Knight Triumphant. Heather Graham

man he had called Allan.

      “He is a strong one,” Merry told her, amazingly calm for the events that had been occurring around them. “If he has just a few days’ time, and the rot does not set in . . .”

      Igrainia leaped to her feet, gasping, as Eric strode toward them with a sudden determination. He hunkered down by Thayer’s side, and Igrainia placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to stop whatever it was he intended to do. “I’m telling you, these were decent men—”

      He ignored her, casting off her touch, and lifted Thayer with an amazing care. He started straight for the trees, and she found herself running after him. “What are you doing? Wait! If you mean to throw his body into the woods to hide it and leave him to die, I will not let you. You can’t. I don’t care about your cause, or Scotland, or the English, or . . . any of your bloody intentions. You cannot just leave a man to die!”

      He stopped dead, turning on her with anger and impatience. “There is a cove with a good stream just a few feet in. If you want this man to live, his wounds must be cleansed, and if you want any of us to live, we’ve got to get off the roads. Do you think your evil friends are the only monsters preying on the remnants of war? Nor am I particularly willing to die myself in this wretched pursuit of you, and the health and happiness of the companions you acquired along your escape route.”

      She fell silent, staring at him. He started walking again and she followed him, and realized that the path behind her was filled with soft voices and the rustling of trees as the others followed behind them.

      It seemed that they walked far, yet perhaps the path seemed long and winding because her every footstep seemed a painful chore. Her shoulder ached now as well as the rest of her bruised and battered flesh and muscle. But they came at last to a break in the dense forest and brush. There was a fast rushing stream before them, beautiful as it sparkled suddenly in the sunlight that was no longer obscured by the green wealth of the trees in the forest despite the trampling of armies upon the land. The bank of the stream was richly carpeted in pine needles, and the earth here was soft with the wealth of moisture provided by the stream.

      As she walked, she heard soft words.

      “Pardon, my lady.”

      As he spoke, Allan passed by her side, and laid down a woolen cloak at the base of a tree, and it was there that Eric paused with his heavy burden of the wounded Thayer, and set him down with the same care to his injuries with which he had first lifted him.

      And then he turned to her.

      “Madam, you may tend to your new friend, but one of us will be with you at all times. And if anyone makes any attempt to part company with us again, they will be slain upon the spot. If you decide that you have given your best efforts and must again leave, your friends will suffer for your actions. I don’t believe that you are stupid, Igrainia, and therefore I will trust in your efforts to keep those around you alive. You do understand me perfectly, I’m sure. But I will have your word that you will not leave, and your sworn oath that you will do nothing to bring English troops down upon us should they wander down this stretch of the road.”

      He stared at her hard. She drew in a deep breath. He hadn’t come to murder her. Nor did he intend to explain what he meant to do with her. Nor did she think that he intended to murder the others.

      “I can’t . . . willingly accept whatever you may have in mind . . .”

      “You can’t? But you must. And will. Swear now that you will not attempt to escape or let out any cry of alarm.”

      Still, she hesitated.

      He took a step toward her.

      She took a step back.

      “The others will fall first!” he said softly.

      “I swear,” she murmured.

      “Louder, please.”

      “I swear.”

      She jumped back again as he came closer. But he didn’t intend to touch her. He passed by her, going on to help the others bring the horses back into the small cove in the forest by the rushing brook.

      By nightfall, the cove in the trees had become a campsite. A fire had been built, water had been boiled, capes and cloaks had been laid out as makeshift beds, more bandages had been made. Eric and Raymond Campbell had brought down a stag, supplying them with fresh meat for however many days they dared linger, waiting for the wounded to heal enough to ride—or to die.

      Eric had sent the two surviving women from the strange party of murdering pilgrims back to Langley with Allan MacLeod, not willing to risk having them among the dangerous assortment of people then in his care or confinement: the injured men, the lady he had come to retrieve, and her two retainers.

      He expected no trouble from Merry or John; both were excessively grateful to be living and to be in the company of men who might be political enemies, but seemed trustworthy, for the time, although he didn’t trust Igrainia.

      She would run at the first possible moment.

      He chafed at the time this was taking him. There had been no choice but to come after her; he couldn’t have let her go, she was far too valuable a prisoner. And there was a certain satisfaction in the fact that in their pursuit, they had happened upon a clutch of criminals who had evidently been making their way in life by preying upon the innocent and unwary for some time.

      There had been occasions when they had been forced to flee from battlefields, knowing that they left men among their number wounded, perhaps mortally so, and at the hands of their enemies, and still, such was battle—men had to desert the field if they were to live and fight again to win not just the day but the war. No man ever learned to come to peace with himself for leaving a companion either dying in agony—or not dying quickly enough to avoid whatever brutal end the enemy might intend. And so, since they were not on a battlefield and not being pursued and in no imminent danger, he couldn’t leave these injured young fellows to die, even if England had been their destination. They had ridden slowly to protect those they thought weaker than themselves. They had fallen to treachery, but there was a certain nobility about their behavior that appealed to Eric, and therefore, he could not leave them behind to die.

      But cooling his heels in the forest was the least productive use of his time that he could imagine, and he wished that he had sent one of his men after the lady of Langley, rather than riding out himself. He had considered taking the two knife-wielding women to Langley himself and leaving Allan behind with this group, but again, he did not trust the lady of Langley. He would not let her escape again.

      He studied her where she knelt by the man she had called Thayer Miller. Miller was a survivor, he noted, which was a quality that appealed to him. He had lost a lot of blood, surely enough to take the life away from most men, but still, it was as if he had determined not to die. He had yet to regain consciousness. His friend, Brandon, remained prone, his eyes opening upon occasion and closing again. He was able to whisper, and had given Eric much the same picture of the events that Eric had already heard and surmised. The man named Timothy had regained his senses, and helped Igrainia tend to his friends, but earlier, he had come to Eric when he had stood by the water, idly watching the horses drink, and once there before him, Timothy had fallen on his knees, thanked Eric and his men for his life and the lives of his companions, told his own rendition of the story, and sworn eternal loyalty, if Eric would have him in his service.

      Eric had weighed the matter. After Timothy’s initial confusion—natural, considering the blow he had received to his head—he had made a good appearance, speaking articulately and concisely, while also conveying just how deeply stunned they all had been by the strange twist in the intents and purposes of the “pilgrims” with whom they had been riding.

      “Though, in truth, we did not linger and ride slowly for that group,” Timothy had said. “Rather, we feared for the young woman riding with the older couple. They claimed that she was riding to London to wed a blacksmith’s son, but Thayer didn’t believe that could be the truth. He was certain that she was an heiress running away, but her kindness and courtesy to