Fire Raven (18 page)

Chapter Ten

K
AT STUMBLED AND FELL
face-first in the mud. The impact knocked the breath from her, bringing a fresh round of jeers and catcalls from the watching men. A leather thong tied her wrists together; the lead was attached to the pommel of the captain’s saddle. When his horse started forward again, there came a vicious jerk. It nearly dislocated her wrists.

Kat cried out in agony. Yet she could not get up. After what seemed endless miles, her sodden skirts were twisted round her legs from being dragged, and her hands were numb from trying to grip the lead and lessen the tension. She lay in a heap on the road, unable to move despite the pain.

“Get up, wench!” The captain tugged impatiently on the tether securing his captive. He saw she either could not, or would not, obey him. He was furious.

“I’ll teach you to delay the queen’s guard.” He vaulted down from his horse and marched back to where Kat lay unmoving in the road. Grabbing a handful of her muddy hair, he jerked back her head. She moaned. Her eyes remained closed. He noticed his captive’s face — badly scraped and cut from her fall — was rosy and shiny with sweat.

“S’blood!” Captain Howard swore. “The mort’s burning up with fever.” He released his grip. Kat collapsed where he left her. He looked at his men. “We’d best stop and see to her. Milord ordered that no harm was to come to the wench.”

“Then why d’you string her along like a fish, Cap’n?” Sergeant Cobblestone sniggered. He was nicknamed “Cobble” by the others for his pockmarked skin.

Howard straightened and glared at the man. “I’ll not answer to you dunderheads for what I do. I found the girl, didn’t I? Even though she tried to lie her way out of it, ’twas clear enough she’s the one milord seeks.”

Cobble chuckled again and rubbed at his groin. “Can’t says I blame ’im either, Cap’n,” he said, eying Kat’s splayed form. “She’s a tasty bit o’ fluff. I likes ’em skinny like et. I’d enjoy a turn at this one meself, I would.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Howard snapped. “The wench has a damme fever. We’ll be lucky if she makes it alive to London. There’s a purse of gold nobles for each of us if she does.”

His men argued about who would care for Kat, while Howard untied her wrists and dragged her to the side of the road. “We’ll camp here for the rest of the night,” the captain announced, carelessly tossing a moth-eaten blanket over the ill woman. “We’ll take turns with the watch, and looking after the mort.”

“I ain’t touchin’ nobody with fever,” Cobble declared. “What’f ’tis the white throat or the pox?”

“Ye’ve had every ailment there is and survived ’em all, Cobble,” another soldier laughed. “Nothing could make that mug o’ yers any uglier or shrivel yer cony any smaller. Shut up and take yer turn.”

“Aye, Cobble, you’ll have first watch. Fetch the wench some water.”

Cobble scowled at Captain Howard, and then warily eyed the unmoving figure beneath the blanket. He reasoned he could cop a feel of the jade while she was passed out. She was quite a piece of work. That gown alone probably equaled a year’s worth of his pay. It was ruined now, else he’d ask the captain if he might have it when they reached London.

Lor’, what magic Nell Hatchet wouldn’t do fer a bit o’ toggery like et! Cobble felt himself harden at the thought. Most of the morts he futtered were prostitutes; this one seemed nigh a princess by comparison.

Grabbing a leather bag from his saddle, Cobble crossed to a nearby stream and filled it with water. He returned to the roadside and crouched beside the woman. He thrust the spout against her lips.

She choked and sputtered to consciousness. Cold water splashed upon her face and streamed down her neck. She shook her head in an attempt to evade the relentless trickle.

With a lewd chuckle, Cobble thoroughly doused her bodice next. Seeing her nipples inadvertently harden through the velvet, he licked his lips and moved the bag lower.

The bag was snatched abruptly from his hand.

“Enough,” another voice ground out. A boot kicked Cobble away from the prisoner. The other man bent to yank the blanket up over her drenched bodice.

“Gallant Frenchie, eh?” Cobble jeered. Lucien Navarre regarded him with a challenging, ice-blue stare. Cobble had tangled with Navarre before. Even a tasty mort wasn’t worth a battered face. He muttered beneath his breath as he slunk into the shadows.

Lucien was disappointed when Cobble retreated without a fight. The man was an imbecile, and he would have taken great satisfaction in bashing the sergeant’s thick skull against a rock.

“I’ll take first watch, sir,” he offered to Captain Howard, thrusting the torch he carried into the earth. Lucien hunkered down beside the young woman. Howard glanced over at him, grunted his assent and moved off into the darkness, obviously in search of a spot to relieve himself and toss down his bedroll.

After the other men had settled for the night, Lucien studied the captive again. Only half of her face presently showed; her other cheek remained pressed against the hard ground. He felt a mixture of distress and secret outrage at her plight. It went against his grain to treat a woman so. Lucien had been raised by his parents to treat the gender sex with chivalry, and seeing his fellow soldiers abuse a helpless woman gave him strong misgivings about serving in the English regiment.

Of course, it was an honor and great distinction, and Lucien was proud enough when he first joined the ranks. When he made the rank of first lieutenant, Elizabeth Tudor had seen fit to reward him during a formal ceremony at Court, personally pinning her colors to his uniform and gracing him with a kind word about his parents.

Lucien shook his head as he gazed upon the prisoner. He dared not help this woman escape, but he might make her trial a little easier. He carefully slid his left arm under her head, tilting her face upward. He winced at the scrapes and bruises revealed by the light of the torch. In the sunlight, he knew there would be more.

Lucien started and almost dropped her when her feverish gaze suddenly opened on him.

“Hot,” she murmured, gazing at him with bright green eyes. She licked her dry lips. “Thirsty.”

Lucien picked up the water bag Cobble had dropped. He supported her while he dribbled a thin stream between her lips. She looked grateful and, after a few swallows, lay quiet in his arms. Lucien lowered her back to the ground and tucked the blanket higher about her neck. He sat back and watched over her the rest of the night.

Whenever she roused, he offered water and words of comfort. He spoke softly in French so the others might not hear or understand. When dawn arrived, he helped her up and managed to convince Captain Howard not to bind her hands again.

T
HE MYSTERIOUS FEVER LEFT
Kat on the third day. By then, she and Lieutenant Navarre had lapsed into a routine of sorts. He protected her from the other men, and she in turn cooperated with him.

It was no longer necessary for her to walk. She was no longer prodded along by Captain Howard. She and Navarre rode double upon his bay gelding. Her initial terror abated somewhat upon discovering she had an ally of sorts in Navarre. Although he was not foolish enough to sacrifice his own career in an attempt to help her escape, he was man enough to treat her as a lady, even under such adverse circumstances.

As soon as Navarre took Kat under his wing, Cobble ceased trying to hurt or harass her. Even in the delirium of her fever, she recalled the sergeant crudely groping at her breasts. Cobble’s pockmarked face still leered in her direction now and again, but he dared not approach or accost her. His superior never left her side.

Surprisingly, Captain Howard had not argued when Navarre insisted Kat ride with him. Mayhap the captain realized they would make better time, and it also relieved him of the burden of her care. Navarre had assumed a command of sorts where she was concerned.

She gazed around at the scenery while they rode. Quaint cottages with thatched roofs gradually gave way to country manor houses fashioned from brick or stone; humble wooden churches to Gloucester’s great cathedral; Hereford’s apple blossoms to the white chalk hills of Berkshire.

They were nearly to London, Kat realized. Navarre had informed her that England’s greatest city was their destination. She wrapped her arms tighter about the lieutenant’s waist as his bay horse commenced a trot up a steep incline in the Cotswold Hills.

Soon the narrow, rutted country lanes gave way to roads sufficiently wide for coaches to pass one another. They passed a number of folk riding wagons or trudging on foot to the city. Most glanced curiously, some pityingly, upon Kat as the contingent of guards thundered by. She felt a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach, grasping the full measure of her plight. For some reason she was under arrest. She had been too afraid of the answer to ask Navarre why.

When they stopped to water the horses at the Thames, she decided to risk the reply. Navarre was safely distanced from the other men, checking his mount for lameness. Kat wandered casually over in his direction.

“D’you know why I have been arrested?” she asked him outright, deciding to be blunt in the interest of time. He had been pleased to discover she spoke French — and they were to converse in that tongue ever since. Most common soldiers, Captain Howard included, had not the benefit of such learning, and thus their conversations were private. They took care, however, not to make Howard or the others suspicious by conversing too intently or at great length.

Navarre glanced at Kat, and for a moment she was disconcerted by the startling sky-blue color of his eyes. He was a strikingly handsome man, golden-haired, with elegant manners. She did not recall the lieutenant at Falcon’s Lair with the others when she was taken prisoner. Mayhap he had other duties then — tending the horses or such.

“
Non, mademoiselle
,” Navarre said at last, in his pleasant accent. “I do not know. We were told to locate a blind woman who requested asylum from Lord Trelane.”

“I am not blind,” Kat pointed out.

“
Oui
, but a servant told Captain Howard who you were, and where you were hiding. She swore you had just regained your sight. You also fit the description given the captain.”

“Who is looking for me?”

Navarre shook his head. “I am sorry, but I know nothing more.” He unfastened the saddle bag on his steed, handing Kat the food left from his own small ration. “I saved some cheese and a crust of bread for you. Eat it quickly, before the others notice. You’d best get a drink, too, if you want one before we leave.”

Kat nodded and retreated to a sheltered, grassy spot beneath a willow tree. She greedily devoured Navarre’s offering. The bread was dry, the cheese rimmed with mold, but she was too hungry to care. Likewise, every muscle and bone screamed with fatigue and pain, and her musings were laced with misery.

Morgan will come for me
, she thought again, as she did each day. This time her conviction faltered. It had been about a week now.
Surely when Morgan heard what happened, he was outraged. He will spare no effort to find me.

That night, Kat wondered why she tried so hard to convince herself of Morgan’s love. When Navarre made her a bed beneath the starry sky and rolled out his own blankets nearby, she stared through tear-filled eyes up at the beautiful sky.

Despite her misery, she still prayed Morgan would come. Perhaps he studied the same stars this night, judging his direction and distance in order to reach her. Mayhap he was waiting for a more opportune time to waylay the travelers. He was outnumbered, after all. Under cover of darkness, doubtless it would be safer.

During her captivity, Kat remained rigid and nearly sleepless each night, listening for any approaching sounds which might herald a rescue attempt. When the glimmer of a new dawn appeared on each horizon, her hopes faded a little more.

On the last morning before arriving in London, when Morgan still had not come, she turned her face into the blankets and silently wept.

L
IEUTENANT
N
AVARRE DREW HIS
lathered bay to a halt on a stone bridge spanning a wide, gray-brown river.