For My Lady's Honor. Sharon Schulze

he said, disgust tingeing his voice, “but I could scarce get a hold o’ her to begin with.” He tugged on his other boot and tied it. “Let me have a moment to catch my breath, Sir Padrig, and I’ll give it another try.”

      “At least you found her,” Padrig reassured him. “’Tis a start.”

      He sprawled next to Rafe, mind awhirl. While he was heartened by Rafe’s determination, he couldn’t help but wonder what they’d discover once they rescued the woman who lay buried here. The fact that she’d made no sound at all when Rafe attempted to lift her out was not a good sign.

      Should he assume she was dead, and go back to looking for the others?

      He straightened, horrified. There was a thought to make his heart stop, whichever woman was the victim.

      Jesu, if it were Alys…

      Gone in an instant, her lovely smile and unexpected wit snuffed out—

      He refused to consider such a notion, lest the hideous thought become reality.

      He’d not abandon her—nay, anyone—to such a fate.

      Despite his efforts to calm himself, his hand trembled a bit when he raised it and swiped it over his face. What if someone else came to further harm while they struggled to search here?

      He could set Peter and Jock to work elsewhere while he and Rafe looked in a different place.

      Yet what if the woman trapped beneath them was not dead, but instead was unconscious, or injured too badly to speak?

      They could not ignore her; rather they must get her out as soon as possible and treat her injuries.

      He shook his head and focused his racing thoughts. Jesu, mayhap they should wait till morning to search further, when presumably the storm would have passed, the sky would brighten and they could see what in God’s name they were doing!

      He dismissed the notion as soon as it formed. They could not wait so long. Glancing up at the storm-filled sky, he judged it was barely dusk now. Though it felt as if it had been an eternity, and it was nigh impossible to gauge from their surroundings, in truth he doubted much time had passed since the storm’s wrath split their world asunder. In any case, ’twas too cold and wet to leave anyone exposed to the weather for a moment longer than necessary.

      They needed to get the injured men they’d left huddled beside the trail to shelter, as well.

      He shifted and peered down into the gaping opening. At least they knew there was someone here, though they could not see who it was. ’Twould be best to deal with what they knew, before venturing off into the darkness again.

      He bit back his frustration and breathed deep as though he were readying himself for battle. The urge to jump up and escape into the night was nigh overwhelming. ’Twas as likely he’d find answers there, lost among the destruction, as he would by muddling along here.

      He scarce gave the traitorous thought life before he forced it from his mind. ’Twas only that it had been so long since he’d felt so helpless, adrift in a sea of uncertainty—and the weight of command sat heavy upon him, foreign, unfamiliar.

      Thank the Lord, the cold and wet hadn’t affected his breathing. Given their ill luck to this point, he’d expect no less. However, he couldn’t help adding a prayer of gratitude for that favor to the heartfelt pleas for God’s mercy that he’d already sent heavenward.

      He’d rather have an enemy to fight, by God, someone he could face over a shield, battle with a sword, a demon he could slay and be done with it.

      Biting back a mocking laugh, he shoved his dripping hair back from his face and sighed.

      He ought to know by now that nothing was ever that simple.

      Calmer now, he considered how best to conquer this obstacle. Rafe had caught hold of her, but it seemed he was too small to keep a grip on her. Padrig swung around on the tree and began to tug at his sopping boots, working them off and tossing them aside before unbuckling his belt and knotting the leather tight about his waist.

      “What’re you doing?” Rafe asked.

      “I’m taller than you are,” Padrig told him. “If you or Jock grab my belt and hang on to me, mayhap I can get a good grip on her and haul her up. I doubt I can pull her straight up through the debris without her getting entangled worse, so whichever of you isn’t holding on to me had better crawl up here and do what he can to help ease her out.” He hefted himself back up onto the tree. “Meanwhile, Peter, you go and see if you can find any sign of the others.”

      “Aye, milord,” Peter said before disappearing into the gloom.

      Rafe and Jock had no sooner situated themselves behind Padrig and begun to ease him down into the gap when shouting cut through the rumble of thunder.

      Padrig barely caught himself from tumbling into the morass when Jock and Rafe loosened their hold on him and turned to answer Peter’s frantic cries.

      Padrig hauled himself up and sprawled over the rough bark as Peter came into view.

      “Milord, come quick!” Peter stumbled to a stop before them. “’Tis Lady Alys, milord—I’ve found her, and she’s alive!”

      Chapter Five

      A man shouting close by startled Alys, setting her heart thundering faster in her chest and making her limbs tremble even harder than they had already—despite all her efforts to bring such cowardly behavior to an end.

      She knew ’twas not cold alone that made her shake so badly. Fear was as much her enemy as the cold, should she give in to it.

      “I’m here,” she cried, her voice sounding faint even to her own ears. Disgusted by her weakness, she gathered herself to try once more. “Hello, I’m here! Please don’t leave!”

      Thunder boomed again, rendering the reply indistinct, but the muffled thud of running feet and the muted sound of additional voices soon after the din faded away gave her hope that rescue was at hand.

      As she’d lain there, numb with both pain and cold, her right arm useless, it had taken nigh all her resolve to stay alert and keep calling for help…to force her body, protesting all the while, to shift as much as she could within the tightly interlaced shroud of branches enveloping her on the faint chance she might wriggle her way closer to freedom.

      ’Twas only by reminding herself of the valiant people whose tales she’d worked so hard to chronicle during her years at l’Eau Clair that she found the fortitude to continue fighting against the sapping lethargy that threatened to overwhelm her. Whether brought on by the icy rain, her injuries, or a combination of both, she didn’t know, for her knowledge of healing ways was sparse. But whatever the cause, she did know ’twas dangerous in these conditions to fall asleep.

      Better to allow her anger free rein, to let it work to help her. How it galled her to lie here nigh helpless, waiting to be saved!

      The voices grew louder, though she could scarce make out what they said. “—be back in a trice,” she heard, followed by what sounded to her straining ears like retreating footsteps.

      “Nay, don’t leave!” she cried. “Please—please, come back.”

      No answer met her plea; she could hear naught but the storm.

      She must be patient, she reminded herself, disgusted by the feelings of panic she could not completely suppress. For all she knew, many others could be trapped as well, in circumstances far more dreadful than her own. There were people out there searching; they’d not leave her here any longer than they must.

      She could endure this! Think of Lady Catrin, she told herself, wounded by bandits, with none but Lord Nicholas to help her. Remember Lady Gillian, abducted by an evil kinsman and spirited away from Lord Rannulf, from her home and all she held dear…. Did these intrepid women give up? Nay—they remained strong, did whatever necessary to help themselves.

      At