Claire Delacroix (97 page)

He whistled to his squire and stepped away, brushing his tabard as he strode toward the shack. “See that she is silent and helpless,” he bade the boy. “I have need of a rest before I see this matter resolved.”

Alys screamed with all her might as the squire wound a length of linen between his hands, though she knew ’twas to no avail. When she was silenced and frightened, there was only one thought in her mind.

Where was Burke?

Burke was on all fours in the undergrowth, in a frenzy to discern the direction his lady had gone. He had found her embroidered girdle in the midst of the road and knew they had made a turn, but could not be certain whether ’twas
to the left or the right. He sought some hint in the wet grass, painfully aware that each passing moment could be critical.

Indeed, it might already be too late.

He was so absorbed in his task that he barely noted the canter of hoofbeats on the road and he did not look up before he was called.

“Sir!”

Burke straightened in shock at the familiar voice. “Kerwyn! And Edana. How did you find me?”

“The miller told us of your lady’s fate and your direction,” the younger man declared. “We thought you might need help.”

“But I have taken a twisted course.”

“And there were a multitude of signs of your passing along the way,” Edana said.

“Signs?”

“In the grass, on the road, in the branches of the trees,” Kerwyn said easily. “A steed such as Moonshadow does not pass without making a mark. I assumed there were few of his ilk running alone on the same course.”

Edana smiled at Burke’s astonishment “Anyone who has ever tracked an errant goat knows how to read the land.”

Truly ’twas a godsend to have these two find Burke now.

“Then aid me!” he cried. “They made a turn here, but I cannot guess which way.” The pair dismounted and strode toward Burke.

“That way,” Edana declared.

“There are two steeds,” Kerwyn affirmed, “a palfrey and one slightly larger.”

“Talbot’s mare,” Burke concluded.

Kerwyn studied hoofprints so faint that Burke could barely discern them. “ ’Twould be the right size. She is tired, by her
gait.” He walked a dozen steps onward, then peered at the line of forest not far away. “The undergrowth is broken there,” he said, indicating one point.

“Why would they cut through fields like this?” Edana mused. “No one of sense would take shelter in the forest when it rains. And all the dwellings are along the road.”

Burke bit back a comment about Talbot’s lack of intellect as he made a sudden and intuitive guess. He had followed this trail blindly and only now sought to discern his precise location. Burke spun in place, calculating the distance to the village, the particular copse of trees that must lie before him. It had been years since he had travelled this small road.

But he knew it well.

“The woodcutter’s cabin,” he concluded. The pair looked to him in surprise. “There was a woodcutter once who lived as a hermit in the hunting forest, despite all attempts to evict him. He was reputed to be a madman, though he is long dead. I visited him once, on a childhood dare from my brother Rowan. His cabin lay this way.”

He turned and mounted Moonshadow. “If I am right, ’tis not far.”

“I shall come with you, for you may need aid. They are two, after all,” Kerwyn decided quickly. “Edana will remain behind.”

“But …”

“But naught,” the squire said savagely as he mounted his own palfrey. “I would see you safe.” He bent and kissed her soundly, the move effectively silencing Edana’s protest.

When he turned his horse, the goatgirl bit her lip, wringing her hands together. “God be with you,” she whispered.

But Burke had already ridden toward the trees. The branches were indeed broken and a single golden hair hung like a beckoning thread from one branch.

Alys!

He would peel Talbot alive for that hair alone.

The rain eased as they made their way through the woods, the horses’ footfalls muffled by the ground’s cloak of fallen leaves. Kerwyn pointed to each broken branch of significance, and soon Burke, as well, could discern the path. Anxiety dogged his steps, for the time since Alys’s abduction dragged long.

What if he were wrong? What if they had ridden hard beyond the woodcutter’s hovel and, even now, were racing beyond his reach?

But when they paused in the shadows of the last trees surrounding the clearing Burke recalled, he immediately spied a familiar mare lazily grazing. A smaller palfrey was tethered beside her, the pair still saddled and damp from their exertion.

They were here.

The woodcutter’s shack was more decrepit than Burke recalled; there was a sizable hole in its roof, and the forest had advanced. The clearing that had once been stamped clear of growth was now hip deep in wild grasses and meadow flowers.

A measure of them moved and Burke stiffened, his eyes widening when a figure separated from the darkness beneath the far trees. Talbot’s squire sauntered to the wriggling grasses and spat.

“Save your strength,” he advised. “You shall have need of it when my master awakens.”

The grasses moved with great agitation and the squire laughed. Outrage rolled through Burke at this treatment of his lady, then settled into a cold kernel of resolve.

Talbot’s unsuspecting squire strolled back to his place, leaving Alys safely undisturbed—whatever her state—in the
middle of the clearing. Burke surmised that Talbot himself must be within the hut.

“Yours,” Burke mouthed, indicating the squire.

Talbot would be Burke’s.

Kerwyn nodded, and his eyes narrowed. Mercifully, the hut was too simple to sport even a window and it had only one door, which faced into the clearing. Its back was nestled against the forest.

Burke conferred quickly with the younger man, mapping a plan in near silence with his hands. The squire nodded understanding. They parted, slipping from their steeds and disappearing into the shadows of the forest on silent feet.

Burke eased around the hut, straining his ears for some sound from within. He focussed on the task at hand, not daring to let himself be distracted by looking for Alys. She was alive, he knew that much, she was unscathed enough to struggle. She was silent, which meant she must be gagged, her very inability to move indicating that she was bound.

He could only hope that that was the worst of it.

Burke drew his sword as he eased around the last corner and let it flash in the wan light.

Talbot’s squire bounced to his feet, his mouth working in shock. He pointed across the clearing at Burke.

“You! What in the name of …” He got no further, for a lean shadow loomed behind him and raised a hand. A single blow sent the squire crumpling to the ground.

But Talbot had heard his squire’s cry, as Burke had planned.

“What is amiss?” Talbot roared from within the hut. Burke stepped quickly along the wall, his timing perfect beyond belief.

“Can I not trust you to do a simple task …” Talbot bellowed as he threw open the door.

The bite of Burke’s sword at his throat silenced his words.

“Good afternoon, Talbot d’Annoceaux,” Burke said smoothly. “You have rendered an insult to my lady fair and I am here to take an accounting from your own hide.”

Talbot blanched, his gorge worked beneath the blade’s point.

Burke divested the knight of his dagger with one hand, his sword never wavering. “Perhaps you might do me the courtesy of unfastening your belt,” he suggested amiably. “But be warned, my patience runs thin on this day.” He pushed the tip of the blade a little more heavily against Talbot’s flesh.

The man’s fingers shook as he shed his belt, the scabbard attached falling to the ground with a clatter. “You do not understand, I simply could not allow her to ruin all I have labored to win.”

“Nay, I do not understand any man’s desire to abuse a woman.”

Talbot closed his eyes, whimpered, half recounted a prayer memorized by children. “She is unharmed, I swear it to you.”

“By virtue of my timely arrival alone.” Burke traced a path across the man’s neck with the tip of his blade, drawing a thin line of blood, and Talbot paled. “I am guessing that your abduction would not have ended well for my lady otherwise.”

“I shall do penance.”

“Indeed, you shall. I shall ensure it.” Talbot’s eyes widened, but Burke cared little for the man’s fears. “I did not hurt her!”

Burke spoke with all the conviction he felt. “I shall kill you slowly if you did.” He ignored the other man’s dismay. “Kerwyn?”

“Aye, sir?”

“How fares the lady?” Burke could guess his squire’s progress by the movement of Talbot’s eyes. He heard Alys gasp and knew her gag was removed, heard her murmured thanks as Kerwyn aided her.

“Burke, I am fine,” she called, her voice the only sound that could have reassured Burke so well.

“Nay, there are chafes upon her wrists and ankles from the rope, sir,” Kerwyn corrected.

How like Alys to understate the indignities served to her. Burke wanted this sorry excuse of a knight to taste a measure of the fear he had forced upon Alys.

“What bad fortune for you, Talbot,” he said deliberately. “For I have a great fondness for the perfection of my lady’s ankles.” Burke shrugged as Talbot swallowed with horror. “It seems that I shall have to kill you, after all.”

s Alys watched, talbot blanched and a dark stain spread down the front of his chausses.

“He pissed himself!” Kerwyn declared in disgust. “Burke, he is not worth killing,” Alys insisted. She watched her knight’s jaw set stubbornly. “He must pay for treating you thus, Alys. I am not inclined to be indulgent this day.”

Alys guessed that Burke had not had an easy exchange with his mother, though ’twas not the time to ask. “He may have influential ties and the deed cast a long shadow.”

“He hurt you, Alys, and for no good reason.” Burke drew his blade across Talbot’s throat.

“I had every reason!” Talbot cried. “She could have ruined me!”

“Alys?” Burke sounded as astonished as Alys felt. “How?”

“My uncle thinks Isibeal of Kiltorren is the lady he long sought, and he will think that Alys is his own daughter. I cannot permit her to interfere in my inheriting all he owns.” Talbot grimaced and his voice rose high. “Have you any idea what I have endured from this man over the years? I have worked for this legacy!”

“Who is this uncle?” Burke demanded.

“Millard de Villonne.”

The name meant naught to Alys, but Burke whistled through his teeth in admiration. “Remind me of his standard.”

“A unicorn rampant, of course!” Talbot began to whine, even as Alys’s hand rose to clutch her pendant. “Are you going to kill me?”

Burke’s blade marked a course slowly. “Nay, I have a much worse prospect for you, Talbot.”

“Worse than death?” that man squeaked.

“Aye.” Burke grinned. “You shall meet my mother.” He took a step back. “Sadly for you, she is likely to be in rather foul temper. She did not take well this morn to my refusal to bow to her will.”

Talbot looked puzzled even as relief raced through Alys. Burke had denied his mother!