Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] (44 page)

"What will this prove?" Gawain asked.

"That he can be stopped," she said. "That he cannot be a tyrant here. I will only nick his skin. But I must show that his armor pan be penetrated. I think—I hope—it can."

"Jesu," he said. "I thought you had gone mad, and meant to kill the man in revenge." He sounded relieved.

"Then you do not know me," she said flatly.

"God knows I am trying," he muttered. "But you have never been predictable."

"'Tis time the people of this glen resisted him. He holds my brothers unfairly, and will not give them up. He will close Elladoune and cast the people back into the forest. And he burned Elladoune years ago—you know that, you were there!"

"Avenel!" De Soulis yelled. "Take her down! She is your wife, man—this is foolish!" He laughed, though no one else did.

"My wife is in earnest, Sir Sheriff," Gawain said. His calm voice projected over the crowd. "And she has a deadly aim."

"Go away," she told Gawain firmly, though she felt grateful for his steady presence beside her. "Leave me to this. You are one of them. You cannot help me."

"Juliana, please—"

"Gabhan," she murmured plaintively, her gaze entirely on De Soulis. "You cannot save me this time. I must do this. Alec and Iain are my brothers. My responsibility, nae yours. Mine."

"I will do what I can for them. You risk your life here."

"Go," she said bluntly.

He stayed where he stood, a long step away. She felt his gaze penetrate her to her soul, but she could not look at him.

"Sir Sheriff," she called out. "These people fear you, and that accursed armor you wear! No one will fight you, despite your cruelties. But if my father were alive, or my older brothers here, they would not fear you. And neither do I!"

De Soulis pointed at her. "You do not fear me, Swan Maiden," he said, "because you understand magic."

"Magic?" she asked. Insight came to her. "I understand the power of illusion—whether or not the illusion is true."

She wondered if he would admit it. Suddenly she knew that his black armor had no mystical invincibility. Rumor invested it with power, and he used that advantage. She understood that, for she had relied upon the mysterious aura of the Swan Maiden to protect the forest rebels.

De Soulis smiled flatly, inclined his head. "Just so."

Admittance enough, she thought. He watched her, his eyes piercing black, his countenance filled with anger at being publicly challenged. She faced him, arrow unswerving.

Her arms ached fiercely. The ache spread into her back and to her shaking legs. The compelling tension in the weapon demanded release soon. She breathed hard, as if she were running, but she would not give up.

"What do you want?" De Soulis growled. She knew then, by the lowering of his hand, that she had won.

"Let my brothers go," she answered. "Here and now, into the sanctuary of Inchfillan. And do not try to claim them again."

He flicked his hand in a wave. A guard guided Alec and Iain away from the platform, even though De Soulis's wife cried out and reached for them.

Keeping the arrow aimed, Juliana watched from the corner of her eye as her brothers walked through the crowd toward the church. The abbot ushered them into the shadowed foyer, then stood protectively in the doorway once they were inside.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She blinked them away. Her limbs trembled violently, but she kept the arrow directed.

"What now, love?" Gawain asked quietly.

Hearing that, she wanted only to turn to him, and could not. Would not. She was not certain herself what came next. Judging by De Soulis's furious glare, as soon as she lowered the bow he would order his men after her. She had not thought this through entirely, she realized. Her plan had been born of desperation.

She slid her gaze around the crescent of people. To the right, she saw a cluster of familiar faces. Angus, Lucas, Eonan, other Highlanders from Elladoune, and the monks of Inchfillan had gathered together in the crowd. They began to draw apart slowly, forming a narrow aisle of escape.

Beyond them lay the sparkling surface of the loch.

Between her and that corridor to freedom stood Gawain.

She pulled the bowstring taut, aimed, and let go. The arrow slammed into the wood of the platform, just at De Soulis's feet. He stood, shouting for his guards to capture her.

Juliana dropped the bow, whirled, and launched into a run, streaming past Gawain, bow clenched in her hand. He turned and winged out his arms to stop the guards who rushed toward her.

Running fast, she cleared the opening her friends made. The gap closed behind her as she headed toward the loch.

Her heels pounded the grass, quick and sure. Behind her, she could hear De Soulis screaming orders, heard chaos and shouting. Moments later, the distinct thudding of horses' hooves sounded behind her.

To her left lay the blue expanse of the loch, but the shoreline was open here. She would be an easy target for bow shots. Ahead, trees spread away from the loch to join the forest. Beyond the copse was the cove, and past that, another meadow, and Elladoune. She ran toward the trees and safe cover.

Shouts sounded behind her, and an arrow thunked into the ground in front of her. She zigzagged between the tree trunks, surging onward.

Another arrow split the ground behind her. She stumbled through a green skirt of ferns as high as her knees, her booted feet crushing and cracking through the undergrowth.

Cool shadows enveloped her as she swung toward deeper forest, a dense thicket of greenish light. More arrows zinged by her, smacking into the undergrowth, whizzing past her ears.

She glanced back. Guards followed, some on horseback, others on foot, crashing through the quiet with heavy feet, burdened by armor and weaponry, bellowing after her to stop.

She never slowed, even when she felt the punch and sting of an arrow that tore through her side, ripping her tunic. The blow took her breath, and she staggered, but kept her feet, and ran on. Putting a hand to her waist, she saw blood on her fingers, but felt only a small, painful cut that she hoped was not deep.

Thrashing and shouting sounded everywhere now. She skittered sideways and headed down a steep slope. Her footing slipped, and she slid on her bottom into a bed of ferns.

Rising to her knees, she braced a hand at her side, for her wound wrenched painfully when she moved. Guards had reached the top of the hill, but they had not seen her. She stepped forward, ready to bolt.

A steel-clad arm snatched her from behind, clamping around her. She was slammed backward into a hard, armored body. Gasping with pain, she kicked fiercely, finding his shin. He grunted and dragged her into dense tree cover, falling with her into shadows.

Chapter 30

"If you kick me again," Gawain muttered, "I may just leave you here." He pulled her deeper into the thicket.

She twisted, staring up at him. "Gawain—oh, Gawain!"

"Hush," he urged. He glanced at the slope, but saw no knights. Holding her, he ducked down into a nest of ferns at the base of an oak, hiding behind the breadth of the wide, ivy-covered trunk. "Be still."

She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. Her breathing was fast and ragged. He stroked his hand over the tangled silk of her hair, immensely relieved to have her safe in his arms, at least for now.

He leaned his back against the oak, shrouded with her in shadow. Tense as a cat, motionless, he listened, and glanced over his shoulder.

Saplings quivered as the guards descended the wooded slope. They shouted, their voices echoing slightly. Gawain held her close and waited, his hand quiet on her hair.

Although the sheriff's men searched perilously close to their hiding place, the knights soon departed, climbing back up the hill, rustling and calling as they left.

Gawain let out a long breath. "There, Swan Maid—it seems you needed one more rescue."

She tightened her arms around his neck, and her little sob tore at his heart. Then she pulled away. "Go," she said, skittering back. "I can get away."

"Ho, come back here," he said, and yanked her toward him into the shadow of the oak, gripping her around the waist.

Juliana cried out, clearly in pain. He took his hand away and swore, low and keen, at the blood darkening his palm.

"You are bow shot," he ground out.

"'Tis naught," she said quickly. "A nick only. Let me go."

"Stay here. We must be certain they are gone." He circled an arm around her, and with his other hand put pressure on the wound, located in the slim curve of her waist.

She winced and tried to shift away, but he held her tightly. "Leave me here," she said in a fierce whisper. "If you do not join them soon, they will hunt you as well!"

"Will I leave you in danger to save my own hide?" he growled. "Do you think so little of me?"

She shook her head. "But you must go," she murmured.

"Hush." He tucked her head against his chest. "Just hush."

She quieted, and he sat warily, listening for the return of the sheriff's knights. He kept a hand over Juliana's wound. The bleeding had stopped, but it would need attention.

After a while, certain of the quiet surrounding them, he exhaled. "They have gone elsewhere to look for you."

"If they find me," she said, "what then?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "What did you think would happen when you cooked up your scheme?"

"I hoped De Soulis would let my brothers go, and allow us to live in peace, if I could show that he was naught to fear."

He wanted to laugh. He leaned his head back against the trunk and huffed out in disbelief. "There is more to defeating the man than proving his armor... invisible, as Iain says."

"I know that. I could not think what else to do."

"You could have waited for me to do something about it."

"I... we could not trust you to help us."

Gawain blew out a breath, wordless and remorseful. He slid his fingers through her hair. "You can," he said hoarsely.

She closed her eyes. "'Tis hard to trust a Sassenach. Even you," she added in a whisper.

He said nothing in reply, and pressed his brow to hers, realizing how much ground he had lost with her, how much he must tell her. He felt the pain of it like a wrench in his own gut.

"What would you have done," she asked after a moment, "if I had shot De Soulis? Would you have captured me, as a prisoner and a criminal, or would you have let me go?"

He drew back. "He would not have been shot."

"He would. I never miss my aim."

"I would have snatched the arrow before it hit its mark."

She stared up at him. "You could not do that."

"I could. And I would not have missed my aim, either." He shifted to his feet and helped her up. "Come. Can you run?"

She nodded. He led her along a fast course, where the trees were dense and high. As they ran he watched for the guards. The loch was to the left, and he angled toward its long tip.

"Elladoune?" she asked. "We cannot hide there."

"Not there. Around to the other side of the loch. A long walk, I know, but there is a place we can go for the night. I want you to rest and be safe." Near the edge of the greenwood, he stopped in the shade of an elm, his gaze scanning the loch. At the nearest end, Elladoune rose high on its promontory, silhouetted against the tinted sky that waned toward twilight.

"There is a shorter way. Come with me." She grabbed his hand and turned toward the little cove between Elladoune and the abbey. Gawain ran with her into the shelter of the trees. She stopped in the green shade of a stand of birches.

"Quick," she said, "take off your mail!" She fumbled at the leather thongs that tied his chain mail hood to the hauberk.

"Do you mean to swim across the loch? Are you mad?"

"'Tis not far from this point," she said. She yanked at his belt. He sighed, realizing she would not listen to arguments. He removed the sword belt and sheath while she tugged at his surcoat and the lacing of the hauberk.