Silverhawk (12 page)

“No, it couldn’t.” Giles kept his voice low. He’d rather not wake the stable lads. “I’ve decided to help you after all. I’ll follow this Paxton to Scotland.” He stowed the blanket behind Nuit’s saddle.

Henry stood feet apart, hands on hips. “Why?” His voice was suspicious. “What made you change your mind?”

Giles’ voice was dry. “I decided to extend my stay in your friendly land. I need a horse.”

Before Henry could ask why, Giles added, “And a safe place for a valuable package I’ll deliver later.”

His respect for Henry grew when the other man silently walked to the other side of the stables and brought back a leggy mare whose dark color blended with the night.

“I’ll pick up my other pack and be on my way.” Giles took the reins of both horses and headed outside.

Henry fell in. “I’ll send two men along. The journey will likely be dangerous.”

“In this kind of campaign, I work better alone.”

“All right. Follow the main road—”

“Never mind. I’ll track them, remember?”

Henry nodded and held out a hand. Giles looked at him a moment before taking it. “If you want to help, have someone open the gate. I’ll see you in Scotland.”

Giles walked the horses to the Lady’s Garden where Davy waited.

“She’s still out,” the boy announced. “Will she be a’ right?”

With a grunted assent, Giles handed the reins to the lad and grabbed the blanket. Inside, he wrapped Emelin in the rough wool, taking care to tuck the end over her hair. Urgency prodded him. St. Jude! The cursed blanket wasn’t long enough

Davy appeared at his side holding a second one. “From the other pack,” he whispered. “’N I tied the ’orses to the gate.”

“Smart lad.” The boy might be an unwanted shadow, but he was bright, quick to grasp a situation. He reminded Giles of himself at that age.

Davy swiped a sleeve across his nose, then patted the blanket he’d folded around Emelin’s legs as she lay draped across the mare’s saddle. Without a sound, he disappeared. He was back immediately and shoved a small bag at Giles.

“Sometimes I get hungry in the night, ’n I put a bit back against the growlies. You best take it.”

Giles took the hoard of food. He refused to be moved by the pest of a boy’s thoughtfulness. Yet his throat was dry as he nodded.

“You’ll be quiet about everything you’ve seen and heard,” Giles warned. “I don’t forget a wrong.” He pitched his voice low and hoped it sounded fierce enough to convince the lad. Perhaps Giles’ reputation would be good for something if it protected the youth.

To clinch the threat he added, “Anyone finds out you helped the lord’s betrothed escape, you know what will happen to you? And if Langley doesn’t beat you, I will.” It was true, unfortunately. Were it discovered Davy helped, he might be seriously harmed.

“And don’t think to follow me.” Giles knew full well what was in the boy’s mind. Pointing a finger at him, Giles said, “Stay.”

At every thud of the horses’ hooves across the packed ground of the bailey, he expected to hear a challenge. Instead, he was ushered through the partially opened gate unquestioned. The guards looked away when he leveled a dark stare at them.

Thank God for the clouds that drifted across the moon as the horses clopped into the night. In what appeared a leisurely manner, Giles urged his mount and the pack horse along the road south from the castle, opposite the direction from which they had arrived. The diversion took longer than he liked.

When at last the black shadows of the trees swallowed them, he lifted Emelin from the mare and set her in front of him. The edge of the blanket fell from her face, and he tucked it about her shoulders, protection from the now-cool night air.

She moaned, rolled her head fitfully against his chest. Finally she stilled, her breathing gentle and steady. Thank God, she slept. Once they’d left Langley well behind, he could untie her.

He shifted to settle her more comfortably in his arms. Her soft hair snagged on his rough day’s-growth of beard, but the top of her head fit perfectly beneath his chin. Too many things about this woman fit. An unfamiliar warmth surged through him.

Rearing back he looked at her pale profile then shook his head. He had stolen away a bride on the eve of her wedding, destroyed her chance at a normal life. For her protection or for his revenge, it little mattered. And now he dragged her into a political intrigue that could threaten both their lives.

What in Satan’s own hell had he gotten himself into?

Chapter Nine

A dragon pounded in Emelin’s head, roared through her dreams. She clung to its back as it undulated—up and down, side to side.

She struggled to scream, but her mouth would not open. No breath. Tightly it held her. She couldn’t move.

Dragons have no arms.

Her eyes flew open, then snapped shut. Pain throbbed above them. Behind them. Through them. After a moment she tried again and between squinted lids, took stock.

No dragon. She was on a horse, pressed against a man’s body, her ear over his steady, thudding heart—the roar she’d dreamed.

His scent filled her. Brisk autumn, leather, and a spicy darkness that could only be male. She’d never realized how comforting, how…good, a man smelled. She burrowed into the warmth, and her hands tightened around his waist. Her cheek scraped a metal link. She stiffened.

She lay in a man’s arms, riding a horse through the woods. A short moan followed the realization.
Why?
When she struggled, the pressure lessened, yet held fast.

“Easy. You won’t fall. I have you.” The murmur tingled down her spine.

She shoved away from the warm, living pillow, lifted her head. Even before her eyes made out the face beneath the dark stubble of beard, she knew. Silverhawk. Memories drenched her. The garden. His kiss. She clenched shut her eyes until the next realization hit.

The wedding. Oh, dear heaven. What had he done? She pulled against the confining embrace. “Stop this instant! Put me down! Take me back immediately.”

Her captor reined in the horse. His grip tightened.

“Steady.” His voice came out a deep growl. “You’ll fall and hurt yourself.”

“Let me go.” Sweet Mary! The deranged man had abducted her. Her throat knotted in panic.

She shoved, twisted, and slid until her legs hung half off the horse. If she could just manage to grab the pommel and push down. Another wiggle. There, she slid farther.

Two large, capable hands hauled up, deposited her firmly on the saddle. His arms wrapped around her ribs, crowded up her breasts.

Uttering a sharp cry, she shoved at those arms. They might as well be made of steel. She pounded at them.

“Move. I can’t breathe.”

“Stop fighting and I will.”

She flung back a hand—and connected with his face.

“Damnation, wench.” He jerked his disgustingly strong arms tighter. “Calm down.”

Emelin stilled, then sucked in a breath. The movement pushed her breasts up even harder. “Move your arm.” Her fingertips dug at his sleeve.

“Easy.”

Her hand paused. The movement had been useless, anyway.

“That’s right.” There was that voice again, a rumbled whisper. It flowed like warm honey. “Be still…still…you’re safe. Everything is fine.” A light touch circled between her shoulders.

Calmness settled, until the image of a restless colt popped into her mind. He gentled her as he would a frightened animal.

“Stop treating me like a horse.” Then she recalled what he’d said earlier. “And I am not a wench.”

“More’s the pity.” He tightened the hold against her renewed struggles. “A wench would be more grateful.”

“Grateful?” After one more jerk, she stopped. These attempts were not effective. They made her head pound harder and her chin ache. “How can I be grateful when you’ve stolen me away from my betrothed and ruined my chance at a home and family?”

Realization fully hit. Her skin tingled at the import of this abduction. Garley’s fury. He’d direct it at the child, Margaret. Hadn’t he threatened to do just that?

“You must take me back. You don’t understand what this means. People will be harmed if I’m not there.” Her voice trembled in spite of herself. Her chest seized up. “Please. You can’t possibly want me. You don’t know me.”

Giles’ arms loosened, but he didn’t speak. Perhaps she could reason with him. Earlier he hadn’t seemed spiteful. What had he thought, to do this? His action must be a foolish mistake, a whim.

She inhaled a great gust and exhaled in a slow, even slide. “When my brother and Lord Osbert find us, they will kill you.”

Praise God, her voice no longer shook. “There’s no need for that. If you set me down here, I will start back. You can escape their anger if you just ride on.” She made an attempt to slide off again, but he clenched his arm tighter.

“No one will catch us.” He seated her more firmly across his lap. “You’re much safer with me than married to Langley, you know. I’m doing you a favor.”

The words didn’t make sense. She might not relish marriage to Osbert, but she would be safe. No matter the rumors that surrounded the deaths of her predecessors, she could not believe she was in danger. Osbert had too much invested in her, wanted too much what he thought she’d provide. A male heir.

“Believe me.” The man proved insistent, she gave him that. “I do you a service. You’re in danger.”

She twisted to face him in the growing light. “I’m in no danger wed to Lord Osbert. He was sincerely attached to his first wife and mourned her death.”

Giles shook his head. “There’s much you don’t understand.”

Just like a man. To assume because she was a female she was faint-brained.

“No. It is you who don’t understand.” Her tone took on the deliberate rhythm reserved for speaking to children. “Lord Osbert has a young daughter. The girl needs a mother. Not only that, but if he rejects me now, I’m doomed to the convent. I am fond of the nuns, but I have no calling for the life. You think I should be grateful for what you have done?”

His gaze caught hers. “Trust me. You will thank me one day.”

A knight had no conception of a lady’s limited options. How dare he wrest any choice from her? She challenged him with a gaze, but her heart skipped at the sight of his eyes. How could fog smolder? Orange autumn sunbeams nudged through overhanging leaves and danced across his face, the high thin nose and mobile lips, the golden tone of his skin.

An unfamiliar restlessness caught at her chest. Her breasts tingled, throat tightened. Mentally she shook herself, tried to recall what he had just said. Yes, “trust me.”

“Trust you?” The words wavered. “You’re a mercenary, a knight who sells his sword. I don’t know you.” Despite her physical reaction to his nearness, her heart pounded in uncertainty. The confidence this very man instilled in her earlier, he now stripped. Emelin forced her voice to calm. “Where are you taking me?”

In a fluid movement, he slid from the horse and lifted her down. She shook off his touch. But her legs, numb from the long ride, folded. Muttering beneath his breath, he caught her. Did he call her stubborn?

“We’ll stop here to rest the horses. Won’t stay long.” He nodded toward bushes at the side of the path. “You’ll want to be private now. We’ve a long day ahead.”

When he removed his hands, she staggered. “Do you need help?” he asked.

She glared. She’d crawl on her hands and knees before she’d allow him to attend her. Looking around as she stumbled toward the undergrowth, she evaluated her chances of escape. No, she wasn’t strong enough to try it. Yet. But he need not think she would go calmly to whatever fate he envisioned. She needed to plan. Just as soon as the pounding in her head eased.

****

Giles didn’t follow. She was too weak to run right now. When he spirited her away earlier, he never thought she’d want to escape. Ha! How wrong he’d been. To judge from her reaction, she considered this an abduction. “Kidnap” seemed such a harsh word.

If he were honest with himself—and he always tried to be—he could understand her anger. However, marriage to Lord Osbert would not give her the family she longed for. Just the opposite. She was safer at his side than at Langley.

Until he could convince her, he must keep her close. No use trying to explain now, either. She’d never believe the plan he overheard in the garden. Or that it came from her brother, Sir Garley.

Nevertheless, Lady Emelin needed rescuing. And if helping her sweetened his revenge against Lord Osbert, why not? First he’d deposit her at Chauvere in safety, then ride on to stop Lord Paxton’s treasonous designs.

Despite reluctance to delay pursuit, Giles knew where his duty as a knight lay. He’d reached that decision in these last hours of riding. The lady would be cared for at Chauvere. Who
did
care for Lady Emelin? Not the brother who sold her and now plotted her death.

Lord Henry might be prevailed upon to help when he found Lady Emelin installed at his home, but how long could even he hold out against her brother? Unless Henry found another place for her, or wed her.

The image of Lord Henry and Lady Emelin together burned Giles’ gut.

At last she emerged from the brush, arranging her skirt—a female kind of action that quickened his pulse. Damn his body’s reaction. He hoped they would reach the castle today.