The Knight and the Dove (5 page)

True to her word, her mother sent for her an hour later. Four horses stood in the courtyard of Stone Lake, and Megan fought down every emotion within her to keep her face calm. Hawkings Crest was miles away, and her mother was sending her on horseback with no caravan, which meant no maid, no ladies in waiting, and no entourage of any kind. Just four horses, and three male guards—none of whom she even knew.

One of them helped her mount. Megan kept her face impassive, not wishing to give her mother the satisfaction of knowing how fearful she was of going away to a strange man’s castle. She thought of trying to reason with Annora once more, but just a glance allowed her to see the hatred in her eyes, and Megan knew she would be wasting her time.

Megan glanced at the men assigned to accompany her. She did not recognize any of them, but they caused her no fear. Her father would kill them if she came to harm in their hands. Megan thought how sad it was that they had more of a care for her than her mother did. Once on horseback, Megan spoke to her mother.

“Please tell Father that I said goodbye and that I look forward to seeing him when he visits.”

Megan gained a small measure of satisfaction in seeing the flicker of uncertainty in her mother’s look but it didn’t last. The older woman’s chin came up before she bade her daughter goodbye in a cold tone.

Megan, whose throat was suddenly very tight, said nothing. She turned her mount and heeled her forward, tears clogging her throat as she rode.

The sun was dropping low in the sky when one of the men said they would make camp soon. Megan questioned how far they had to go and was told they would arrive at Hawkings Crest before noon the following day.

They came into a copse of trees that would be their shelter for the night. As glad as Megan was to stop, she ached all over as she forced her body to slide from the horse’s back.

Not for the first time, Megan was impressed with her escort. There had been little conversation as they traveled, but their care of her could not be criticized. Now they made camp with amazing ease. Just an hour later, Megan was sitting comfortably on a log, eating rabbit that had been cooked over a spit. Within minutes she was feeling greatly refreshed, but when the man in charge, Hubert by name, recommended sleep, Megan was more than happy to comply.

Megan found herself near the fire, the men nearby to protect her, but as she lay down she wondered what her father would say of her situation. She knew that he had planned to leave Stone Lake early in the day with a full band of men and provisions, and have her to Hawkings Crest before nightfall. Megan also realized he would be furious if he could see her now. She debated the wisdom of giving him too many details. Praying that she wouldn’t walk in her sleep this night, she drifted off, her blanket literally covering her from head to foot.

The attack on their camp came sometime after midnight. One second Megan was sleeping in her blanket, the next she was being
rolled under some nearby bushes where she sat up and looked out in horror at the unfolding scene.

Men, seemingly dozens of them, were in vicious attack against her guard. Megan kept her hand pressed tightly to her mouth to keep from crying out as she watched one, then two, and finally all three of her guards fall dead to the ground. Some of the attackers were dead as well, but at least six men were still standing.

Megan continued to watch as one of them broke open her small trunk and howled in frustration. She watched her belongings fly everywhere.

“Clothing!
I thought they had gold.”

“Let me see,” said another.

“Fool!”
raged yet a third, obviously in charge. “We lost men tonight over a trunk full of homespun rags.”

Megan watched the first man lift the trunk and throw it toward her. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the blow, but the trunk landed beyond the bush.

“What now?” one asked.

“We move on,” the third man said. “There’s nothing here but some good horseflesh. Let’s ride.”

There was a flurry of movement as the men departed, taking all four of her father’s horses with them.

When the battle had commenced, Megan thought it was going to last forever. Now that it was over, she wondered if only seconds had passed. She was trembling from head to foot, but the night was long spent before she could bring herself to crawl from the bushes to check on the men.

“Oh, Father God,” Megan cried pitifully as she knelt beside Hubert and then the others. She asked God to give her strength and wisdom, but she didn’t know when anything had so horrifed her. They had died protecting her. The thought so overwhelmed her that after just a few minutes she crawled back into the bushes and rewrapped herself in the blanket, still shivering so violently that she had to clamp her jaw shut to keep her teeth from chattering.

Megan didn’t know when she slept, but when slumber claimed her at last she dreamed that her mother was forced to bury these men and explain to their families why they were gone.

Megan heard the voices, but thinking she was still dreaming did not move. Not until a hand grasped her ankle, which protruded from the bush, did she let out a muffled scream and scramble further into the shrubs, twigs, and leaves scratching her face and hands.

“Well, one of ’em’s alive, no mistake.”

“A man?”

“Don’t rightly think it is.”

Megan heard more movement. The bushes parted, and a large, bearded face regarded her from without. It was fully light, but Megan held herself stiffly inside the foliage, hoping somehow they wouldn’t see her and would leave.

“You can come out, miss. Not a one of us will harm you.”

Megan licked her lips, undecided. It was hard to see past the branches and leaves, but she thought she detected a gleam of compassion in the man’s eyes. He backed away a moment later, and Megan came slowly out the side, figuring it would put her in a position to run if there were danger.

“Coo,” one of the men breathed as soon as she emerged. “Would you look at that ’air.”

Megan’s eyes searched their faces and immediately recognized them as a group of peddlers. She also saw that there was not a female among them. The men were all staring at her as if they’d never seen a woman before. Even through the dirt on her dress and brambles in her hair, the fact that she was a lady came shouting through.

“Are you hurt?” the bearded man asked, his soft voice seeming loud in the hushed circle.

Megan shook her head with unconscious elegance. She spoke then, and any doubts they might have had concerning her lineage dissolved with the cultured sound of her voice.

“We were attacked. My men fought hard, but they died protecting me.” Megan’s voice caught. Tears came to her eyes but did not fall.

“We’ve some bread and cheese here, miss. Would you care to eat?” This came from the bearded man, and although Megan was thankful for his kindness, she couldn’t eat a bite.

“Can you tell us where you was headed?” asked a man so taken with the russet red of her hair that he wanted to touch it. Yet his voice and manners were respectful.

“Hawkings Crest,” Megan told them. “I don’t know how close I am, so I’m not sure if I should try to go home or head on.”

“Home?” Again, the bearded man spoke.

“Stone Lake.”

He nodded, smiling slightly. “It’s a piece back to Stone Lake, and we’re going directly to the Crest if you’d care to ride.”

Megan was so relieved she could have wept. The men might have been surprised to know she had ridden in many a peddler’s cart, but never before had she felt that one had been sent by God.

An hour later they were well down the road, Megan atop the cart sitting comfortably on a pile of rugs. They had pressed food upon her and she had finally eaten, but now the night was catching up with her. Megan couldn’t stop the tears that poured down her cheeks. They were partly from exhaustion and partly from the loss of her father’s brave men. Within another hundred yards, she was asleep.

Four

H
AWKINGS
C
REST

“N
OW GET BACK TO WORK
!”

The young woman who had been shouted at did as she was told, but not before she flipped her hair over her shoulder in contempt and glared at her uncle. The older man stood watching her a moment, his head moving in disgust.

“Pen giving you trouble again, Eddie?”

Eddie nearly growled. “My sister has never been able to control her. Has it in her head to work up in the kitchen, she does.” His voice was filled with offense. “She’s even working on her voice, trying to talk like a lady, no less. I tell you, Mic, that girl’s in for trouble if she don’t start to recognize ’er betters.”