The Quest. Lyn Stone

her head and stuck her finger in her mouth.

      He liked babies, though he had seen few of them since his sister was born some sixteen years ago. Alys had been nothing like this one. As he recalled, it had required three nurses, taking shifts on guard, to keep that rapscallion confined to the keep. He could still remember her earsplitting screeches when things did not go her way. The memory made him smile.

      Iana shoved his share of the food toward him, cupped in a large leaf.

      Oats and berries again, fewer than last eve, he noticed. “Suppose I catch some fish,” he offered.

      “With what?” she asked curtly. “And if you managed that miracle, should we eat them raw? We cannot risk a fire to cook them.”

      “Why not?” Ev queried before Henri could form the same words.

      “Because…because someone might see and come to inquire who we are and why we are here. I did take these horses. We would all be hanged for thieves if the owners did not find, or else chose not to accept, the silver I left them in exchange.”

      Henri knew that was not the real reason. She truly feared someone else was coming after them. “I shall deal with your erstwhile suitor if he troubles you,” he assured her.

      She laughed and rolled her eyes, clearly not trusting that possibility. He could not recall a time when anyone doubted his prowess. That stung, especially in light of his recent loss of dignity before this woman.

      Henri withdrew the long, wicked dagger from his soft leather boot and raised one brow. Question that, if you will, he dared silently.

      “No man wields a short blade better, lady,” Ev told her.

      Iana paled at the sight of it. Many had done so before her, for different and more urgent reasons.

      Once she recovered, however, she warned him. “Even that weapon would not be proof against his sword. He wields it well…so I am told.”

      Sword? Then this man who might come after her was knight or noble for certain. This did not surprise him. “I have yet to taste defeat at any man’s hand,” he declared. Only at the hand of the elements, the sea, he mutely added, the thought neatly dashing his pride. He replaced the knife in his boot.

      For a time, he looked away from her and across the brook, seeing nothing, his mind on the men who had died in service to him. A small comforting warmth nestled softly against his left hip. The tickle of small fingers touched his hand where it rested against his thigh.

      “Tam?” he whispered, and looked down. When he glanced at her mother to see whether she minded, he did not miss the unshed tears in her eyes. Yet she was smiling. It made no sense, but then nothing much had since he had set sail from France.

      After a while, Iana reached for the baby and settled her on her skirts. He watched the feeding as if they were two strange creatures he had come upon in the wild.

      “How anyone can enjoy that is a true source of amazement,” Henri commented when Tam had finished eating. He poked at his portion of the food. “I hate oats,” he muttered, staring at the offensive handful of grain. “It is the one thing about Scotland I truly abhor. Everyone eats oats. Munching them dry makes me feel like neighing and stamping my feet.”

      To his surprise, Iana laughed, charming him unexpectedly with the sound and sight. “Do as I did. Add water,” she advised, inclining her head toward the brook.

      He frowned down at the grain. “And make glue? I am of the opinion it sticks together the sides of one’s stomach so it does not feel so empty. The sole purpose of the mess.”

      Henri leaned over and scooped up a bit of water from the stream. “A bit of mud for more crunch. Several minnows,” he said. “Voilà. A veritable feast.”

      Stuffing his mouth full, he chewed with determination and very real dissatisfaction.

      Iana giggled like a child, covering her mouth with one hand. Above it, her eyes twinkled merrily. A beautiful, clear brown, they were, like the finest ale. And just as intoxicating.

      Henri thought he might go to extravagant lengths to see her laugh again. The sight and sound of it did something strange to his insides, like lifting his heart in his chest, making it feel light as a feather.

      How long since a woman had dosed him with instant happiness? Too long, obviously. He smiled, completely forgetting his aches and the taste of oats.

      It was then he noted Ev, frowning at Iana, at him, and again at her. With the quickness of a woodsprite, the boy abandoned the reins of the two mounts drinking at the edge of the burn and dashed off into the woods.

      Ah, the old green-eyed monster, Henri deduced. Question was, did the boy resent his attention to Iana or was it the other way round?

      Since Everand had been the one to find Iana, he might well imagine he had first claim to her regard. She was a beautiful woman and Ev had only just discovered the joy in having one of those nearby.

      Then again, the boy had held the place of primary importance in Henri’s life these past few months. First keeping Ev alive in the dread battles at sea, then being kept alive by him after the shipwreck, had forged a bond Henri honored most highly. Enough to call Everand his son.

      In either case, this was no time to allow friction within their threesome. They had a long way to go together.

      Iana rejoiced that Tam had begun moving about on her own instead of merely sitting or lying where she was put. It spoke well for the knight, Henri, that he had not rebuked the child for her interest in him. Even so, Iana did not believe he would suffer it for long.

      When they had eaten and rested for a while, she ordered the others to remount and they continued on their way, riding east and still following the stream. Having a source of water eliminated having to carry that with them, and the less the mounts had to bear, the faster they could travel. Iana had no guess as to how long it would take them to reach the place called Baincroft.

      “Look, there is smoke up ahead,” Everand announced. They could clearly see several plumes of it rising above the trees.

      “A village,” the knight observed, though they could not yet see any dwellings. “We could stop there for the night.”

      “Nay!” Iana objected. She wanted none to see them. Newell might ask after her here, and so determine which way they were traveling. “We must not. They will surely be wary of strangers, especially you, sir.”

      “Why?” he asked, sounding almost offended.

      “You are foreign, for one thing, and obviously no common wanderer.”

      He regarded her with no little suspicion. “You know we must find milk for the child and food for all of us. We cannot survive on berries for the rest of our journey, and the oats are almost gone, are they not?”

      She could not deny it. They might deal with their hunger if need be, but the bairn required sustenance. “Aye, well, you two should remain out of sight. I shall go into the village alone and beg what they can spare.”

      “Take the babe,” Everand suggested. “They will not refuse you then. She looks near to starving.”

      Tam had been near to it, Iana admitted to herself. Poor wee thing came so close. If only she could tell these two how much the child had improved in the days since her mother had died, they would be astounded. It broke Iana’s heart to think what might have happened.

      “Tend the beasts,” she instructed as she dismounted. “I shall go ahead on foot and see what might be had.”

      They complied, though Sir Henri did not seem to like the idea. She knew that had more to do with her issuing the order than with what she had told them to do. He did not strike her as a man used to acting on anyone’s demand, especially a woman’s.

      “Have great care,” he warned her. “Call out if you are accosted.”

      And what did he think he would do about it