The Quest. Lyn Stone

shrugged. “They are now.”

      He grinned impishly, showing fine white teeth and dimples. “You stole them, did you not? I knew it last night when you returned after so many hours. Did you kill someone for them?”

      “Of course,” she said, then wrinkled her nose at him in jest. Iana held tightly to the rope attached to the large cob, allowing only enough slack for the horse to bend its neck and drink from the stream. “In truth, I left a link of the silver for payment.”

      With her free hand, she patted the knight’s chain, coiled within the sack attached to her belt, and took pleasure in the clinking. “When the moment arrived to take the beasts, I found I could not become a thief.”

      “Aha,” he acknowledged with a sage expression. “An honorable soul. I do admire that in a woman.”

      The lad’s sudden transformations from child to jaded gentleman and back again amused Iana. ’Twas hard not to laugh at his pretentiousness. “How old are you, Everand?”

      “Fourteen summers. And you, lady?”

      She did laugh then, but answered him honestly. “You should not ask such of a woman. I am two and twenty.”

      He looked aghast. “I swear by the saints, I would have guessed not more than ten and seven. How well you wear your years!”

      Iana could not contain her mirth. “An accomplished flatterer. I do admire that in a man,” she declared, giving him back his compliment. “Now come, we must get these mounts back inside that cave ere someone happens along and sees us with them. I should not enjoy swinging from a gibbet!”

      “But you paid more than their worth,” he argued. “What is to fear?”

      She turned to lead the cob and the roan back to their hiding place. “Aye, but I did not strike a deal with their owners. It may be they were not willing to sell. Now hurry along, your master will be waking soon and wonder where we are.”

      Everand paused to fill the wooden bucket Iana had appropriated from the stables where she gleaned the horses. Hauling that with one hand and leading the mare with the other, he followed her.

      “Two and twenty, eh? You said you have no husband. Have you never wished to marry, lady?” he asked as they walked. Though he had had the care of Tam the night before, he still avoided mentioning the existence of the child, who now lay nestled against Iana’s back.

      “No, I never wished to wed, but I did so all the same,” she answered curtly, unwilling to lie to the boy, but also disinclined to share her tale of woe. If he and his master knew the entire story and the plans her brother now had for her, they might well leave her behind to avoid trouble. “My husband perished last year, and I will speak no more of him.”

      “Aha,” the lad said, “so this is how you became impoverished. Poor lady. You should marry again, this time to one who would have a care to provide for your future. And that of your child,” he added, commenting for the first time on Tam’s presence. Iana supposed the fact that he now thought the bairn had a father made her acceptable enough to mention.

      “’Tis none of your affair,” she snapped. “Be silent ere I box your ears.”

      “Ooh, a woman with pluck,” he crooned in that too-adult voice of his. “I also like that about you.”

      The impudent little nodcock. Iana was still shaking her head when they arrived back at the cave.

      She had chosen well their place of concealment. The hollow extended deeply into the side of the hill, its opening a crevice barely wide enough to squeeze the mounts through. The interior widened to a cavity nearly the size of her small cottage, offering plenty of room to house the horses. Through another narrow passage there lay a chamber half the size of the first, but still adequate for her, Tam, the lad and his master to sleep without crowding each other.

      She had dared not build a fire inside. If there existed an opening for the smoke to waft out, it might be spotted. If not, they would surely choke on it.

      The only light within their sleeping chamber was a small oil lamp that she had brought from the cottage. How she would replace the oil when it burned away, Iana did not know. She had left it burning, half-full, so that the knight—Henri, she recalled—would not awaken in darkness while they were gone.

      “Water, berries and dry oats,” she announced to Everand and the man, who had dragged himself up to sit against the wall of the cave. “That must do for today.”

      The knight’s gaze immediately locked upon Tam, whom Iana could feel peeking over her right shoulder. He said nothing about the child, but looked somehow relieved and puzzled and disappointed all at once. Shifting slightly, she felt Tam curl into a ball against her back, hiding herself.

      “Why can we not buy food?” the squire demanded, plopping down beside his liege. “You have the silver. Your village is nearby.”

      Iana sighed. How could she explain why they must remain hidden without giving them the real reasons? If she were indeed a free woman, what was to stop her from adequately provisioning them for the trip and setting out upon it without this subterfuge?

      The knight’s bargain was that she deliver him to Baincroft in return for the silver. If they did not want to trouble themselves with a runaway lady whose brother might be offended enough to punish them if they were caught together, she would be forced to relinquish what was left of the valuable chain, and remain behind. Newell surely would find her then, she would be wed and Tam would likely die when taken away from her.

      Iana busied herself apportioning the food as she considered whether she should lie. She could sell the horses and go her own way. But no doubt the owners would be looking for them, expecting the one who took them to try to sell or barter them somewhere. Women did not make such trades or sales. She would be conspicuous, and therefore remembered.

      Newell would track her that way as surely as if she left a trail apurpose. No, she must remain with this knight and squire, travel with them for her own protection, and do so in secret. Her brother would be searching for a woman alone.

      They both watched her, waiting for her to answer. A half-truth, then, she decided, a play upon their knightly inclinations to protect the weak.

      “There is this cruel man who wishes me to marry. If I simply disappear, mayhaps he will forget I exist. However, if he hears that I have acquired silver, the greedy fool might chase me to the ends of the earth.” Her brother might do that anyway.

      And Douglas Sturrock might, as well. She still did not know what Newell had promised the man to make him consider the match. Her youth and beauty were gone now, and Duncan had left her nothing, not even her dower lands.

      Neither knight nor squire said a word. They merely watched her as though waiting for her to continue.

      “This is why I brought you here instead of to my cottage,” she added. “This man would see your presence there as a challenge. I do not wish to be taken by force and made wife to a man who would mistreat me and this child. Nor would I wish you harmed on my account. So we must hide.”

      The one called Henri stirred slightly, resettling to make himself more comfortable, she supposed. His measured words surprised her. “This fellow you speak of has not forced you to it yet. And I know the law here prevents wedding a woman against her will.”

      “Aye, true enough,” she replied. “But there are many ways to bend one’s will, especially a woman’s.”

      “Some men are not kind to their wives, that is true.” He seemed to consider that before he asked, “But why would you worry for the child? Surely this man would not risk the wrath of your husband’s family by harming it. A clan war is nothing to court, so I understand.”

      “The child is not of my husband,” she answered, offering no explanation.

      “Ah, I see.” He cleared his throat and seemed at a loss for words after that.

      The boy spoke instead. “Whose