The Knight's Broken Promise. Nicole Locke

her vow to bury the dead had slowed her down. And if Busby caught up with them, she’d never get the children to the safety of her clan.

      Squealing, Maisie grabbed the tall grass around her and Gaira stood to scrape the dirty linen against a trunk. It would have to be washed later.

      She quickly pivoted and stumbled. Gingerly, she lifted her left ankle and tried to flex it within the splint she’d made. Her ankle was still swollen and she could barely wear her boot. She sighed. There was no hope for things to be different, no chance that things weren’t worse than they were just days ago and no use wishing otherwise.

      But, she reminded herself, she still had some supplies, a strong horse and she was smart enough to get them out of this mess. What she didn’t have was time. She scooped Maisie back to her hip. She wouldn’t worry over something she couldn’t control. There was simply no one to come and help her.

      She gripped Maisie tight against her.

      What of Robert? No. He wouldn’t want to help them.

      But she couldn’t help her sudden thought. Somewhere between her clobbering him on the head and his cooking breakfast, something had changed.

      He hadn’t killed them, had even cooked them breakfast.

      Maybe he was the answer to her prayers. He was an English soldier, but he was here. He was here. And that’s what counted.

      Sending this Englishman appeared to be God’s will or His joke. Either way, this Robert of Dent would help her bury the dead.

      Shifting Maisie to her other hip, she cleared the trees. If her ankle wasn’t hurting, she’d be skipping.

      ‘Aye, you’re getting to be a big girl, you are.’ She snuggled her closer and snorted loudly into her neck.

      ‘Big!’ Maisie grabbed one of her plaits and yanked.

      ‘Oh, it’s going to be like that, is it?’ Gaira, limping, swung her around.

      Alec bounded over. ‘Can I play?’

      Alec’s face was covered in oat crumbs and charred meat. Just as it should be. She feigned resignation. ‘Ach, I suppose so.’

      She dislodged Maisie and picked up Alec, who squirmed until he was safely on her back. Bracing her weight on her good foot, she swung Alec back and forth, making sure her plaits whipped along so he’d squeal louder.

      Dizzy and stumbling, she dropped Alec and sprawled on the grass to look at the spinning sky.

      Sighing and giggling at the same time, she closed her eyes. Suddenly, a darkness covered her. Robert was standing over her, his thick body blocking out the sun.

      She couldn’t determine if she was dizzy from whipping her head around or because warm brown eyes stared at her.

      ‘We need to talk,’ Robert said.

      Aye, they did. She patted Alec’s stomach and got up. Maisie had walked around a tree. Brushing the dirt from her little fingers, she placed her in Flora’s lap and grabbed her shawl.

      She gave Flora a smile. ‘Please check the traps and set them again. See that Alec picks up some kindling sticks. We’re awfully low. I’ll be right back.’

      She turned to Robert. ‘We’ll walk to the valley.’

      Since her arrival, she hadn’t dared go to the valley in the full light of day. However, it would afford them some privacy and maybe in the light of the devastation he would offer his help.

      * * *

      Robert followed. He tried to pretend to himself it was curiosity that made him watch the way she walked or how she nervously bit her bottom lip.

      Her shawl was a deep hue of green and it highlighted her colouring, framed the length of her curves. Her hair was not a dark brown as he had supposed, but a flaming red. Not the soft red of English beauties, but a deep poppy-coloured hair, almost unreal in its intensity. Her eyes were the colour of whisky in bright sunlight. Her skin was covered by so many freckles they darkened her skin. Her mouth was wide and her lips were the colour of peaches.

      Her limping was more pronounced the further they walked and he slowed his pace to walk beside her.

      In all his years, he had never seen a woman look as she did. It was as if she were sent down from the sun. Her colouring alone would have made her unusual, her height something to gawk at. She was not beautiful. Indeed, her nose was almost crooked and her chin too pointed. But it didn’t matter.

      He wanted her. He was too experienced not to recognise the first talons of lust. But that, too, did not matter. There were other matters needing his attention.

      ‘When you came here, you didn’t come with four children, did you?’ he asked.

      ‘Nae. They are the only ones who survived.’

      ‘Is the boy mute?’

      Her brow furrowed and she gave a quick shake to her head. ‘Creighton refuses to speak.’

      He suspected as much. All morning, the boy had glared with silent unflinching hatred. Fortunately, Alec’s chatter had filled any awkward silences.

      There had been plenty of awkward silences, too. He did not know what to do with the children. So he had fixed breakfast for himself and for them. He was glad he wouldn’t have to worry about their care much longer.

      They reached the crest of the hill and Gaira turned around to begin her descent.

      ‘Here, let me help you.’ He moved closer and gestured with his arms.

      She waved him away. ‘I’ve been doing it fine.’

      He pointed to her ankle. ‘Is it broken?’

      ‘I doona think so.’

      She didn’t say any more, though the ankle was swollen. What woman didn’t complain about an ailment?

      ‘You said you were travelling to Doonhill when it occurred?’ he asked. They passed the valley’s curve and he could see the lake.

      ‘Aye, I think I arrived only a few hours later. I was coming to visit my kin.’

      ‘Alone?’

      ‘Of course alone.’ Wariness entered her eyes. ‘What does it matter?’

      It didn’t. He didn’t know why he asked. But he didn’t know why he was here, either.

      ‘What woman travels alone and dressed in a man’s clothes?’ he asked.

      She stumbled, but he pretended not to notice.

      ‘What kind of English soldier travels alone in Scottish lands to inspect a village his men massacred?’ she retorted.

      He didn’t have an answer for that. What would she think when she knew that he was no mere solider, but ‘Black Robert’, the most feared of English knights?

      His squire had started the rumours and songs of Black Robert. The more deeds he did, the more the rumours and songs spread. He couldn’t enter a new camp or battlefield without the name being whispered. He was lucky she did not recognise him. If she had, his sword would be through his own gut.

      They reached the bottom of the hill and walked to where she’d been digging. As they neared the bodies, she made a clearing sound in her throat.

      He waited. Although it was he who had wanted to talk, he knew why she wanted the conversation here. In the light of day, there were unflinching views of the horror. Children with their plump arms ripped off, women sliced and men face down were all lined up. Waiting to be buried with the potatoes.

      ‘Will you help me?’ she asked.

      After battles, dead bodies had simply been landscapes of war. He and his soldiers had buried many. But she was no hardened soldier. She could not have seen such atrocities before. Why would she endure such hardship?