmly, as her breathing calmed and the pain that was more imagined than real faded. A rather pleasant dream, actually, she Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm