To Tame A Warrior's Heart. Sharon Schulze

’tis fine for you, Ralph,” Ned piped up, shifting his gaunt frame atop an equally scrawny palfrey. “Look at all you’ve got.”

      “What are you worried about?” Ralph asked. “Everyone’ll get his share, same as always. ’Tis good pickings, the best we’ve seen in a long time. And now there’s fewer of us, there’s more to go around. Once we collect the rest of it, we’ll go see his high-and-mighty lordship and get paid what’s owed us.” Tugging on the reins and kicking mightily at the stallion’s ribs with his soft-soled shoes, Ralph urged the horse into motion and led the way to the clearing.

      Confusion reigned as they burst into the meadow. Not one of them had ever handled a mount with any spirit—indeed, some could scarce ride at all, a fact that had already cost the lives of two of their band. Fortunately the horses, foam-flecked and blown, had passed from rebellion to exhaustion. Even so, Ralph and his men had learned to be more cautious now.

      “Quiet,” Ralph bellowed. “Come, let’s be about our business and be on our way. I’m frozen to the marrow.”

      Ned hopped down from the saddle and ran across the clearing. “By Christ’s balls, they’re gone,” he cried as he darted from one spot to another. “Look, you, the knight and the wench both. The bastard took the hauberk, too.” He bent to examine two of their fallen comrades who lay in a pool of blood. “Even the damned dog is gone,” he said, his squeaky voice rising higher still.

      He stopped beside the dead guards, nudging one body with his foot, then kicking it. “Nothin’. We already took what they had.” He turned to the others, standing silent now in the middle of the clearing. “Weren’t much, neither. But I wanted that hauberk.”

      “Would’ve been too big fer ye anyway, Ned. Got no more meat on ye than a chicken,” Alf said. He staggered about as though carrying a great weight on his shoulders. “Can’t ye just see it, lads?” Everyone laughed but Ned. “You wouldn’t’ve been able to move.”

      “Someone else took them while we were gone. Robbed us, they did,” Ned said. He turned to Ralph. “How’re we goin’ to get paid without the wench?”

      Ralph ignored Ned’s whining and walked around the meadow, stooping every so often to examine the ground. “Someone rode out—one horse,” he told them. “’Twas that rack o’ bones you ’ad, Ned, what looked like you. I’d recognize that track anywhere. No one took ’em.” He shook his head, laughing at Ned’s ire. Likely no one but himself would see the humor in robbing a thief. “Mayhap that knight carted the woman and dog away to bury them. I hear tell the nobles are odd that way, always doin’ things the way the priests tell ’em.”

      Ned looked up at the darkening sky. “Ye mean we have ta go after him? We can’t track him in the dark,” he added. “I don’t want ta tangle wi’ him again, not over a bloody corpse. Took all of us ta nab him before, and there ain’t so many of us now.”

      The others greeted Ned’s words with a chorus of agreement. Ralph shook his head and grabbed Ned by the front of his tunic. “What are you, a mouse? He’s naught but a man, same as us.” He tossed Ned to the soggy turf and eyed the others. “If I say you go after him, you will. D’ye understand?” He gave the nearest man a shove. “But it so happens we won’t. We weren’t hired to kill him, so there’s no sense bothering with him. He can’t get far anyway—his head’s likely cracked like an egg.”

      He pulled a fine dagger from his belt and began cleaning his nails with it. “Besides, the wench was dead. We all saw her.” The men nodded. “So we tell his lordship she’s dead. He couldn’t expect us to stroll into his keep with her body, now, could he?”

      “What if he don’t believe us?”

      Ralph shrugged. “We tell him to come see for hisself. Of course, it ain’t like to be a pretty sight once the wolves get to her, eh, lads?” He snorted. “He won’t bestir himself. Wants to keep his hands clean—’tis why he hired us. Can’t have it said he murdered his kin, after all.”

      “But what if he wants proof, Ralph?”

      “Christ, Ned, can’t you do anything but complain? Keep it up and we’ll be splitting your share, as well,” he warned. He turned to the overburdened packhorse hitched to the stallion’s saddle and began removing bundles. “Anyone find the lady’s baggage?”

      “There’s some clothes in the big pack on the bottom, and that small wooden box is full of dry leaves and smelly potions.” Alf pulled the packs from the horse and opened them. “This be enough?”

      Ralph pawed through the garments, frowning as his rough hands snagged the finely woven silks. “Aye, take out a couple gowns—not the best ones, mind you—they’ll fetch a good price in Chester. No sense wasting it all on his lordship. He’ll have to take our word for it the wench is dead, or come see for himself. And he won’t.” He stuffed the remaining clothes back into the pack and laced it tight against the damp, then hoisted it onto the horse.

      He stretched, grimacing at the pain burning in his joints. “I’m getting too old for chasing through the wood in the cold and wet. Mayhap after today’s work we can retire. We could live like kings on the jewels from this sword alone.”

      Spying the wooden box on the ground, he picked it up and opened it. “Pah—what a stench!” he gasped. Worse than a midden in the summer sun. Why a noble lady would cart such as this around, he didn’t know. He dug through the contents, then dumped everything out and examined the inlaid lid. “’Tis a pretty piece—it might fetch something if we can get rid of the smell.”

      He tossed it to Ned. “Put it with the rest. Then you, John and Alf take the good horses and head for Chester. We don’t want his lordship to steal our hard-earned booty—and he would, the scum. ‘Sides, there’s no good way to explain how we come by it, short of the truth. I’d just as soon not hang. I’ve learned my lesson ’bout thieving,” he said, holding up his hands. “Don’t get caught at it.”

      The others laughed, but he could sense their fear. “Have a care,” he warned. “Them horses’re more than you’re used to. We don’t want to lose them. The rest of us’ll go get our pay, then meet you in Chester.”

      Ned snatched up the reins and stood scowling. “What’s to keep you from makin’ off with our money?”

      Ralph shoved him to the ground and kicked him in the ribs. “Don’t be a fool.” He nudged him again. “What you’re taking with you is likely worth a hundred times more than what that little prick is payin’ us.”

      Casting a last, longing look at the stallion, Ralph went instead to one of the poorer horses and mounted up. “We’ll see you in Chester,” he said, waiting until the three rode away before heading southeast for a confrontation with his bloody lordship.

      

      The last rays of the setting sun broke through the clouds as Nicholas and the mare topped the hill. He hoped the sudden burst of light was a sign their luck was about to change. God knew they needed fortune to smile upon them; he had much to do, and next to nothing with which to do it.

      A cairn stood before a stone-framed opening in the hill tall enough to admit a man. Moss-shrouded dirt, lightly studded with bushes, covered the crown of the hill, and a spring—the origin of the stream—spilled from the ground near the entrance. It looked like something from the land of fairy, the stone portal shimmering through the mist. Though not a fanciful man, Nicholas hoped they’d find some magic here, if such a thing existed.

      He dropped the wood he’d gathered near the cave, then tied the mare to a sturdy bush before turning to Catrin. When he drew the hood away from her face he spied the tear tracks on her cheek. His fingers crept out of their own volition to smooth the marks away. She’d made no sound—even in her current state, she’d too much pride to let him hear her cry.

      Pride he understood, being overburdened with it himself. How else had she found the strength to lash out at him? Any other woman would have remained in a swoon since the