To Tame A Warrior's Heart. Sharon Schulze

upstream.

      If they couldn’t find shelter somewhere along the stream, he could build a lean-to. He began to gather branches and sticks from beneath the trees along the path—’twould do for a fire, at the least.

      Awake now, and refreshed by the water Talbot had given her, Catrin peered out from beneath her hood, concentrating upon their surroundings. What she saw made her heart beat faster.

      “Talbot,” she called. He didn’t answer—no surprise, since her voice had come out so weak she’d scarce heard it herself. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Damn you, Talbot We must stop.”

      He dropped an armload of wood onto the ground and spun to face her. “Must we indeed, milady? There is much we must do, aye—find food and shelter, tend your wounds—but I doubt that stopping here will accomplish anything. Lest it escape your attention, ’tis nigh dark, and I’ve no place to—”

      “I think I know where we are.”

      Talbot stalked toward her, stripping off his gloves and tucking them into his belt. “You know where we are.” He slid his hands—so cool against her heated skin—over her cheeks and sank his fingers into her hair. “When did you intend to tell me?” Leaning close, he stared into her eyes. “Or do you enjoy wandering through the forest with arrows in your back?”

      Catrin moistened her lips. His expression frightened her nearly as much as the feel of his flesh against hers. But she held his gaze. His violet eyes took their intensity from the lengthening shadows, she told herself. And ’twas the chill air that sent a shiver sweeping over her, nothing more.

      She swallowed, her fear a choking lump slipping down her throat to weigh heavy in her stomach and gnaw at her mettle.

      But she’d not permit Nicholas Talbot to see her fear.

      Never would a man make her cringe and cower again.

      His mouth was so close to hers, she felt every breath he took. Her own breath shuddered in her chest. She wet her lips once more. “I may know this place, but I cannot be sure. Pray lift me up so I might see.”

      Talbot released her with an alacrity she might have found amusing if she hadn’t been so relieved. His movements jerky, he went to tie the reins to a tree, then returned to her side.

      He pushed aside her enveloping cloak and slipped his hands about her waist. “I know how you hate to depend upon anyone,” he taunted as he lifted her. Thankfully his voice masked the whimper she couldn’t suppress. “But you’ll have to lean on me. It seems you have no choice.”

      How she hurt! Catrin caught her breath as Talbot settled her against the rough mail covering his chest, one arm beneath her breasts holding her upright. “There’s always a choice,” she mumbled. “Unless you’re dead.”

      Though his arm tightened about her, he made no reply.

      The trees spun before her for a moment, then righted themselves as the dizziness passed. “Was there a cleft rock to the right of the stream, with a rowan tree growing out of the crack?”

      “I saw such a stone. I don’t know what kind of tree grew from it,” he said, “but how many such could there be?”

      “You don’t know the rowan?” she asked, unable to resist taunting him. “’Tis said to protect against demons—I’m surprised you’re not more familiar with it.”

      “If you don’t cease your prattle, woman, you’ll soon wish you were in a tree. Mouthy wench!” He drew his hand through his hair, smoothing back the damp blond waves. “What would it take to quiet you?”

      She smiled at the question she’d heard countless times before. “Short of death, nothing.”

      “Your brother should take you into battle with him—he could use your tongue as a weapon. I’d wager ’twould serve as well as a sword.” Talbot shook his head. “You could cleave a man in two. ’Tis no wonder you’re not wed.”

      Catrin seethed with frustration. “If I had my knife—”

      “’Twould serve you naught. You cannot even hold a knife, let alone use it. Besides, you couldn’t harm me—” he cast a look of distrust at Idris “—even if you weren’t wounded.”

      “I’ll show you what I can do once I’m well,” she growled. He’d be surprised if he knew just what she was capable of. A wave of cold passed through her, making her shudder. Not that she’d ever tell…

      “That will give you reason to recover, I’ve no doubt.” His smile faded. “Enough of this. Do you recognize this place or not?”

      She glanced around once more. The area looked familiar. It reminded her of a place where she and Ian had waited out a violent summer storm years before. “I believe there’s a rock cairn up ahead, at the top of this rise. The cave in the hillside should do for shelter. ’Twas a shrine long ago, a place sacred to the Old Ones. No harm will come to us there.”

      She regretted her last comment when she caught Talbot’s piercing look, but he said nothing as he eased her back down onto the mare and took up the reins. After one last, lingering glance at the sky, he gathered up his meager pile of sticks and continued along the trail.

      Once more Catrin cursed her impetuous tongue. Talbot had told her without words that they’d lingered to bicker too long. She still couldn’t be sure she knew where they were, but, please God, let her be right!

      Now that she was no longer distracted by Talbot’s barbs, her injuries reclaimed her attention. Flames seemed to radiate from the arrowheads, sending waves of heat to flow over her entire body, leaving a pulsing pain in their wake.

      She snuggled against Idris’s coarse coat and took comfort from the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. If they did not starve to death, at least her faithful companion might survive once Talbot saw to his injuries. Though she lacked the energy to lift her hand, she twined her fingers into the dog’s fur. Idris whined in response. He was more than a pet, he was companion, guardian, confidant—the loyal repository of all her hopes and fears.

      There were some things Catrin could never share with anyone, not even Gillian or Ian. The shameful secrets from her past would distress them, and for naught. She could not change what she had done—would not, even if she could. But neither would she endanger those she loved by stirring up things better left alone.

      Yet her actions today had endangered other innocent souls, caused the deaths of several people. Had her past taught her nothing? Uncharacteristic tears ran down her cheeks to soak into Idris’s curly hide. Her mere presence posed a threat to anyone near her.

      Even Talbot, aggravating as he’d been in the past, didn’t deserve to be saddled with her now.

      She could change—nay, would change—if she survived this latest coil. ’Twas more likely she’d die and burn in hell for her sins. At the very least, God in his vengeance would want her to suffer, a swift, clean death could not possibly be punishment enough.

      It mattered naught.

      ’Twas no more than she deserved.

       Chapter Four

      The bandits met on the trail in late afternoon. Their leader, Ralph, sat atop the knight’s stallion, a fine embroidered tunic pulled over his filthy, ragged shirt and leggings. The remaining garments in the knight’s pack tempted him mightily. Soft, bright-colored wools and silks, of a quality he’d never seen even in those far-off years when he’d been a tailor’s apprentice.

      But the take belonged to them all, and though nominally the leader of this ever shrinking band of outlaws, Ralph knew he couldn’t bedeck himself in the finery unless he wanted a revolt on his hands. And he’d no intention of losing his neck over a shirt and a pair of hose.

      “’Tis