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The Quest
Lyn Stone


Victim of an abusive marriage, Iana vowed in her widowhood never again to put her fate in masculine hands. But one man, Henri Gillet, heir to the Trouville dynasty, had aroused her slumbering desires–and endangered her deepest resolve.Love, Henri Gillet pondered, was simple. Noble obligations were not. And now he faced a royal-size dilemma–for though the Lady Iana had saved him from certain death, her shadowed past, so full of the darkest secrets, stood between them and threatened a future together…!









The sight of his muscles shining with sweat shot a hot tingle of appreciation right down the middle of her


For an instant she could not tear her gaze away.

His soft chuckle warned her that he had noticed her fascination. Iana immediately shut her eyes, cursing herself for her wayward thoughts. She ignored his offer of assistance.

When she dared to look again, he had retreated to the edge of the water and begun wading in, his back to her. With a will of their own, her eyes immediately focused upon his uncovered nether cheeks. “Och, my sweet lord,” she breathed in absolute awe.

“Oui?” He looked over his left shoulder and raised one dark brow. “Qu’est-ce que c’est?”

What is it? he asks. Iana scoffed. Lust is what it was. Pure, unadulterated lust. And she should be ashamed of herself…!




Acclaim for Lyn Stone’s recent titles


The Highland Wife

“…laced with lovable characters, witty dialogue, humor and poignancy, this is a tale to savor.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

Bride of Trouville

“I could not stop reading this one…Don’t miss this winner!”

—Affaire de Coeur

The Knight’s Bride

“Stone has done herself proud with this delightful story…a cast of endearing characters and a fresh, innovative plot.”

—Publishers Weekly

#587 THE PRISONER BRIDE

Susan Spencer Paul

#589 THE MAIL-ORDER BRIDES

Bronwyn Williams

#590 SARA AND THE ROGUE

DeLoras Scott


The Quest

Lyn Stone






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Available from Harlequin Historicals and

LYN STONE


The Wicked Truth #358

The Arrangement #389

The Wilder Wedding #413

The Knight’s Bride #445

Bride of Trouville #467

One Christmas Night #487

“Ian’s Gift”

My Lady’s Choice #511

The Highland Wife #551

The Quest #588

Other works include:

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Beauty and the Badge #952

Live-In Lover #1055


This book is dedicated to those independent “Cato Girls,” Louise Pope, Mary Dunlap and Ruth Mimms, my mom and my aunts. Also to the heroic “Cato boys,” Earl, Green and Walt.

Equally as dear and deserving are my dad, Harlen Perkins, my stepfather, Preston Pope, and my uncles and aunts by marriage, Raiford Dunlap, Calvin Mimms, Corinne, Alice and Jolene Cato.


I thank you all for the invaluable lessons you have taught me through advice and example. How else would I have recognized love when I found it?




Contents


Chapter One (#u6b9e16e1-0d0b-570e-976a-61401e3e5883)

Chapter Two (#udb5259dd-f82e-59a7-86c8-74a0134f0302)

Chapter Three (#u9605581b-46c7-5ca2-9781-23b507a79527)

Chapter Four (#u1992b04f-f50e-559d-b263-d800eb893b90)

Chapter Five (#ubf16a1c5-1761-5e8f-b150-618b5190188e)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


West coast of Scotland, 1340

The taste of his first defeat grew no less bitter with his arrival on these shores, thought Henri Gillet as he climbed out of the disreputable vessel they had commandeered. He dragged his long legs through the sucking, thigh-deep waves. “Pay the man, Ev,” he called out over his shoulder.

The squire tossed a small pouch of coins at the disgruntled fisherman and then struggled through the bitterly cold surf to where Henri waited on the deserted, rock-strewn shore.

“Where are we, sir?” the lad asked while he shook himself off and shivered. Though Everand strove hard to erase the trepidation from his voice, Henri knew he surely must fear what was to come. Truth told, he feared it himself, though not for the same reasons.

He needed to reach safe haven so that the boy would have a chance at survival. At the moment, Henri was not certain he could manage that. His own chances were meager at best. Doggedly he placed one foot before the other and steeled himself against the grinding pain. The bleeding wound just below his ribs ached less than the hurt in his heart. He had lost everything.

If he died, he must account to God. And if he lived, he must face his father. In his mind, there was little difference. Not that he expected harshness in either case, for both had treated him benevolently thus far and would again. And that would be far worse than any punishment they might inflict. A bitter brew, indeed, was defeat.

He had not caused it. In fact, he had done all within his power to prevent it. And yet, he still felt accountable, responsible somehow for losing what had been entrusted to him. The lives of those who had followed him when he’d been called to war were forfeit. All gone. All drowned, save young Everand.

“I know this land. We are not lost,” Henri finally assured the squire. He experienced a sharp stab of guilt that he had dragged this young man so far from his home in Sarcelles to fight against the English. And to a near watery grave when their ship sank off the coast of Portsmouth. Even so, the fourteen-year-old lengthened his short-legged stride to keep in step. Eager as a hound pup to please the master, even now. Henri shook his head at the earnestness of youth.

“You should rest, my lord. That wound of yours worries me.” The squire did not mention that Henri had begun to stagger and show signs of weakening. Loyalty and compassion had been bred in this boy’s bones, Henri thought. For that reason alone, he had chosen Everand Mercier, a deceased cloth merchant’s youngest, to serve him. What a fine knight he would make one day, despite his size.

“There should be a settlement not far up the coast. We will bide there and send a message to my family,” he told the boy.

“We have little coin left to hire anyone for that, my lord,” Everand informed him. “Will it not involve their traveling near the width of Scotland?”

Henri halted and pulled the silver chain from around his neck. He also removed the ring he wore on his smallest finger, and shoved both pieces at the squire.

“If death takes me, use the chain and pay someone to cart us to Baincroft Castle in the Midlothian. The baron there, Lord Robert MacBain, will notify my father. He will have a care for your future.”

To his credit, Everand did not argue or offer assurances that death was impossible. He knew better. He only nodded and asked, “What of your ring, my lord?”

Henri smiled and reached out to lay his hand upon the small, bony shoulder. “The ring is yours to keep. Tell Lord Robert and my father that I would call you my son.”

Everand blushed and laughed with disbelief. “I, my lord? Look at me! I am as light as you are dark! That aside, they will never credit that you sired such a runt even if you were old enough at the time to have done so! Which you were not,” he added wryly. “I doubt me you were even…tall enough at the time.”

“Tall enough?” Henri chuckled in spite of himself, for his head had grown light as air. Ev could always draw a laugh from him, even in the darkest hour.

Though he knew the night was not yet near, the landscape seemed to darken and waver against the horizon. Henri sank to his knees and sat back on his heels. “Tell them, all the same. I claim you. Lord MacBain will accept this. He is a brother to me, yet we share no bond of blood.”

“But, sir, you cannot mean to deceive your family into thinking I am your bastard,” Ev argued.

“Of course not. Never think I would ask you to deny your legitimacy, Ev, or the good man who sired you. But I mean to adopt you here and now if you do not object to it. While you can never be heir to my title, you will inherit a portion of my personal wealth. You deserve that for all you have done for me.”

“Then I thank you, sir. Though you are too generous.”

Henri sucked in a pained breath. “I fear you were right on one issue, Ev. A rest might be in order.” He grasped his side and felt the sticky wetness warm his palm. After days of this, he must be nearly bled out.

He gave what he felt could be his final order. “Go and find that village and fetch a cart for us, Ev. I will wait for you here.”

Then Henri lay down on his good side and watched Everand’s short legs pumping nearly knee to chest as he raced up the coast to seek help. When the lad became a speck in the distance, Henri muttered a brief prayer, closed his eyes and welcomed sleep. For however long it lasted.

“Begone from here and leave me be!” Intrigued as Iana was by the young fellow who had constantly bedeviled her for the past half hour, she was not inclined to hie herself off with him on some wild errand of mercy. She had been busy all day in preparation for leaving Whitethistle. There simply was no time for this.

She shifted the sling bearing the sleeping child to a less awkward position on her back, lowered the bucket into the well and waited for it to fill. If she washed their clothing now, it would dry before nightfall. They could leave the village before sunrise.

Pity for the young lad’s plight prompted her to speak as she began tugging on the well rope to draw up the wash water. “I have heard there is a healer a league or so north of here. Get her to go with you.”

“You must come,” he insisted, impatiently shifting from one foot to the other. “Thus far you are the only person I have found who understands a word I say. Does your husband speak my language, too? I will explain our plight to him so he will let you come. He would be glad of the reward we offer, would he not?”

“I have no husband,” she replied. “Nor do I have time to waste upon some wounded vagabond. Now, off with you.” She picked up the bucket and turned to go.

“We are not mere wanderers, I swear. Sir Henri will die if I do not bring him help. Please!”

None in this godforsaken place spoke any French at all, that much was true, Iana granted. Even should this lad make himself understood, no one hereabout would trust him. Earnest as he seemed, what woman in her right mind would go blithely off down a deserted beach with him when he might have older friends waiting to ravish her or worse?

Yet she could see for herself that the boy was no beggar, nor did he look to be an outlaw seeking sport. His clothing, wrinkled and ruined as it was, possessed a richness foreign to these cottagers. His speech indicated a worthy education and his manner indicated gentility. She did not truly doubt he was what he declared, some knight’s squire.

Iana set down the bucket again and faced him, hands on her hips. It troubled her to think she could save someone with a few moments of her time and a handful of herbs, when he might otherwise die. “How far away did you leave this fine master of yours?”

“Only a short distance,” he assured her. He lied. She could see it in his eyes and rebuked him with her expression. “Very well, then,” he amended, shamefaced, “I admit it is a good two hours’ walk.”

“Two hours?” Iana threw up her hand and rolled her eyes. “Why me? Why would you think I know aught of healing?”

He perched his hands on his skinny hips and struck a superior stance. “Most ladies are taught such, are they not? How else would they care for the people in their charge? Please, lady. I would not ask, but he is sorely injured and needs to be stitched. I will pay you well.”

She eyed him shrewdly. “You call me lady. If you believe me that, why would you think I need your coin?”

The sandy-haired youth drew up to his full yet meager height and looked her up and down, judging. “Your demeanor and your speech betray your birth, even though you dress little better than a peasant,” he observed.

He glanced around at the nearby cottages of daub and wattle. “And you live here. I would venture you have fallen upon hard times. Through no fault of your own, I am certain,” he quickly added.

His last words disclosed his doubt of that, and he avoided looking at or mentioning the sleeping child. She had told him she had no husband. He probably thought she had disgraced herself with some man, and been cast out of her family for it. Not far off the mark concerning her station and her exile, she admitted, though he had the cause wrong.

“Sir Henri and I reward good deeds, I assure you,” he said.

With a few coins of her own, she could more easily quit this cursed village where Newell had left her to stew in her rebellion. For days now, she had been thinking that anywhere short of hell would be preferable to Whitethistle. Though she had nowhere to go and no way to get there, she had been about to attempt it in her desperation.

She knew if she did not, she must give up wee Tam. Newell would never allow her to keep the bairn once he found out about her, and none of the villagers would take the poor babe. Surely God had sent this young man to provide the ready means for her escape.

“How much will you give me?” she asked, trying not to sound too eager.

The boy withdrew a finely worked silver chain from inside his salt-crusted doublet for her to inspect. “This,” he offered regretfully. “It was to finance our journey east, but I suppose it will do us no good if Sir Henri dies from his hurt. Tend him and you may have it.”

Her eyes grew wide at the richness he held. She could separate those links and easily support herself and Tam for months to come. As quickly as that, she decided. “We must return to my cottage first and gather my things. His wound is a cut, you say?”

Relief flooded the boy’s eyes. “More like a gouge. Not terribly deep, so he tells me. We bound it up, but it has kept bleeding off and on for nigh a week now. Loss of blood and fever have weakened him, but it has no stink of decay.” He winced. “Yet.”

Iana nodded and led the way to her cottage. As luck would have it, none of the villagers were about. The men were busy fishing and the women preparing meals this time of day. Even the young ones had their chores. So much the better if no one noticed her leave with this young stranger.

It would take no time at all to collect her sewing implements and the few things she could not leave behind. Tam wakened as they entered, so Iana removed her from the sling and fed her the last of the bread and milk. She then set the child upon a small earthern pot. The lad made a hasty exit and waited outside.

“There, sweeting,” she crooned. “There’s my good Thomasina! Ah, you’re a braw lass, are you not?” Iana took a few moments to clean the child all over with a cloth and the water she had just drawn, and dress her in a fresh linen gown.

The large brown eyes regarded her with such trust Iana felt tears form. She brushed her palm over Tam’s dark, wispy curls. “No one will part us if I have aught to say to it,” she assured her. “You have lost too much this past month, as have I. Now, here we go, love,” Iana said as she set the pitifully thin foundling within the sling she had fashioned and wrestled it around to hang against her back. The burden had become a true comfort to Iana this past fortnight, a bit of warmth in her cold isolation.

The mother had died from a coughing sickness, pleading with her last breath that Iana take the child and help her survive. Little Tam had been near death herself, though from starvation rather than the illness that felled her mother.

Iana knew nothing about them other than the child’s forename and that the mother had been forced to leave the village some months before. Iana had found the two in the woods while gathering herbs. None of the villagers would speak of the mother, and they shunned the child as though she were a leper.

Other than her light weight in the back sling, the babe was no trouble. She ate when food was offered, relieved herself when Iana helped her, and she never cried. Judging by the number of teeth she had, Tam must be near two years of age, though she looked only half that and she could not walk. The first night when Iana had lifted the babe in her arms, Tam had reached up one hand, touched Iana’s cheek and uttered one faint mew like a kitten. Aye, Tam was hers now.

Iana looked up to see the boy reenter the cottage.

“Oats,” she muttered briskly, grabbing up the drawstring sack that held her supply, “and usquebaugh.” She handed the youth the jug to carry. The strong spirits would serve as well as any medicaments she could borrow from neighbors.

No one here had much use for the herbs Iana favored for treating wounds and sickness. They mostly relied on animal parts and old Druid remedies. The forest was full of better things. Iana added what she thought she’d need to her sack. The old healer at Ochney had been a good teacher. Iana only wished she had been able to remain there past her girlhood to learn more from her.

She bundled the few clothes she owned inside her shawl and knotted the ends together. Once she had sewn this knight’s wound, she would set out immediately for Ayr, the nearest good-sized port. A few silver links from the chain she had accepted from the young squire would gain her passage on the first ship leaving Scotland. Mayhaps to the Isle of Eire. She had heard that it was beautiful there and the folk a friendly lot.

Iana cared not where fate took her so long as it was away from here. If her brother found that this exile of hers had not taught her a lesson and changed her mind about wedding Douglas Sturrock, Iana did not doubt he would resort to much stronger measures. He had warned he did not wish to beat her into compliance. Little did he know what scant effect that would have. As if beating her once would make her accept a lifetime of beatings. Toads had more brains than Newell. The things his wife had told Iana about him indicated he had become nigh as dastardly as her own husband had been. Iana could scarcely believe it of her brother, but his own actions lent truth to Dorothea’s words.

Becoming wife to Sturrock offered about as much promise as had her first marriage. Iana might survive it if Newell forced the match, but wee Tam would not. The defenseless orphan would be left alone here to die. Now Iana had a way to avoid that, a definite chance of successfully saving them both.

The thought of that sped her steps so that the lad had to scurry to keep up.

“There was a battle at Portsmouth, you say?” she asked out of curiosity. “Have you French already invaded England? Where is this city?”

“The southern coast, lady. We had fired the place and were away home when the ship began taking on water. We signaled the nearest of our vessels, but she did not respond. Before we knew what was happening, we listed sharply and many went over the side. Then she sank like a stone.”

He paused, took a deep breath and then continued, “Sir Henri was injured by a broken spar. He fell against it as he released the barrels tied on the deck. We thought everyone might use those to float, though we saw no one else doing so. We believe all thirty souls perished, save ourselves.”

Iana shook her head and clicked her tongue in sympathy. She had no political leanings whatsoever, but it seemed a shame so many should die in any cause. Scotland had always sided with the French, of course. Her own King David had sought asylum in France the past few years while Bailliol, friend to the English king, had usurped Scotland’s crown.

Here in the west country, it mattered little who ruled. Life went on the same as ever. But she would break away from here before the day was out and make her own way in the world.

No one at Ochney Castle would know where she went. Newell would come in three days to ask whether she was ready to surrender her will in the marriage matter. The thought of him discovering her mysterious disappearance made her smile with satisfaction.

They had trudged along for some time when the boy, Everand, suddenly passed her at a run. “There! There he lies! Come quickly, lady. Hurry!”

She watched him drop beside his master and tenderly lift the man’s head upon his knees, cradling the face as though feeling for fever. Soon she stood directly over the two and looked down upon the man she was to care for.

Not an old man, as she had imagined. She guessed him to be thirty years, mayhaps a few past that, but not many. He was a large fellow and darkly handsome. Blood loss accounted for the sickly pallor of his skin beneath the short, thick beard. Sand coated one side of the long dark locks that must reach his shoulders when he stood upright. He was unconscious, maybe even dead already.

“Move out of the way,” she instructed the squire as she knelt. Carefully, she untied the sling and set the baby behind her on the sand. To the boy, she ordered, “Mind the child for me if you wish me to do this.”

Iana tugged aside the blood-soaked clothing and began to pull loose the wrappings around the man’s midsection.

“God have mercy,” she muttered when she saw the angry wound. She spoke to the lad again. “Gather some wood and build a fire. It looks as if we shall be here for a while.” Though she knew it would be wiser to leave within the hour, Iana could not bring herself to desert this knight or to rush his care.

He opened his eyes, but she could see that he did not focus well. Fever, she guessed.

“Take the boy to Baincroft. Anything you want,” he mumbled in her own language.

“And leave you here like this?” she asked wryly. “I do not think your little man would allow it.”

He blinked hard and his lips lifted in either a pained smile or a grimace. “No, I suppose not,” he mumbled. His accent proved faint, but there was no mistaking he was French. “Then I thank you for…helping.” His eyes drifted shut.

Iana uttered a mirthless laugh. “You might want to delay that gratitude, sir. I am about to deal you more pain than you already bear.”

When the boy returned with the dry deadwood, she found her flint and tow to make the fire. When she’d accomplished that, she fished a small metal bowl from her belongings and handed it to the squire. “Fill this with seawater.” Then she sat back to wait, snuggling the silent Tam against her side.

Henri struggled to hold his gaze on the woman’s face as she worked upon him. Efficient as a moneylender counting coins, he thought, while she removed his tunic and bathed his body in the seawater Ev had fetched for her.

The sting of the cleansing troubled him little more than the constant throbbing pain he had endured for days. When she glanced worriedly at his face, he summoned a smile, knowing she would think him brave and stoic. His small deception pleased him, having a lovely woman believe him so. In truth, he was half-dead already and quite well used to the agony of dying. He would make a good end of it. Not one whimper.

She lifted a small container to pour some liquid over his wound. The excruciating fire of it tore a groan from his throat.

“Felt that, did you?” she asked. “It will get worse.”

He clenched his teeth to trap the blasphemy that almost escaped. As reassurances went, hers was not welcome.

She put the jug of that same liquid to his lips and bade him drink deeply. He did so more than once, immediately realizing that it was the Scots’ famous water of life. It burned his throat as viciously as it had his wound. He’d had this stuff before and knew a blessed numbness would follow, a drunkenness from which he might never wake.

“’Twill take a few moments to work upon your senses,” she told him. Then she set the jug aside and took out a needle the length of his smallest finger. To the eye of it, she guided a full ell of thread.

“By the saints,” he muttered. “You’d sew me with pikestaff and rope?”

“Aye, and glad of it you’ll be,” she said, adding ruefully, “but not right soon.”

The languor offered by the spirits began to envelop him in its warm cocoon. The sun was setting now. He could see the last rays of it dancing across the waves. Idly, he wondered if he would ever see it rise again. No matter. “Have your way then, madam.”

His eyes closed of their own accord, though he’d faintly hoped to expire while gazing upon her striking features. He forced them open again to see whether he had imagined her beauty. She looked the same.

Strange to find such a one here in the hinterlands. Though he had seen a good portion of Scotland in his day, he had never come this far to the west. For some reason he had imagined there would be only tall, ruddy maids with wild, matted locks and thick, sturdy limbs. Unruly Viking stock combined with the fierce warring spirit of the Old Ones.

Not this woman. She appeared almost delicate, her movements graceful as those of a nimble hart. Her skin brought to mind fresh cream reflecting firelight. Sparks glinted in the depths of her sin-dark eyes each time her gaze caught his own. If only he could see her hair. Smooth, silken and long enough to reach her waist, he imagined, though she had it properly covered so that he could not even guess its true color. Dark, he thought, because her brows were. How he would love to see her hair, run his fingers through its smoothness. Oh well, he supposed he would soon be past pleasures of the flesh.

He turned his head slightly, and there was Ev, sitting cross-legged beside the fire. In his lap sat a small, thin, ethereal creature with eyes the size of walnuts, peering at him curiously. A child? Where had it come from?

It looked unreal, its eyes old, its mouth frowning, its body nearly wasted away. The sight of it made him want to curl an arm around it and shelter it. As though he had sent that silent message to his squire, Everand did so in his stead. The boy’s act comforted Henri as nothing else could have done at that moment. A fine knight Ev would make one day, he thought yet again.

Henri looked back to the woman, wondering whether he had conjured up both these strangers. The fever fogged his brain, he decided, giving him visions of both hope and despair. The one of hope seemed more real to him, definitely healthier, and he clung to her winsome visage.

He allowed his lids to drop once more, content to hold her image for as long as his mind worked. Drifting into permanent oblivion, entertained by such a vision, possessed great appeal.

Suddenly he jerked and howled, “God’s nails!”

She quickly flinched away from his upraised arm, the needle held aloft in front of her. “You must hold still!” she said firmly.

He followed the taut line of thread and saw it attached to the raw edge of his skin. If he was not dying already, she would surely kill him on the spot.

“I shall hold him down,” he heard Everand say in a deep voice, as though he were a man full grown and oak sturdy.

Henri almost laughed aloud at the idea of small Ev rendering him immobile. Instead, he upended the jug and downed the remainder of the strong brew that promised surcease from his torture. He was already drunk, but not drunk enough.

“Go to,” he gasped to the healer. “Everand will restrain me. He has more strength than his size allows.”

Henri knew he must lie still and bear it without moving, or else Ev would lose face. At least one of them should retain some dignity before their lovely benefactress, and Henri knew he had already forfeited his own.

At long last, she announced, “There, ’tis done.”

Henri tasted blood in his mouth where he had bitten the inside of his cheek. He turned his head and spat as soon as Ev released his arms.

Again, he spied that child of the ether, the one he had imagined before. It sat upon the sand, silently sucking upon one finger, those large, hopelessly sad eyes trained upon him still, weeping inwardly without sound or tears. Was it a shade awaiting the release of his soul?

Never in his life had he wished to faint. Now certainly would be an excellent time for it. Talons of fire gripped him like the sharp, unrelenting claw of a dragon.

The woman pressed a cool, wet cloth to his face and moved it gently as she spoke. “You must sleep now. I shall return anon with a litter and remove you to a place of shelter. Likely ’twill rain before morn.”

“Will I live?” he asked, doubting even she could save anyone so damaged and untended for days. The fever had caught up with him two days ago and raged worse as the hours passed. Now it had him seeing ghost children and thinking death might be welcome, after all.

She did not hesitate in answering him honestly. “Anything is possible. I have done all that I can do. The rest is up to you and God.”

Henri reached for her hand, grasping the long, slender fingers as tightly as he could. “You will not leave us then?”

Indecision marred her brow, then vanished, to leave a look of resignation. “Nay, I will not. Your lad promised me the silver chain in return for my care of you.”

“Alive or dead. That was to be the offer,” Henri bargained, hearing his own words slur. “You will see me to my brother’s home…either way.” When she looked as if she might object, he added, “It is too much silver for so few stitches and a meager taste of spirits. Be fair.”

For a time she considered his words, then she nodded, replaced her implements within their sack and pulled the cord tight to close it. “If you live, I will tend you until you can do for yourself. If you do not recover, I shall wrap you, pack you in clay and transport you to the place you wish to go. Your squire will show me the way, aye?”

Henri heard Ev’s sound of protest and turned to him, though he also spoke for the woman’s information. “Go east and cross the Firth of Clyde. After you pass the hills on the far side, ask directions either to Baincroft or the castle of Trouville.”

“So be it,” she declared, then pulled her hand from his, rose and turned away.

“A moment more, madam,” Henri rasped. “I would know your name.”

She looked over her shoulder and, after a brief hesitation, told him. “Iana…of Ayr.”

“A free woman?” he demanded gruffly, though he would not retract the offer even if she were not. He only needed to know whether they would be followed by some irate laird intent on recapturing his comely healer.

“Free?” she asked, puzzled, as if the word were foreign to her. A light dawned in her eyes, even as he watched. “Aye, I am that,” she said then, “free as a lark. And I fully intend to stay so for as long as I live. I shall see you to this place called Baincroft, and your family will reward me by giving me work to do.”

Trusting that Everand would be in capable hands, Henri surrendered to his fevered dreams.




Chapter Two


Iana instructed the boy to mind Tam for her, and hurried away into the night. She had warned him that his master’s fate rested upon how well he minded the child. His lack of reluctance for the task surprised her and made her feel guilty for the untruth. She hated lying.

It was no lie she had told the knight, however, saying that she was free. This heaven-sent bargain of his had granted her that freedom. He did not need to know how long she had considered herself unfettered, now did he?

Iana felt fairly certain she could keep him alive, and devoutly hoped she would succeed in doing so. The wound was not deep, nor had it festered. However, the loss of blood or fever might well take him yet, unless she dosed him heavily with herbs and kept him warm and dry for several days before attempting to travel.

It certainly would be more advantageous for her if she did not arrive at his brother’s home with a dead body. Besides that, she rather liked the lad, Everand, who doted on his master and was kind to Tam. Iana did not want to see him grieve.

Taking the man to her cottage at the edge of the village was not possible. He might be discovered there. If it became known that she entertained a man within her temporary home, her brother would likely do more than beat her when he found out. And if they remained there until the knight was fit to travel, it would be time for Newell to come for her answer. They had but three days to get well away.

’Twould be best if they repaired to a nearby cave. She knew of one that would suffice. It was where she had planned to go with Tam and hide from her brother until he gave up searching. Getting the knight there would be the problem. He could not walk and she had no beast for him to ride. Her only recourse was to obtain one somehow.

Or why not three? She’d pay no more dearly for them than for a single animal if she were caught. Hanged was hanged. Besides, she did not fancy trudging the breadth of Scotland with Tam on her back, dragging the knight on a litter with only the help of a lad.

The nearest village to Whitethistle stood at least two leagues distant. She knew it well, for it rested upon the estate of her dead husband, the demented old lout who had never given her anything before he died other than two years of abject misery.

His family had taken all of her jewelry from her and kept her dowry as well, so surely his cursed sons by his first wife owed Iana something for enduring their father without complaint. There should be at least three mounts enclosed in a stable somewhere thereabout.

Iana lifted her skirts and quickened her pace. If she was to become a reiver tonight, then she had best be about the business of it before good sense took hold.

Henri opened his eyes to total darkness. There were no stars above him. No moon. Nothing. For a moment, he believed death had claimed all but his awareness and the ever-present pain. He sensed he was enclosed somehow, not out in the open. Then he heard Everand’s almost inaudible snoring nearby, interspersed with the distant, soft whuffle of a horse. Was this a stable?

“Ev?” he whispered.

A cool hand brushed his brow. The woman. He drew in her scent, that of sweet grasses and the underlying essence that marked her gender. “Where are we?” he asked.

“In a cave,” she answered, her voice dulcet and comforting. She placed something to his lips. “Chew upon this. It will aid your rest and cool your fever.”

He accepted it and tasted green bark. Foul stuff, but given that she had sewn him up and rescued him from the elements, he granted her that modicum of trust. Henri chewed for a few moments, then removed the bitter residue from his mouth.

“We leave here come morning,” he told her.

“So eager,” she commented with a soft laugh. “I fear it will be at least another day before you are well enough to ride, good sir.”

“I have sailed the entire length of England in worse condition. I daresay a few days on horseback will not prove any more life-threatening.”

“As you will, then,” she replied softly. “But now you must sleep, sir.”

“Henri,” he whispered, groping about for her hand until he found it and threaded his fingers through hers. It helped to feel grounded here in this dark place, so he would not go flying off into the beyond. The feeling of hanging suspended in purgatory when he’d awakened must have affected him more than he realized. “My name is Henri.”

He realized he must be more fevered than he thought, to invite this informality with a woman. Even his mistresses did not address him so, and he had never before encouraged such a thing. However, she thought him but a simple knight, apparently. That made sense, for when they had set out upon their voyage, he had instructed Everand not to call him “lord.” Most of the time Henri preferred the simplicity of being a knight among other knights, instead of the heir to the Trouville dynasty. It afforded him more friendship and camaraderie. He definitely wished a friendship with this woman, he thought with an inner smile.

“I am Iana,” she said.

“I remember. Iana,” he added, for no reason but to say it, tasting her name on his tongue. Like honey, it sweetened the bitter taste of the bark. “Your father is called Ian, I would wager.”

“My grandfather,” she replied. He could hear the smile in her voice.

“I know an Ian,” he told her idly, his words slurring as his mind grew heavy with fatigue. “A rogue, he is.”

Again, she laughed, a mere flutter of sound that soothed him immeasurably. “Rest now…Henri,” she advised softly.

The sharpness of his aches had subsided. The coolness of her palm seemed to draw the heat from him. “Magic,” he commented, smiling into the dark.

He listened, imagining he could hear her heart beating a steady rhythm, or mayhaps it was his own. A horse whuffled again and Ev made a sleepy sound of protest, likely in response to a dream. For the first time in weeks, Henri felt safe enough and well enough that he could willingly embrace sleep without thinking of death.

“These are your horses, lady?” Everand demanded. He stroked the neck of the smallest mount, a mare who tended to nip.

She shrugged. “They are now.”

He grinned impishly, showing fine white teeth and dimples. “You stole them, did you not? I knew it last night when you returned after so many hours. Did you kill someone for them?”

“Of course,” she said, then wrinkled her nose at him in jest. Iana held tightly to the rope attached to the large cob, allowing only enough slack for the horse to bend its neck and drink from the stream. “In truth, I left a link of the silver for payment.”

With her free hand, she patted the knight’s chain, coiled within the sack attached to her belt, and took pleasure in the clinking. “When the moment arrived to take the beasts, I found I could not become a thief.”

“Aha,” he acknowledged with a sage expression. “An honorable soul. I do admire that in a woman.”

The lad’s sudden transformations from child to jaded gentleman and back again amused Iana. ’Twas hard not to laugh at his pretentiousness. “How old are you, Everand?”

“Fourteen summers. And you, lady?”

She did laugh then, but answered him honestly. “You should not ask such of a woman. I am two and twenty.”

He looked aghast. “I swear by the saints, I would have guessed not more than ten and seven. How well you wear your years!”

Iana could not contain her mirth. “An accomplished flatterer. I do admire that in a man,” she declared, giving him back his compliment. “Now come, we must get these mounts back inside that cave ere someone happens along and sees us with them. I should not enjoy swinging from a gibbet!”

“But you paid more than their worth,” he argued. “What is to fear?”

She turned to lead the cob and the roan back to their hiding place. “Aye, but I did not strike a deal with their owners. It may be they were not willing to sell. Now hurry along, your master will be waking soon and wonder where we are.”

Everand paused to fill the wooden bucket Iana had appropriated from the stables where she gleaned the horses. Hauling that with one hand and leading the mare with the other, he followed her.

“Two and twenty, eh? You said you have no husband. Have you never wished to marry, lady?” he asked as they walked. Though he had had the care of Tam the night before, he still avoided mentioning the existence of the child, who now lay nestled against Iana’s back.

“No, I never wished to wed, but I did so all the same,” she answered curtly, unwilling to lie to the boy, but also disinclined to share her tale of woe. If he and his master knew the entire story and the plans her brother now had for her, they might well leave her behind to avoid trouble. “My husband perished last year, and I will speak no more of him.”

“Aha,” the lad said, “so this is how you became impoverished. Poor lady. You should marry again, this time to one who would have a care to provide for your future. And that of your child,” he added, commenting for the first time on Tam’s presence. Iana supposed the fact that he now thought the bairn had a father made her acceptable enough to mention.

“’Tis none of your affair,” she snapped. “Be silent ere I box your ears.”

“Ooh, a woman with pluck,” he crooned in that too-adult voice of his. “I also like that about you.”

The impudent little nodcock. Iana was still shaking her head when they arrived back at the cave.

She had chosen well their place of concealment. The hollow extended deeply into the side of the hill, its opening a crevice barely wide enough to squeeze the mounts through. The interior widened to a cavity nearly the size of her small cottage, offering plenty of room to house the horses. Through another narrow passage there lay a chamber half the size of the first, but still adequate for her, Tam, the lad and his master to sleep without crowding each other.

She had dared not build a fire inside. If there existed an opening for the smoke to waft out, it might be spotted. If not, they would surely choke on it.

The only light within their sleeping chamber was a small oil lamp that she had brought from the cottage. How she would replace the oil when it burned away, Iana did not know. She had left it burning, half-full, so that the knight—Henri, she recalled—would not awaken in darkness while they were gone.

“Water, berries and dry oats,” she announced to Everand and the man, who had dragged himself up to sit against the wall of the cave. “That must do for today.”

The knight’s gaze immediately locked upon Tam, whom Iana could feel peeking over her right shoulder. He said nothing about the child, but looked somehow relieved and puzzled and disappointed all at once. Shifting slightly, she felt Tam curl into a ball against her back, hiding herself.

“Why can we not buy food?” the squire demanded, plopping down beside his liege. “You have the silver. Your village is nearby.”

Iana sighed. How could she explain why they must remain hidden without giving them the real reasons? If she were indeed a free woman, what was to stop her from adequately provisioning them for the trip and setting out upon it without this subterfuge?

The knight’s bargain was that she deliver him to Baincroft in return for the silver. If they did not want to trouble themselves with a runaway lady whose brother might be offended enough to punish them if they were caught together, she would be forced to relinquish what was left of the valuable chain, and remain behind. Newell surely would find her then, she would be wed and Tam would likely die when taken away from her.

Iana busied herself apportioning the food as she considered whether she should lie. She could sell the horses and go her own way. But no doubt the owners would be looking for them, expecting the one who took them to try to sell or barter them somewhere. Women did not make such trades or sales. She would be conspicuous, and therefore remembered.

Newell would track her that way as surely as if she left a trail apurpose. No, she must remain with this knight and squire, travel with them for her own protection, and do so in secret. Her brother would be searching for a woman alone.

They both watched her, waiting for her to answer. A half-truth, then, she decided, a play upon their knightly inclinations to protect the weak.

“There is this cruel man who wishes me to marry. If I simply disappear, mayhaps he will forget I exist. However, if he hears that I have acquired silver, the greedy fool might chase me to the ends of the earth.” Her brother might do that anyway.

And Douglas Sturrock might, as well. She still did not know what Newell had promised the man to make him consider the match. Her youth and beauty were gone now, and Duncan had left her nothing, not even her dower lands.

Neither knight nor squire said a word. They merely watched her as though waiting for her to continue.

“This is why I brought you here instead of to my cottage,” she added. “This man would see your presence there as a challenge. I do not wish to be taken by force and made wife to a man who would mistreat me and this child. Nor would I wish you harmed on my account. So we must hide.”

The one called Henri stirred slightly, resettling to make himself more comfortable, she supposed. His measured words surprised her. “This fellow you speak of has not forced you to it yet. And I know the law here prevents wedding a woman against her will.”

“Aye, true enough,” she replied. “But there are many ways to bend one’s will, especially a woman’s.”

“Some men are not kind to their wives, that is true.” He seemed to consider that before he asked, “But why would you worry for the child? Surely this man would not risk the wrath of your husband’s family by harming it. A clan war is nothing to court, so I understand.”

“The child is not of my husband,” she answered, offering no explanation.

“Ah, I see.” He cleared his throat and seemed at a loss for words after that.

The boy spoke instead. “Whose child is she?”

Iana pressed her lips together and looked away. Then she declared defiantly, “Thomasina is mine.”

“What would you have done had we not arrived and given you means to hie yourself away?” the knight asked her.

There was a very good question. Iana shrugged and grimaced. “Eventually surrender, I suppose.”

The lad laughed gleefully and slapped his upraised knee. “Ha! When the snakes return to Eire.”

“What mean you by that, Ev?” the knight demanded.

Everand turned to his master and explained in a condescending voice as he shoved his upraised palm in her direction. “Here stands a woman who has buried one husband, endured living in a hovel among peasants, and breached propriety by sleeping in the wild with two men. She also stole away three mounts from sleeping villagers. You believe such a brave spirit would lie down for some sluggard without stones enough to have taken her already?” He crossed his skinny arms over his chest and tossed her a wink, then added sagely, “I think not.”

Iana saw the knight bite back a smile. “Two men in the wild?” he repeated. “I would say that alone qualifies her as most daring. As you say, it appears she has spirit. Now eat your berries, Ev, and govern that mind and tongue of yours.”

The lad readily obeyed, wearing the smug expression of one who had divined all the answers necessary when no one else present was wise enough to do so.

“You seem much better, sir,” Iana observed, desperate to change the topic of their discussion. “How fares the wound?”

He lightly touched the wrapping, which remained free of new blood. “Painful, but healing, no doubt. I feel much stronger after sleeping for so long. Again, I thank you for your care and for agreeing to accompany us.”

She measured out the oats into her metal pan and added water to soak them soft. “I shall need more than the silver as reward for tending you on your journey,” she dared tell him.

His narrowed eyes warned her against greed, though she did not think what she would ask counted as that.

“I will require employment in this new place. You must speak for my skills with this lord of Baincroft who is your brother.”

“In all truth, we have no blood tie, save that we share a half sister. Our widowed parents wed when we were but lads. So we have a bond forged early that is as unbreakable as true kinship. Robert will make a home for you and the babe at Baincroft if that is your wish.”

If they could only reach the other side of Scotland, all would be well, Iana thought. Newell would never think to look for her so far afield. But the chain’s rich links would not last forever. “I must have your promise of this work, sir, for I shall have no other means of income once the silver you gave me has been used up.”

He looked offended that she would demand his word. “I give you my vow that I will ask my brother to make a place for you. However, he might already have a healer in residence. If so, I do swear that I will provide for you myself.”

“For what services?” she asked, sorely afraid she could guess. His brother was a lord, which meant he must be the younger, making his way as best he could fighting for the French. Such a one would not hand out his hard-earned coin in charity any more than she would whore for it.

Everand growled a suggestive chuckle. Apparently, the thought of her working on her back had occurred to him as well, but the knight’s hand on the lad’s arm cut short whatever he might have said.

“Whatever services you choose to bestow,” Sir Henri answered. “Have I offered by any look, word or deed to besmirch your honor?”

Iana would not be put off by his lofty indignation. Men, noble or ignoble, were not to be trusted. “Nay, I’ll grant that you have not.”

She flicked an accusing glance toward Everand, who certainly had done so. He had the grace to lower his impudent gaze as she continued, “However, you are in no shape to offer me insult at the moment. How am I to know what you might expect of me once you are hale? I should make clear at the outset that I will be beholden to no man, be he gentleman or rogue. Find me work, sir, of an honest nature or I shall be obliged to call you knave to all, and ’twill be your fine honor besmirched, not my own!”

She immediately saw she had pricked his anger to a rolling boil, damn her quick tongue. Now he would want to be quit of her for certain. Desperate, she attempted to sweeten his temper. “I beg you do not take offense, sir…Henri. A woman with no defender must needs use what means she has to enforce—”

“Cease this foolish prattle!” he barked. “I have no designs upon your person, lady. And I can see you are a lady. Or were at one time. Rest assured, you have nothing to fear from me.”

“And the cub?” She nodded toward Everand. The lad’s fair head jerked up, and he glared at her in disbelief that she would even think to fear his advances. Or mayhaps he was simply offended that she had called him cub.

She noted the quiver of Henri’s lips, as though he had squelched a sudden burst of laughter. In an instant, he had schooled his features into a mask of solemnity. “Everand will not offer you abuse. My son does as I bid him do.”

“Son?” she and Everand asked in unison.

“Son,” Henri repeated, looking directly at the lad. “I have told you I would call you mine. You wear my signet. Why do you question me?”

“Well, you are not going to die now.” The lad’s voice cracked, betraying his uncertainty.

“So much the better. You’ll not be orphaned twice in the space of a year.”

Evarand cleared his throat and sat straighter, twisting the gold signet ring he wore on his middle finger. “I am unused to it is all. My apologies, sir…Father.”

“Accepted. Now give this lady your promise to protect her body and her virtue, so she will not suspect you of plotting evil deeds against her.”

Everand turned to Iana and scrambled up so that he knelt before her. “I so promise. You have naught to fear, lady.”

“My eternal gratitude, Everand,” she replied formally, struck by the silliness of his gesture. He was so small, she could flatten him with a slap if he dared to touch her, which she was certain he would never do in any case.

“That’s settled then,” Everand announced, scooting back to sit beside Sir Henri. The lad shrugged and grabbed another handful of the berries as he added in a deep, gravelly voice, “I never care to sport with unwilling wenches, anyway.”

Henri collapsed in a fit of coughing and Iana laughed outright. Everand chewed his berries and smiled.

It boded well, she thought, that fate had sent her these two. In truth, she had no fear of the knight. She could outrun him easily in his condition, and probably even after he had recovered. He was of such tall stature, she doubted he would prove very agile. The lad, she liked immensely, impertinent as he was. He was scarcely old enough or big enough to offer any true threat.

Though she admittedly found Henri handsome and possessed of a quick wit, Iana had no intention of granting him any favors, now or in future.

That devil’s minion, James Duncan, had soundly cured her of wishing to cohabit with a man for any reason, be it lawful matrimony or otherwise.

Now there was no need to worry. She had decided. She was free forever of any man’s will.




Chapter Three


Henri spent the afternoon alternately testing his strength and resting from the effort. His fever had abated that morning, only to return at nightfall.

The lady Iana did not seem overly concerned about that, but still dosed him as she had the night before.

Though he had many questions about her life in the village and why she was there, he did not ask them. Nor did he demand to know the paternity of the child. If it were her bastard, that would explain why she had lost favor with her own family and that of her dead husband. That certainly would be cause for her banishment and her mean existence. Henri did not want to know of it, he told himself. He did not wish to think of her as less than a lady.

She had saved him and he owed her his kind regard, despite anything dishonorable she might have done.

He could not fault her care of him in any way, for she was most solicitous. At times, too much so to suit him.

“I detest this bark,” he complained, popping a piece into his mouth when she insisted.

“Willow cools you and also reduces pain,” Iana explained. “I do swear ’tis nothing short of wondrous how quickly you are mending.”

He had to admit he felt better than he had since the ship sank. “What else have you to make me well again?”

“Tomorrow I hope to find yarrow to ease the soreness.” She handed him a wooden cup filled with water. “Drink this when you’ve finished with the bark. Then go to sleep.”

“Must I sleep, too?” Everand asked plaintively. “I’m not wounded.”

Iana smiled at him. “Aye, if we are to get an early start, we should all have plenty of rest.”

Well before dawn they emerged from the cave into the dewy darkness and began their journey. Henri ignored the stinging pains in his side, made worse by the slow rocking motion of the wide-backed bay that carried him.

Lady Iana had advised them to travel silently, but he saw no point in it. No one would be about this time of morning. Those with any sense at all would still be sleeping.

The waning moon barely gave off enough light to keep them from riding straight into the tree trunks. Soon it would be gone altogether in that darkest hour before the sun rose. Then, he supposed, they must ride with their hands before their faces to avoid low-hanging limbs.

“Do you think her suitor will give chase when he finds her gone?” Ev whispered from behind him. “We are hardly armed for a fight.”

Henri turned slightly to answer. “Very likely he will follow. In his place, I would. She is a comely woman.”

Everand’s soft, knowing chuckle made him smile. The boy had only recently shown any interest in females, but when the notion that he liked them struck, it had done so with the force of a battle-ax.

“What are we to do if that happens?” he asked Henri.

“Stand against him. Give her time to flee with the babe. I have my dagger and you have yours.”

Everand scoffed. “Mine is hardly larger than a paltry eating knife.”

“And you well know how to use it, not only at table,” Henri reminded in a chastising tone. “A blade is a blade, Ev. Remember your training.”

“Silence!” The order came from the lady. “You’ll be heard from here to the coast.”

Had she been listening when he’d called her comely? Henri wondered. She was that and more. Aside from that beauty, he had to admire her strength of purpose. For a woman, she certainly had proved resourceful. Left alone to fend for herself and that poor mite of a child, she seemed to seize every opportunity. Henri was happy he had provided one for her. He much feared what could have happened if she had continued to live there unprotected. Of course, he planned to see that she had what she needed to live comfortably after this.

He had her to thank for his life. Surely he would have died if she had not agreed to help and had not stopped his wound’s bleeding. Even then, he might well have perished from this cursed fever had she not found a place of shelter and fed him that thrice-damned bark.

Who was she, really? Highborn, he strongly suspected. No peasants, few free men and almost none of their women should be able to speak such excellent French. She had been tutored by someone, and none too briefly, at that.

Her frequently imperious manner indicated she had once held a position of some power, one important enough so that she fully expected to be obeyed when she issued an order. That supported her tale of the dead husband, a noble one with a household for her to direct.

Then again, she might have been a player or singer, one of a troupe of jongleurs who had only observed the behavior of nobles and thought to copy it. They traveled much, which could explain her French. Surely that had not been her lot of late, with a babe in tow. Of course, she might have been some lord’s leman who had acquired these attributes from her generous lover, got with child and been cast off by him.

Henri realized he might never know the truth about her, for he surely owed her the right to keep her secrets after all she had done for him. Yet curiosity bedeviled him as they rode for what seemed hours on end.

He had not been on horseback for several months, having spent that time at sea. Aside from the increasing discomfort of his wound, muscles unused for that while screamed in protest of the long hours riding bareback.

Soon he did not care who Iana was or what untruths she might have fed him. All he wanted was for her to cry off this journey for a while, so he would not need to ask for mercy. He had little pride left as it was.

The tantalizing burble of the stream they had followed since they’d left the cave beckoned powerfully. How good it would feel to lie down and wallow in the coolness of it. He had yet to wash the sea salt from his body and his clothing.

“We must rest and water the mounts,” he declared when he could bear it no longer.

She turned with a look of concern and immediately reined in. “Are you bleeding?”

Henri almost lied, certain it would be worth it to rip open his wound if that was what it took to get him off the horse. “No,” he snapped, as he leaned forward, slid one leg over the bay’s back and quickly dismounted before she could object. He grabbed on to the mane when his traitorous legs buckled beneath him.

He noted with satisfaction that she had a similar problem. Though she obviously knew how to ride—another clue that she was no underling—it was clear that Iana had not sat a horse lately for any length of time.

“You should have stolen saddles as well,” he told her, softening the rebuke with a forced grin.

Ev hurried forward and took the reins of Henri’s bay. “At least she managed to bring the tack, sir,” he declared in defense of her. “We might have had to make do with ropes of braided grass.”

“This way,” she ordered, dismissing Henri’s complaints as unimportant. Limping a bit, likely due to the weight of the babe, she led her roan mare through the trees to a very small clearing beside the shallow stream. “We shall rest here for a short while.”

What was her bloody hurry? Another mystery to solve. If the man who wished her hand in marriage—if such a one truly existed—were persistent enough to trail after her, he would still need time to discover that she was missing. She had been gone only one night and half a day.

Henri looked up through the trees. It was just before midday. “We should wait until the sun is not directly overhead,” he advised, “else we could err in our direction.”

“Oh? Very well,” she agreed reluctantly. “Sit. I will portion out our food.”

She untied the cloth from around her shoulders and set the child upon the grass. It did not move, like a fawn protecting itself by its immobility.

Henri observed it closely for some moments, reluctantly meeting the wary brown gaze it fastened upon him. He offered his finger to grasp. “Have you a name?” he asked softly.

“Her name is Thomasina. Tam,” Lady Iana informed him. “She does not speak.”

“Is she ill?” he asked, quite concerned about the too slender limbs and protruding belly. Even the child’s dark hair grew in thin and wisplike. “Does she eat well?”

A sharp “aye” was the only answer he got as Iana busied herself with the victuals. What did that mean? he wondered. Aye, she was ill, or aye, she ate well?

“So, Tam,” he said softly, offering her his hand, palm up. “What a gentle sprite you are.” The baby ignored his overture, but her lips parted as if she would utter something. Then she suddenly ducked her head and stuck her finger in her mouth.

He liked babies, though he had seen few of them since his sister was born some sixteen years ago. Alys had been nothing like this one. As he recalled, it had required three nurses, taking shifts on guard, to keep that rapscallion confined to the keep. He could still remember her earsplitting screeches when things did not go her way. The memory made him smile.

Iana shoved his share of the food toward him, cupped in a large leaf.

Oats and berries again, fewer than last eve, he noticed. “Suppose I catch some fish,” he offered.

“With what?” she asked curtly. “And if you managed that miracle, should we eat them raw? We cannot risk a fire to cook them.”

“Why not?” Ev queried before Henri could form the same words.

“Because…because someone might see and come to inquire who we are and why we are here. I did take these horses. We would all be hanged for thieves if the owners did not find, or else chose not to accept, the silver I left them in exchange.”

Henri knew that was not the real reason. She truly feared someone else was coming after them. “I shall deal with your erstwhile suitor if he troubles you,” he assured her.

She laughed and rolled her eyes, clearly not trusting that possibility. He could not recall a time when anyone doubted his prowess. That stung, especially in light of his recent loss of dignity before this woman.

Henri withdrew the long, wicked dagger from his soft leather boot and raised one brow. Question that, if you will, he dared silently.

“No man wields a short blade better, lady,” Ev told her.

Iana paled at the sight of it. Many had done so before her, for different and more urgent reasons.

Once she recovered, however, she warned him. “Even that weapon would not be proof against his sword. He wields it well…so I am told.”

Sword? Then this man who might come after her was knight or noble for certain. This did not surprise him. “I have yet to taste defeat at any man’s hand,” he declared. Only at the hand of the elements, the sea, he mutely added, the thought neatly dashing his pride. He replaced the knife in his boot.

For a time, he looked away from her and across the brook, seeing nothing, his mind on the men who had died in service to him. A small comforting warmth nestled softly against his left hip. The tickle of small fingers touched his hand where it rested against his thigh.

“Tam?” he whispered, and looked down. When he glanced at her mother to see whether she minded, he did not miss the unshed tears in her eyes. Yet she was smiling. It made no sense, but then nothing much had since he had set sail from France.

After a while, Iana reached for the baby and settled her on her skirts. He watched the feeding as if they were two strange creatures he had come upon in the wild.

“How anyone can enjoy that is a true source of amazement,” Henri commented when Tam had finished eating. He poked at his portion of the food. “I hate oats,” he muttered, staring at the offensive handful of grain. “It is the one thing about Scotland I truly abhor. Everyone eats oats. Munching them dry makes me feel like neighing and stamping my feet.”

To his surprise, Iana laughed, charming him unexpectedly with the sound and sight. “Do as I did. Add water,” she advised, inclining her head toward the brook.

He frowned down at the grain. “And make glue? I am of the opinion it sticks together the sides of one’s stomach so it does not feel so empty. The sole purpose of the mess.”

Henri leaned over and scooped up a bit of water from the stream. “A bit of mud for more crunch. Several minnows,” he said. “Voilà. A veritable feast.”

Stuffing his mouth full, he chewed with determination and very real dissatisfaction.

Iana giggled like a child, covering her mouth with one hand. Above it, her eyes twinkled merrily. A beautiful, clear brown, they were, like the finest ale. And just as intoxicating.

Henri thought he might go to extravagant lengths to see her laugh again. The sight and sound of it did something strange to his insides, like lifting his heart in his chest, making it feel light as a feather.

How long since a woman had dosed him with instant happiness? Too long, obviously. He smiled, completely forgetting his aches and the taste of oats.

It was then he noted Ev, frowning at Iana, at him, and again at her. With the quickness of a woodsprite, the boy abandoned the reins of the two mounts drinking at the edge of the burn and dashed off into the woods.

Ah, the old green-eyed monster, Henri deduced. Question was, did the boy resent his attention to Iana or was it the other way round?

Since Everand had been the one to find Iana, he might well imagine he had first claim to her regard. She was a beautiful woman and Ev had only just discovered the joy in having one of those nearby.

Then again, the boy had held the place of primary importance in Henri’s life these past few months. First keeping Ev alive in the dread battles at sea, then being kept alive by him after the shipwreck, had forged a bond Henri honored most highly. Enough to call Everand his son.

In either case, this was no time to allow friction within their threesome. They had a long way to go together.

Iana rejoiced that Tam had begun moving about on her own instead of merely sitting or lying where she was put. It spoke well for the knight, Henri, that he had not rebuked the child for her interest in him. Even so, Iana did not believe he would suffer it for long.

When they had eaten and rested for a while, she ordered the others to remount and they continued on their way, riding east and still following the stream. Having a source of water eliminated having to carry that with them, and the less the mounts had to bear, the faster they could travel. Iana had no guess as to how long it would take them to reach the place called Baincroft.

“Look, there is smoke up ahead,” Everand announced. They could clearly see several plumes of it rising above the trees.

“A village,” the knight observed, though they could not yet see any dwellings. “We could stop there for the night.”

“Nay!” Iana objected. She wanted none to see them. Newell might ask after her here, and so determine which way they were traveling. “We must not. They will surely be wary of strangers, especially you, sir.”

“Why?” he asked, sounding almost offended.

“You are foreign, for one thing, and obviously no common wanderer.”

He regarded her with no little suspicion. “You know we must find milk for the child and food for all of us. We cannot survive on berries for the rest of our journey, and the oats are almost gone, are they not?”

She could not deny it. They might deal with their hunger if need be, but the bairn required sustenance. “Aye, well, you two should remain out of sight. I shall go into the village alone and beg what they can spare.”

“Take the babe,” Everand suggested. “They will not refuse you then. She looks near to starving.”

Tam had been near to it, Iana admitted to herself. Poor wee thing came so close. If only she could tell these two how much the child had improved in the days since her mother had died, they would be astounded. It broke Iana’s heart to think what might have happened.

“Tend the beasts,” she instructed as she dismounted. “I shall go ahead on foot and see what might be had.”

They complied, though Sir Henri did not seem to like the idea. She knew that had more to do with her issuing the order than with what she had told them to do. He did not strike her as a man used to acting on anyone’s demand, especially a woman’s.

“Have great care,” he warned her. “Call out if you are accosted.”

And what did he think he would do about it if she were? Come rushing to her rescue? As it was, he swayed on his feet as though cup-shot. She approached and reached up to feel his face.

He smiled down at her as if she offered him a caress. “Not much fever,” Iana said, making clear her reason for touching him. “Go and lie down over there on the banks. Have your lad fetch you a drink. The bark is in this pouch.” She handed him the small bag containing the willow cuttings. He grimaced as he took it, then grinned at her.

She set off through the thinly treed forest in the direction of the smoke. Once out of sight of the knight and squire, she knelt upon the ground and removed the silver chain from the pouch at her waist. With her small blade, a large stone and a great deal of effort, she separated another link of the chain. Concealing the remainder of her treasure, she carried the link in her hand.

The villagers viewed even her with suspicion. She could only imagine how they would have greeted Henri and Everand. Only when she pled for their mercy did they reluctantly fill a sack with coarse bread, a bit of cheese and more oats. Her tale of being recently widowed and left with nothing but a sickly child stirred little sympathy. Only when she surrendered the silver did they agree to give her a skin filled with goat’s milk.

When one of the elders eyed her greedily, she made up a tale of how she had found the silver link among her husband’s things and had saved it until she became desperate.

Once she had their offerings, Iana hurried off into the woods in the opposite direction of where Henri and the squire waited. Walking hurriedly and stopping on occasion to see whether she was followed, Iana circled around the village.

“Success?” the squire asked as she approached.

“Aye,” she told him, holding up the heavy cache of food and skin of milk. “They proved generous.”

“Do not tell me,” Henri warned, making a comical face. “More oats?”

She laughed, but mirth died when she noticed what he was wearing. Rather, not wearing. “Where are your clothes, sir? You’ll catch your death!”

He drew Iana’s small, woolen blanket closer around his body. “They are clean and drying upon yon bush,” he said, inclining his head toward the swiftly running stream. “Free of salt and sweat, as am I, thanks be to God.”

She struggled not to look upon the solid muscles of his shoulders, chest and legs. Never had she seen a man quite so well made.

The squire’s hair was as wet as his master’s. So were his chausses and shirt, though he still wore his.

“Fools, the both of you!” she fussed, stalking over to plop down beside the inviting water. “Do not blame me if you sicken and die.”

“This is high summer and the weather is warm enough,” Henri argued, “and for the first time in near a se’ennight, I feel cool.”

“And what of your wound?” she demanded.

“I removed the wrapping. There is no bleeding and your stitches seem well set. See for yourself.” He opened the blanket to show her.

Iana hastily averted her eyes, but not before she saw that he was still wearing a loincloth to cover his private parts. A wicked spear of disappointment pricked her. For shame, she castigated herself, to be so curious about the body of a man she barely knew. Even had they become the best of friends, she had no cause to think about that part of him.

“Cover yourself until I have time to repair what you have doubtless undone,” she snapped. Treating him as she would a wayward child seemed the best defense against the attraction she felt toward him.

She ignored Everand’s snickering as he relieved her of the food and drink, and the three of them went to sit near the water to eat.

Iana released Tam from her back, rolling her weary shoulders and sighing with relief. Henri gently scooped up the child and set her in his blanket-wrapped lap. “Have you hunger, chérie?” he asked. “Shall I feed you?”

“I will do it,” Iana argued.

Henri looked up at her, apparently concerned. “No, I think not. You need to rest yourself. How are you to look after us if you fall ill of exhaustion?”

He turned to the boy. “Ev, make a small fire and prepare the fish.”

“Fish!” she exclaimed. “How did you get—”

“Tickled them,” he answered. “If one remains very still, it is a simple thing to do.”

She shook her head even as she hurriedly snatched away the flint from Everand. “I do not wish to hear any tall tales. And I’ve told you we cannot have a fire.”

He took the implements from her hand and gave them back to his squire. When his large fingers brushed hers, she froze in place, too stunned by their effect upon her to protest.

“Now rest yourself or bathe or sulk, whatever you wish to do,” he said firmly, “but we shall have a fire and proper food. I have decided.”

The sudden spell broken, Iana glared at him. Imperious idiot. Overbearing oaf. Foolish frog. Though she said naught aloud, she willed him to read the insults in her eyes.

He ignored her, switching his attention to the sack of food. “Now what shall we feed our wee fairy? Sops of milk, eh? Does that sound tasty?” he crooned to the babe.

Little Tam looked up at him, wide-eyed. The only moves she made were to tilt her head and raise a hesitant hand to touch his chest. The child seemed spellbound by the huge knight. Small wonder, Iana thought. If she were not so canny about the true nature of men, she might be enthralled herself.

But he was only a man, even more imperious than the usual male. She had no reason to hate this one, and in fact did not. However, she had excellent cause to deny the prickle of fascination he roused in her. And if she were wise, she would quickly regain the role of leader in this expedition. Otherwise, she might find herself trailing along in his wake, doing his bidding just like his squire.

Son, she reminded herself. He had recognized the lad, which was more than most men did when they had sired one out of wedlock. Waiting this long to do so counted against him in her estimation. Everand was half-grown already. Of course, the delay might have been wise if the mother had wed another who mistook Everand for his own. And Henri had said something about the lad being orphaned once already. For now, Iana would give Henri the benefit of the doubt.

She watched the boy arrange the fish upon skewers and lay them across the stones he’d stacked around the small blaze. How long had it been since she had eaten a meal prepared by someone else? Well over a month, she figured.

As much as she hated the admission, Iana did not enjoy fending for herself. Her brother had been right about how difficult that would prove for her. She’d had to learn how, and it had not been an easy thing. After spending her entire life being waited upon, she found little joy in the menial tasks of cleaning, washing and cooking. Still, she much preferred that to being owned by a man who had the power of life and death over her. Duncan might have provided maids aplenty to keep her hands soft and her back straight, but he had nearly killed her twice.

With hardly any thought to what she was doing, Iana prepared a cup of milk and tore out a soft portion of the bread. Dipping bite-sized pieces of it into the milk, she offered them to Tam. The bairn sat in the knight’s lap, leaning forward to take the food.

“Eats like a baby bird, does she not?” Sir Henri said with a muted chuckle. “I wonder when she will attempt to fly.”

Iana smiled at the baby. “When she is ready. With help, she will stand for a few moments now. And she did creep over to where you were sitting last eve. That is much more than she would do a few days past.”

She reached out and took Tam from him and stood the babe upon her feet, carefully supporting her shaky stance. After a moment, Tam’s spindly legs gave way. Iana held her close and praised her.

“What is wrong with her?” Sir Henri asked in a quiet voice.

“I do not know,” Iana answered honestly. She thought it must be lack of proper food and the fact that Tam had been carried about all her life instead of learning to walk. It could be something else, an illness the child had been born with or a combination of fear and deprivation that caused her to be so. “But she is getting better, I believe.”

He looked both sad and hopeful. Why would he care? Iana wondered. Why should it matter to him whether the babe improved or not? She had seen men totally indifferent when their own female children perished. Despite her intentions to avoid it, Iana’s heart warmed toward this gentle knight who looked upon a peasant’s babe with concern in his eyes.

She smiled at him, only to see his expression change on the instant.

“Someone comes,” he announced in a whisper. “Sit where you are and do not move. Ev, crawl to your right and hide behind those bushes. Keep your blade ready, Son.”

Before Iana knew what had happened, the knight had disappeared silently into the brush to her left, the blanket he had worn left in a wad upon the ground.

She sat alone, Tam in her lap, the fish slowly browning over the small fire nearby. Abandoned.

The racket of someone approaching, leaves crackling underfoot, terrified her into action. She did the only thing she could do. Tumbling Tam upon the wadded blanket, Iana quickly picked up a rock the size of her fist and turned toward the sound of the intruder.




Chapter Four


Her back to the stream, Iana stood, feet braced apart, her skirts concealing Tam from whatever might emerge from the forest. Be it animal or man, she prepared herself to dash out the brains of it, should it dare approach. She sucked in a deep breath and held it as she hefted the rock in her hand.

“Eh! Here, Woad. I thought she’d be headin’ fer th’ water.”

The greedy-looking man from the village plowed through the brush, grinning at Iana, showing gaps where his front teeth should be. He was enormous, his stomach hanging over his belt, his legs like tree trunks. She did not recall his being so dreadfully big.

A mere ghost of a fellow, skin and bones and stringy white hair, followed him into the small clearing.

The large, shaggy-haired one propped his hands on his hips and wrinkled his brows, attempting to menace her, she supposed.

“We’ll be havin’ the balance of that siller now, lass. Dinna be stingy wi’ it.”

Iana shook her head, glaring at him.

“If ye’ve nae more siller, then we’ll see what else ye’ll offer us fer our trouble. Got treasure under th’ skirts there, ha’ ye, lassie?”

“You’ll have naught from me,” she declared. Where the devil was that knight? Henri might not be able to defend her, but the least he could have done was left her his knife. She weighed the rock again, balancing it, adjusting her grip. It would have to do.

The ghostlike one crept forward even as Shaggy stepped closer, tsking at her weapon as if it were but a pinecone she held.

Suddenly the bushes behind the two men came alive. Henri and Everand burst through, blades flashing hither and yon like rapidly struck sparks off flint.

Howls of rage sent birds flying, small beasts scurrying. Iana almost stumbled backward over Tam. Quickly she crouched, scooped up the babe and hid behind the nearest large tree so they would not be trampled.

Openmouthed, she watched. Lightning-quick steel sliced through worn homespun and leather as if it were butter. The two blades were everywhere at once with no pause.

Next she knew, the two thieves stood bare as the day they were hatched, cowering, whining, hands shaking as they covered what they considered their most valuable parts. Iana trembled with laughter and relief.

Henri, still wearing only his loincloth, teased the chest of the shaggy one with the point of his dagger. Truly, the reiver looked a proper beast, with dark hair covering his shoulders and even his back. A ghastly sight.

“Your hide would make a warm pelt, I’d wager,” Henri observed in a menacing growl, slowly shaving a blade-width’s path across the area over the man’s heart. He then wiped the blade upon the man’s bushy beard. “But it would take years to leach out the stink.”

“Please, sar,” Shaggy begged, “we didna mean nae harm. Let us gae and we’ll stay gone.”

Henri turned to Everand. “What think you, my friend? Should we kill them here, or let them go, and give chase? Do you fancy the hunt?” He nodded as if greatly looking forward to the taunting, giving Everand a clue to the answer he expected, since the lad kenned only French.

Everand bobbed his own head, wearing a look of glee, his small knife holding the ghostie’s chin as high as it would go.

“Twenty paces lead, then. Give us a good hunt and we’ll make it a clean kill. Lie down and whimper, I shall skin you alive. Can you count?”

“Aye,” Shaggy croaked, his eyes wide with fear. Ghostie whimpered.

“Off you go on the count of three! One…two…three!” Henri shouted and gave a war whoop any Highlander would envy. Everand chased through the bushes behind the men, shrieking like a banshee all the while.

Iana fell back from her kneeling position, laughing so hard her sides ached. Tam clung to her like a frightened kitten.

Henri crouched beside them, his smile wide. “You are all right, I assume.”

“A-aye, I am well,” she gasped, hardly able to catch her breath. “How in heaven’s name did you do that?”

“But a game,” he said modestly. “It is better played with swords, but we made do well enough.”

“I should say so! They’ll not slow down right soon, if ever.”

He stood and held out his hand. The sight of his muscles shining with sweat shot a hot tingle of appreciation right down the middle of her. For an instant, she could not tear her gaze away.

His soft chuckle warned her that he had noticed her fascination. Iana immediately shut her eyes, cursing herself for her wayward thoughts. She ignored his offer of assistance.

When she dared to look again, he had retreated to the edge of the water and begun wading in, his back to her. With a will of their own, her eyes immediately focused upon his uncovered nether cheeks. “Och, my Lord!” she breathed in absolute awe.

“Oui?” He looked over his left shoulder and raised one dark brow. “Qu’est-ce que c’est?”

What is it? he asks. Iana scoffed. Lust was what it was. Pure, unadulterated lust. And she should be ashamed of herself. Not only ashamed, but terrified to be thinking what she was thinking. Not for promise of paradise should she entertain desire for any man. Such would be her undoing and that was a fact.

“Nothing,” she replied, still a bit breathless, keeping her gaze firmly locked upon the tree beside her. “I was about to offer up a prayer.”

“Say one for me, if you will,” he beseeched, his voice rife with amusement.

Just before he disappeared beneath the surface, she thought she heard him say, “Best pray for colder water.”

For the next two days, Henri did as Iana instructed most of the time, giving good reason whenever he had to object. It was obvious to him that she had traveled little in her life, for she pushed the mounts too hard and, as long as Tam’s supply of milk lasted, forgot about obtaining food for the next meal unless reminded.

She always went alone, as she had before, into a village when they passed one. There she would somehow obtain a loaf of bread, a bit of cheese and another sack of the damned oats.

Now and again she would halt her mare, slip off and disappear into the woods for a short while. Only answering nature’s call, he had thought at first. But she would also return with a few sprigs of plants to tuck inside her pouch. Later, when they stopped to rest, he would be required to swallow her harvest in one form or another or have the leaves crushed and pasted upon his wound. It seemed she was more than adequate in her chosen work, for he felt better each day. The fever was completely gone now and he experienced only slight twinges when he moved about too swiftly.

Every time she touched him and each time he felt her eyes upon him, he cursed his ungallant thoughts. The more his body healed and grew freer of the pain, the more it bedeviled him with its growing insistence upon getting closer to her.

He owed this woman his life. How could he offer her the insult of seduction? True, she was a widow, one with her honor intact. Or so she said. There were times he believed it wholeheartedly, but then there was her child to consider. How had she gotten Tam without putting aside that decency of hers at least one time in her life? He supposed she could have been taken by force, but he shoved aside that abominable thought, deciding he had much rather she had gone willingly to any man, rather than believe she had suffered that.

Though he did sense she was wary of him, it did nothing to discourage his desire. He wanted her so badly he ached with it.

Everand had immediately filled the space Henri deliberately put between himself and the woman. The boy’s constant chatter and exaggerated chivalry annoyed him. He who had always been indulgent toward young squires and their follies of the heart, and he who had also never been jealous in his life. Not even of his unfaithful wife.

“How long before we reach Baincroft, sir?” Ev asked him as they rode.

Henri shrugged. “Well, I know how long it takes to travel from Odun in the Highlands to Baincroft. My brother fetched his bride from near there last year and told me of the time involved. Judging by his journey and the maps I studied long ago, I think we must travel about half that distance. It depends upon how long it takes to find crossing at the Clyde. Our passage around the hills beyond will slow us down even more, however. Three more days is my guess,” he told Everand. “Mayhaps four.”

“There is a ferry north of Largsmuth,” Iana informed him. “We should reach that before tonight.”

“You have traveled this way before, then?”

“Aye, once,” she admitted, “though I have not been any farther east than Largsmuth.”

Henri rode on silently, questioning whether he had any right to ask more about her life and what had brought her to that village where Ev had found her. Thus far, she had not welcomed his curiosity and simply ignored him when he asked anything about her past.

“You must have lived near the Clyde when you were wed,” he said in an offhand way, excusing his prying, since he did not phrase it as a question.

“Nay,” she answered, not looking back at him.

“When you were a lass, then,” he guessed again.

She remained silent.

He smiled to himself. One more piece of the puzzle slipped into place. She was not Iana of Ayr, as she had told them. Ayr was a coastal town not far from where they had come ashore, if he recalled his maps aright. Her girlhood home was near the Firth of Clyde. She’d not denied it. And her grandfather’s Christian name had been Ian. She had let that slip when he was ill. Once he reached Baincroft, he would inquire if anyone there knew a nobleman named Ian who lived near the Clyde.

Why it seemed so important to find out exactly who Iana was, Henri could not say. Possibly because he could not abide a mystery. Then again, it might be because he desired her so fiercely and wanted to know just how available she was to him with regard to her station in life. Unworthy thoughts troubled him, so he dismissed them.

“What is the cost of crossing at Largsmuth?” he asked, determined not to indulge his prurient interest in her any further.

“A schilling, I believe. My bro…I cannot recall the exact price,” she snapped.

Henri smiled. Another slip. She had been about to say brother, he was certain of it. If her brother had been with her at that crossing, he must have been escorting her somewhere, likely to the man she would wed. Women had little cause to leave their homes, otherwise. So it was probable that she had traversed this route in reverse, in order to become a bride. Her husband had died, so she had told Ev. Why had her family not come for her if she had been widowed and left with nothing? Were they all dead?

It seemed that the more answers he obtained about his Iana of Somewhere Nearby, the more questions he found arising.

Iana had dreaded this part of the journey. Left to her own devices, she would not have risked passing this way, near Largsmuth, but would have taken ship on the west coast and gone to a place unknown. Though it was unlikely anyone hereabout would recognize her as sister to Newell, it certainly was not impossible. He had many friends in the area who had visited their home and met her as a girl. Despite all that had happened to her, she had not changed overmuch in looks, save to grow taller.

Sir Henri had taken the lead when she stopped to adjust Tam’s sling. Now he led them directly through the town. Iana kept her head bowed, cutting her gaze right and left, thankfully seeing only strangers.

Largsmuth proved an odd mix of buildings, some wattle and daub, some quite wonderfully constructed of wood. A few of the latter boasted hinged half-walls, let down, propped upon supports and used as tables to display wares of the shopkeepers.

The remainder of the silver chain lay within her pouch, begging to be spent upon a decent gown, shoes that were not encrusted with mud, and soft-scented soaps to soothe her skin. She sighed and rode on, knowing the folly of spending for things she could do without.

“Ah, I see an inn up ahead,” Sir Henri said, turning. “We shall sleep there tonight.”

Then, as if he had read her mind, he added, “And purchase new raiment in these shops, of course. We should not arrive at my brother’s keep looking the part of beggars.”

Everand cleared his throat and eased past her to halt next to his lord. “Sir, we haven’t any coin for that.”

The knight looked back at her, smiling confidently. “Lady Iana will graciously allow us some of the silver from the chain, and I shall repay her the instant we arrive at Baincroft.”

“Nay,” she said, shaking her head. “I say we shall not stay here the night, nor shall we spend my silver upon fripperies, sir.”

His smile disappeared. “You would grudge us this, lady? I had not marked you as miserly. Do you not believe that I will compensate you? I remind you, we did save your silver from the thieves, did we not? You would have none of it, were that not so.”

He had her there. Had it not been for him and the lad, she would have nothing left now, not even her honor. Iana looked around her, keeping her face half-concealed by the rough wimple. She saw no person familiar to her. What could it hurt to rest her bones upon a feather-stuffed bed for a change?

Happening upon someone who knew her face worried her as much as spending the silver. She would not have to go about in the town once they had secured rooms in the inn. Sir Henri could buy what they must have. These townfolk would not remark much upon the fact that he was French, as would have those in the small villages they had passed. Many foreigners must travel through a city this size.

“Very well,” she agreed reluctantly. “Make for the inn.”

He gave a firm nod and urged the bay on down the cobbled street toward the two-story building with the hanging sign.

“Lead the mounts through that alley,” he ordered Everand, pointing to the space between the inn and a cloth merchant’s stall. “There should be a stable in back. See to our beasts yourself, for I do not trust strangers to feed them properly.” He turned to her and waited.

For a moment, she did not realize what he expected of her. Then she remembered. Sighing, she untied the bag containing the chain and plopped it in his outstretched hand.

“Merci,” he said, and smiled reassuringly. “I will repay you, Iana.” In seconds, he had forced apart several of the links with his knife blade.

Iana’s heart sank when he tucked the entire pouch inside his doublet instead of giving it back. Less than half the chain remained since she had paid for their horses and every sackful of food she had begged from the local populace ’twixt here and the coast.

“Follow me, my lady, and remain close,” he warned. “There are likely to be ruffians hanging about the public room.”

She did as he asked, for she had never stayed in an inn before and did not know what to expect once they entered. When she had traveled this way with Newell, Dorothea and their retainers, they had carried their own tents, furnishings, servants and victuals.

When Henri led her inside, she saw that she had been wise to heed him. Several men gathered around a chest-high bench, laughing and toasting each other, well on their way to becoming drunk.

Sir Henri nodded amiably to them and hailed the publican. “We would like rooms,” he informed the man.

“You only need the one,” the bearded proprietor told him. “’Tis large and will sleep four. Two beds.”

Henri looked down at her. “One will do.” Something in his eyes warned her not to protest his decision. In truth, Iana had no objection at all. Propriety had been cast aside the moment she had found him, so that was not an issue. More importantly, one room would cost considerably less than two.

She winced a bit when he handed over two of the silver links. One should have been enough.

“We require one night’s lodging, enough food to carry us through three days travel, milk for the child and stabling of our mounts. Also, bring us three buckets of hot water as quickly as you can warm it.” He had not lowered his hand after turning over the silver. “I will have three marks in change.”

Two of the men at the bench stopped drinking to watch the dealings when the publican laughed at Sir Henri. “You jest!”

“No jest,” Henri declared softly. The look in his eyes held a warning and his smile had ceased to be. “Three marks, no less. Else we shall take our room elsewhere.”

The innkeeper turned away, hawked and spat. With a shrug, he reached into a purse at his waist and withdrew the coins, dropping them into the knight’s hand. “Aye, well, times is hard.”

Henri waited a moment longer, raised a dark brow in challenge to the men who were watching, then followed the publican up the stairs.

Iana almost grasped the tail of his doublet in her worry over being left behind. This was a frightening place, she thought, and the men looked hard-edged despite their previous mellow mood. She now understood her brother’s abhorrence of abiding in public inns.

Everand joined them before they had settled in. “The stables are more than adequate, sir,” he reported. “I saw to the feed. The man there says his master will beat him if he does not curry every animal, so I let him do it.”

“You will judge whether he has made a proper job of it before you sleep,” Henri instructed. “For now, you remain here with Lady Iana and Thomasina while I see to our other needs. Bar the door and do not open it unless you hear my voice direct you to do so. I shall return before they send someone with our food and water for washing.”

“As you wish,” Everand replied, then added, “Father.”

Henri smiled at him, a singular expression that spoke of his affection for the lad. He said nothing, only placed a large hand on Ev’s shoulder and gave it a fond shake. Then he left.

Everand quickly dropped the heavy bar across the door into its fittings and turned to her, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the portal. “You need not fear, lady. I shall guard you with my life. And your babe, of course.”

She might have laughed at him for pretension, had she not seen what he could do with a knife. “We are glad to have your protection. Tam and I thank you for it.”

He pushed away from the door and came to sit upon the bed where Tam lay sleeping. With one finger, he awkwardly pushed an inky wisp of hair off the child’s cheek. “She does not have the look of you.”

“Nay, she does not,” Iana admitted.

“I had a small sister,” he said softly, in the voice of the young lad he was instead of the deliberately deepened tone he used most of the time. After a long hesitation, his gaze still resting upon Tam, he added, “She died with my mother.”

Iana felt her heart twist just watching his remembered grief. “I regret your loss, Everand. And then your father died, also?”

He nodded, still not meeting her eyes. When he answered, he seemed almost lost in his thoughts. “He wasted away with grief, I believe. He wanted death. My brothers were all gone, my mother and sister, as well. There was only me. When Lord Henri came one day to select cloth for his new court garb, my father pleaded with him to offer me employment.”

He glanced up, the corners of his mouth tipped in a sad smile. “You should have heard the plaudits my sire heaped upon my head whilst asking that boon, lady. I feared never to live up to his praise of me. Wishful lies, most of it, yet Lord Henri accepted it as truth. I refused to leave home until my father breathed his last. Then my new master came for me and made me his squire.”

“And now his son,” she added, sitting down at his side, pressing her hand on top of his. “I’ll wager both your old father and your new feel great pride in you, the one in heaven and the other who directs your life here.”

He shrugged with modesty. “I pray it is true, though I have unworthy thoughts betimes.” He glanced up at her from beneath his long lashes. “And, like your poor Thomasina, I do not seem to grow properly.”

The urge to comfort the motherless boy overwhelmed her. Iana put her arms around Everand and held him to her, brushing a kiss upon his brow. “Take heart, Everand. My own brother remained much smaller than his years should have made him until he was near sixteen. Then he quickly grew near as tall as Sir Henri.”

“You cannot mean it!” Ev exclaimed, pulling back from her, his large eyes rounded with hope. “Shall I, do you think?”

“Wait and see,” she advised, pinching his cheek lightly and giving it a pat. “And even should you not attain such great height, it matters not at all. Deeds make the man, Everand. Always remember that. Your deeds will speak for you, not your size, nor your wealth, nor your way with words. Deeds are all that matter in life.”

He inclined his head thoughtfully. “So says Sir Henri, or something to that effect. I suppose I must believe it.”

There came a scratch upon the door then and he leapt up from the bed, his hand on his knife hilt, doubtless hoping for a chance to perform the heroics of which they had spoken.

“Who goes?” he demanded in his deepest voice.

“I bring your supper,” a man declared. The iron handle of the door moved downward, but the bolt held fast.

“That is not the publican,” Iana whispered.

“Come back later,” Everand ordered loudly. Then, very quietly, he said to her, “It must be one of those ruffians thinking to steal from us.”

After a few moments of silence, something heavy banged against the door. The bolt shook in its fittings. “Mercy, he means to break it down,” she gasped.

“Take the chamber pot and stand to one side of the door,” Everand told her. “Aim for his head if he breaks through. I’ll finish him off with my blade.”

The man rammed against the door again. Iana grabbed up the heavy clay pot and ran to her station. Everand gripped his eating knife and assumed a fighting stance.

With the third blow, the entire portal came off its rusty hinges and collapsed into the room. Iana struck swiftly, threw her full weight behind the swing of the pot and connected with a solid thunk.

Stunned, the brute just stood there, his weapon drawn back to strike.

Everand flung his knife and lifted a stool, tossing that as well. The blade struck true, to the left of the rogue’s breastbone. His beefy hand grabbed it just as the stool hit his head. With little more than a groan of dismay, the man toppled like a felled tree, landing flat upon the door itself. The wicked short sword bounced out of his hand with a clang and landed in the corner.

For a moment she and Everand just stood there, frozen with the shock of their success. Then the lad’s lips kicked up in a semblance of a smile and he shrugged. “We did it!”

“Do you think he is dead?” Iana asked. Everand walked over to the man and nudged him with his boot. He did not stir.

Together they knelt and rolled the brigand off the fallen door so that he lay on his back. Everand retrieved his trusty knife, grimaced at the bloody blade, then wiped it clean upon the wretch’s filthy jerkin.

Iana felt the man’s neck vein for a heartbeat and found none. Blood welled out of the vacant wound in his chest and stained a dark crimson circle upon his yellowed sark. If they did not move him soon, they would have a puddle upon the floor.

“We’ve killed him, I think. What should we do now?” she asked.

Everand bounced to his feet, went to the doorway and leaned out into the corridor.

Apparently, the noise of the fracas had drawn no attention. Or it was possible happenings of this sort were so commonplace they did not merit anyone’s notice.

The lad stepped back, looked down at their attacker and blew out a sigh. “Could we lift him high enough to get him out the window?”

“I believe so,” Iana said. “He is quite large, but there are two of us.”

“Then we should tidy up. The landlord will not be pleased by this, I am quite certain.”

Iana agreed with that. Even if they could prove the man intended to rob them—which they could not—they would have to stay here until there was an inquiry into his death. She did not want to think what might happen to them, since they could not prove he had meant them harm.

Together they struggled to drag the man toward the window that opened to the back of the building. With the greatest of effort, they managed to get his upper half through the opening, then tumbled him out and watched him land upon the ground between the inn and the stables.

“Do you think anyone will guess we threw him out this window?” she asked in a whisper. “What of the stable lad?”

“Busy inside there with our mounts. There’s no one about to have seen us do it,” Ev assured her. “Likely whoever discovers him will believe he was accosted down there in the back dooryard.”

Iana stared down at the man for some time to see whether she might have been mistaken and he would bestir himself after all. When he did not, she finally turned away.

Everand was grunting, diligently trying to prop the door back into place, so she went to assist him. Together, they got it upright within the opening, though they had no way now to secure it. At least it would afford them a bit of privacy. If anyone else came along, they would stop and scratch or knock, instead of walking right into the chamber.

“What of the blood on the outside of the door?” she asked, wringing her hands to keep them from shaking.

Ev patted her arm. “Do not worry. There was little on it. He mostly bled when I took out the knife. There by the window where we lifted him is the worst of it.”

“I will take care of it,” Iana declared, gathering up her scattered wits and berating herself for her weakness. If a mere lad could deal with all this, then so could she.

She unpacked the remainder of the rags she had brought for use as bandages, and wiped up as much of the gore as she could. So stained the raw wood was after many years of occupancy and abuse, the smears left were hardly noticeable.

Amazingly, wee Tam had slept through the entire incident. All in all, Iana felt things had worked out much better than they might have done. They had given a right good account of themselves, she and Everand, and Iana decided not to bemoan the fact that the cursed lout had met his end here. Had they not been successful, they might be the ones lying dead.

“The chamber pot was a fine idea, Ev,” she told him, her voice less steady than she would have liked.

“It was, was it not?” he acknowledged pridefully.

“Aye, I admit I was not quick enough to consider it. And your aim with the blade was true as a marksman’s arrow. I commend you.”

“Resourceful, that is what Sir Henri says I am.” He shrugged as he helped her pick up the pieces of broken crockery that littered the floor. They tossed the shards onto the small blanket she had spread upon the floor to collect them. “He always says that about me.”

Iana sighed, feeling rather numb now that her heart had stopped hammering so hard. “Does he ever mention humility, by any chance?”

Ev cocked his head, thought a moment, then shook it. “Not that I have ever heard.”

She could believe that rightly enough. Finished with their task, they gathered up the ends of the blanket and carried it to the window. No sooner had they tossed out its contents than they heard a loud knocking.

Suddenly the door fell flat into the room with a bang.

Iana jumped clear off the floor and Ev cried out a warning.

Henri stood in the opening, fist raised and mouth agape as he stared down at the unhinged panel of boards.




Chapter Five


As he entered, Henri dropped to one side the bundle of goods he had bought. “What the devil is this? What happened to the door?”

“We had an unwanted visitor, sir,” Everand announced cockily, “but we managed to entertain him without you.” He nodded toward the window.

Henri rushed across the room and looked out. A man lay in the rear dooryard unmoving; another knelt over him. Had the injured one jumped from the window?

“Did he harm either of you?” Henri demanded, still looking down upon the intruder, watching the one who had found him drag him away.

“Not at all,” Iana answered, “though I fear the chamber pot is done for.”

“Makes a fine weapon, sir,” Everand said proudly, “and our lady wielded it well.”

Iana nodded, accepting the compliment.

Henri turned, incredulous. “You struck him and he leapt out the window?”

Iana and Everand looked at each other before facing him again.

She was the one who explained. “When we would not let him in, he broke the door down. I hit him, then Everand crowned him with a stool and sent a blade straight to his black heart. Together we tossed him out.”

Henri’s awestruck gaze caught upon the unfamiliar short sword that lay abandoned in the corner of the room. A chill ran up his spine and he shook his head, still disbelieving. “You mean he…? Why, he might have…”

“Aye,” she agreed. “But no matter. ’Tis done and he is gone now. I was thinking we should be away, as well. And soon,” she added.

“Yes, that definitely would be wise,” Henri muttered, his mind still fixed upon the intruder and what could have happened during his brief absence. He would not leave them alone again for any reason.

Iana was right. They needed to quit the inn and travel on immediately. Injured as he was and not at full strength, he was hardly geared for defending them against anything other than the most inept of miscreants. Certainly not the vagaries of Scottish law. There were certain to be repercussions.




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