Knight Triumphant. Heather Graham

He nodded toward Peter, who lifted a hand, and his horse was brought forward. The four men who would ride with him were mounted already, and awaited him at the gate and drawbridge.

      As his horse came forward, he walked through the crowd that parted for him. As he mounted, he was surprised to hear a cheer arise from the crowd.

      “Godspeed your journey!”

      “Bless you for your mercy, Sir Eric!”

      The cries arose, blended, and continued.

      He wondered if he was being mocked.

      He looked at the faces in the sea of people surrounding him as he moved his horse through them. And there was hope in their eyes, not mockery.

      The inner gate opened.

      The drawbridge fell.

      And he rode out, followed by his men.

      As it happened, the four young men decided that, at the least, they would start out riding with the others.

      At first, Igrainia was glad. They were a strong foursome.

      Then she feared that they might offer the danger that Gregory had foretold.

      But each of them seemed so earnest and decent.

      Igrainia found herself riding in the lead with one of them, Thayer Miller. And as they spoke, her fears abated.

      He told her that his mother was English, his father was dead. They’d worked a small piece of land through Lord Denning, who had chosen to follow Robert Bruce. Not long ago, when the Bruce had gathered men to go against Edward’s forces, there had been a slaughter that had become known as Methven, and Lord Denning had been killed. Soon after, English troops had come to the late lord’s holdings. Most of the people had escaped to the woods, but the English had slaughtered the pigs and livestock, trampled the fields, and set fire to all the buildings. There had been nothing left to eat, and the promises Lord Denning had made, to teach his promising young tenants the ways of the warrior, were as dead as he and the land that had once been the livelihood for so many. Thayer’s mother, surviving with his younger siblings in the poor homestead of an aunt, had given him letters of introduction.

      “But, the English destroyed your home and everything you knew,” Igrainia said. “One would think you’d rise against them.”

      He looked at her with a rueful smile. “You must understand this. I don’t know if Robert Bruce has a right to be king; he followed Edward long enough himself, when it suited his purpose. There were many in the lowlands who supported John Comyn, and though Bruce may have done penance, it seems, if the news that covers the countryside is true, that he murdered Comyn. He struck a blow in the sanctity of a church. Perhaps God is against Bruce for such an act. But what I have heard, thought, and believed, is not really what guides my desire now to reach England. I believe that this country, especially the lowlands, will be torn by war for years to come. If I were to try to remain, I could spend my every waking moment working another’s man land, growing crops, raising livestock, and waking again one morning to find that one army or another is coming, and will again slaughter every living thing, raze the buildings, and burn the houses. When I get to England, I will find the right noble to serve, and I will prove myself, as will my friends. Aye, there’s much more I need in the way of training, but I have the will to learn. When I’ve made my place, I will be loyal until the last breath has left my body, and then I will send for my mother, my sisters and brothers, and see that they have a life in which they do not spend their days hiding in the forest, desperately searching for anything that resembles food, just to survive.”

      “Perhaps, when we reach London, I can help you,” Igrainia said, touched by his determination to help his family. “We have some letters of introductions, and some friends there,” she added quickly. But he was already watching her with a skeptical smile, and when she furrowed her brow in a frown at the look he gave her, he apologized quickly.

      “I’m sorry. I don’t believe that you’re a poor farm lass, a refugee from the wars,” he said.

      “Believe me, I am a refugee,” she said. “And I am as desperate as any man or woman in the lowlands of Scotland to reach London.”

      She saw in his face that he had decided not to pry.

      “If it’s only marriage you’re seeking, you need go no further than this party,” he told her.

      She frowned again.

      “Haven’t you seen?”

      “I’m sorry, seen what?”

      “The younger man with the old folks. Gannet, the brother. He has watched you constantly. Like a great roast, ready to be devoured.”

      His words startled Igrainia. She looked back. Far back. Gannet was riding with one of Thayer’s friends, the one he had called Reed, she thought, at the far rear of the company. John and Merry rode together, right behind her—just like proper guardians. Behind them, Thayer’s two other companions rode with the rest of Anne and Joseph’s party. They all seemed to be in conversation.

      “I have to get to London,” she told Thayer. “Our new friends certainly seem to be fine enough people, but . . . I have to get to London.”

      “And I don’t think you’re intended for such a man.”

      “At this moment . . .”

      “At this moment?” Thayer queried.

      She shook her head. “I think I’d like time alone more than anything.”

      Thayer studied her. “Ah. Well, there is more to your story than you are telling. I think I know the truth. There was a young man . . . probably a knight. And he rode forth to do battle—for one side or the other—and he was killed. And with his death . . . your future has changed. And you’re not happy. I’m so sorry. It was someone you loved.”

      She arched a brow to him. “All right. There was someone. And it’s true. He died. And so, everything is changed.”

      As she spoke, Igrainia became aware of a disturbance behind them. John and Merry had reined in and were looking back timorously. Thayer’s two companions had already started riding back on the rough trail they had followed, where the others could be heard but not seen because of a twist in the path and the high trees that hedged the road, nearly growing upon it.

      “What’s going on?” Igrainia called to Merry.

      “I don’t know—there was a sudden cry from the rear,” John said.

      “Someone is in trouble!” Thayer cried out, and he kneed his horse, sending the animal into a swift lope back in the direction from which they had come.

      Igrainia started to follow him, but John reached out and caught her horse’s bridle. “No, lass, there’s something amiss!”

      “Has someone ridden up behind us?” she asked fearfully.

      “No!” Merry said.

      The air was rent by a horrible scream. The others had all moved back, and because of the twist in the trail, could still see nothing.

      “John, I must see what has happened. Someone has been hurt!” Igrainia insisted.

      She broke free from his hold, and her little horse made amazing speed as she raced back along the way, reining in confusion as she saw that a young man appeared to be the one in danger; he lay on the ground on the path. Anne was down beside him with her sister Lizzie while Joseph and the others hovered at his side. The others had reached his side as well, and were on their knees in the trail, questioning Anne. Thayer had dismounted from his horse.

      Igrainia lost no time as well, dismounting from Skye, but even as she did so, she heard another sudden cry. Another of the young men fell to his side, grasping his stomach.

      “What is it? Have they been poisoned in some