While he stood stunned with surprise at his reaction to her, she took a step toward the rear of the cave. The boy, too, was on his feet, moving toward the horses.
“Nay,” Garrett muttered, coming to his senses. Neither of them must escape.
The woman was closer to him. He grabbed for her. His hand closed about her arm, staying her.
She screamed.
He pulled her toward him.
She struggled, squirming away from him.
At the same moment, the boy charged. He held a dagger in his hand.
He lunged. The woman twisted.
The dagger missed Garrett. It sank into the woman’s flesh.
Ancient memories, ugly, intense, devastating, flooded Garrett. The woman’s painful cry pierced his memories. The boy’s scream brought him to attention.
“You were protecting me,” weak words tumbled from the woman’s lips. Garrett eased her to the cave floor.
“‘Twas not your fau...” she whispered, then sank into unconsciousness.
Once more, her beauty struck him. He turned from the woman and gazed at the boy, ready to question him. As he watched, the boy’s eyes dulled. He had seen this happen to the strongest of warriors. It happened when the mind could no longer withstand the horror of the moment.
“Sweet Jesu,” he muttered. “You did not kill her. She lives.” He glared at the youth’s chalky face.
He turned to the woman, easing the dagger from the soft flesh. Her wound was not too deep and high on her shoulder. It might have nicked a bone, but she’d recover. He wiped her blood from the dagger and stuck it in his belt.
Garrett reached up, seized the lad and yanked him forward.
“Look you to her wound,” he ordered then walked to the cave opening.
“‘Tis no mighty army we have here,” he shouted to the waiting soldiers. “Only one terrified woman and perhaps one of Alwyn’s sons.”
“Sir Tomlaine, Sir D’Arcy,” he shouted. “Bring the horses.” He glanced toward the woman and the boy, then turned back to the cave entrance and ordered, “We’ll need water and clean cloth.”
He frowned. The woman on the cave floor would hamper their travel and of certain, he wanted none of the soldiers to see to her care. He refused to ask himself why.
~ * ~
On the hillside David deVerney threw his shield to the ground and crouched beside Colvin. “Your brother is furious with me. I should begone from his sight and soon.”
Colvin sneered at his man. deVerney was a coward.
“I’ve no appetite for this either.” Colvin grimaced. He tossed his hair from his eyes. “A woman! Mayhap I’ll stop at Knockin and see this son and the woman before I travel to mine own keep.”
Colvin jumped to his feet before he choked on his bitterness. This had to be the woman he had met on the road, the one who cast a spell on him, then had taken his horse. Or had this brother Garrett mentioned aided in her attack? He’d wait until he got to Knockin for answers.
He stomped down the hill.
“Mount up!” he ordered his men. He shoved his helmet over his head and grabbed his mount.
“Tell my brother I go back to England. We are no longer needed here. I will await him at Knockin.” He paused beside a stunned sentry before he turned to deVerney. “I’ve had enough of his wars. He can fight the next one by himself.”
Colvin glared at deVerney, knowing his man wanted to ask where he’d been during the battle. ‘Twas not something Colvin intended to discuss—ever.
He galloped off, away from Garrett, away from deVerney and his own men, his thoughts savage. What a worthless waste of time this had been.
Edward wanted the border raids stopped and had ordered a hostage taken. But those orders were not enough for Garrett. Nay, his brother had to issue his own orders, as if he was the Almighty himself.
No plundering.
No castle to sack.
No trinkets to gather, no gold to collect, no way to pay off favors. No castle wenches to quench the battle lust of his men.
At least Garrett might have a hostage, so deVerney would not pay with his life.
Colvin slowed his horse and waited for his man.
“Are you certain the land has gone unclaimed?” he asked. “My brother could not be that stupid.”
When deVerney nodded, Colvin cursed. He turned away and muttered, “Garrett will pay for this folly. Someday, he’ll pay.”
He glanced at deVerney, “Take most of the men on to Sanford. I’ll take a guard and stop at Knockin.”
He laughed at deVerney’s sigh of relief. Coward!
Colvin rode on, his face now gracing a smirk. At least his brother would not go back with the hostage his king had wanted. Mayhap he only had a son. Would the possibility of a son be enough to satisfy the king? He doubted it.
Then, he grinned.
Edward didn’t take well to disappointment, and he would be thwarted with only a son. He struck his horse with the heavy leather reins and dug in his spurs.
Somehow he would make Garrett pay for all the slights he’d had to endure. And someday he would have Knockin.
~ * ~
Garrett moved away from the entrance and gazed at the boy. The lad had not moved since Garrett shoved him to her side. Now, the shoulder of her bliaud grew dark with blood.
Garrett knelt beside her. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. Her pale face touched his memories, but he brushed them aside. That wound needed attention and now.
“We must stop this bleeding,” Garrett said. “We need clean cloths.”
The boy stared ahead, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. He rocked forward and back, like an infant.
Garrett glared at him. He was no help at all.
“Lydon! Joseph!” Garrett’s voice bounced against the stone walls.
That sound dragged a spark of sanity into the boy’s eyes. He stared at Garrett as he tried to ease the bliaud away from the woman’s shoulder.
“Nay,” the youth wailed. Then, he charged.
For a second Garrett faltered, taken unawares. He righted himself and grabbed the boy, wrapping his arms around him.
“I try only to stop the bleeding,” he spoke softly. “Calm yourself.”
The stick-thin youth stared at him.
“If she gains her senses,” Garrett whispered. “Do you want to frighten her more?”
“Nay, you will not touch her. Get your hands off her. She is all I have.”
She is all I have?
Could she be his wife? Nay, he was too young. He could not have earned his spurs. But Garrett had no more time to speculate.
Lydon, then Joseph, stumbled through the cave opening. Garrett shoved the boy at Joseph.
“Hold the lad for he keeps me from tending the wound.” He turned to Lydon.
“I’ll need something to clean and bind the wound.”
Lydon stepped from the cave then returned with a water skin and a roll of cloth. Garrett knelt beside the woman, lifting her from the floor. He cleaned the injury, then wrapped a piece of fabric tightly around her shoulder. When he finished, he hoisted her into his arms and handed her to Lydon.
He turned to the boy.
“You did not kill her. She will live. What happened here was an accident.”
“The boy stabbed her?” Lydon asked, his face furrowed in confusion.
Garrett nodded and walked through the cave entrance pausing to tell Lydon, “I’ll carry her once I’m mounted.”
Then, he turned to Joseph.
“The boy rides with you. Before you put him on your horse, bind his hands.”
The boy yelled in protest but Garrett ignored him. He strode down the hill. When he reached his horse, he mounted, and waited for Lydon to hand the unconscious woman to him. He wanted to leave this place and the memories trying to surface.
In minutes they cantered their horses northeast toward his retreating soldiers. Garrett held the woman against him and gazed into her face.
She stirred in his arms. He eased his grip and wondered what might happen if she awoke at that moment.
As he studied her face, and for a second time, a sharp coil of need struck. He grew hot then cold. His heart gathered speed, hammering against his chest.
“Nay,” he murmured. “She is Welsh.”
He pulled the horse to a stop and eased the bliaud away from the dressing. The bleeding must have slowed for the bandage was dry. He sighed with relief and replaced her garment. Then he brushed the dark curls away from her face.
Aye, she was a beauty. Her clear complexion, even with her pallor, looked kissed by the sun. Her face was oval and he tried to remember if he had seen the color of her eyes, as he considered the high dark arch of her brows.
She had full, lush lips, lips made for kissing. He wondered what she would look like when she smiled.
Sweet Jesu, what was wrong with him?
She was Welsh.
She was his enemy! And he hated the Welsh, even more than Colvin hated him.
He kicked his horse into motion. She murmured in pain and turned her head away from him. He gazed at her profile and grinned at what he saw. Her small nose had an impish turn to it. Stubborn? Possibly. Some women were. He pulled her closer and she turned her face to him.
The clean fragrance of wild flowers floated toward him, teasing him as he fought another wave of desire. He trampled on the sensation and forced himself to consider her dress. The bliaud and the tunic beneath were of excellent quality. She wore no jewelry but her hands were calloused, like those of a servant.
Confusion clawed through him. Who was she? And why was she hiding in that cave, with naught but the young lad to offer protection? And was it one of Alwyn’s sons who protected her?
“Lydon,” he said to the man at his side, “What make you of this wench? She has an air about her, but I cannot believe any nobleman, Welsh or no, would allow his daughter the freedom to roam the countryside.”
“Mayhap she is the daughter of a local merchant,” Joseph’s deep voice rumbled from behind them as well as a groan from Joseph’s captive.
“What merchant do you know, Joseph, who would allow this beauty to ride the land without escort? Alwyn’s sons would have had her on her back in mere minutes. The boy could offer no defense against grown men even if he is their brother.”
“My lord,” Lydon remarked, “could she be a lady-in-waiting to one of the women in the hall? You, yourself said this Alwyn was a prosperous man. I know you said there was no wife but think you several ladies lived in his keep?”
Garrett frowned at the woman. “She cannot be of noble birth,” he muttered. “Her clothing is of quality, but not that of a lady. Her hands are those of a working lass. Mayhap she is a seamstress or a castle servant”
“Still, my lord.” Lydon’s soft words intruded. “She is Welsh.”
Sweet Jesu, where was his mind? Lydon was right. Servant or no, she was Welsh. He hated all Welshmen. And he’d made certain all of his people felt the same.
Still, he stared at her. A servant, a freewoman? It made no sense.
“Why didn’t she stay within the keep?” Garrett muttered. “She hid in that cave with naught but the lad for protection. Something about this rings false. There were two horses in that cave and servants don’t ride. What make you of the palfrey, my friend? It is a beast of quality.”
“Mayhap it belongs to the boy?” Joseph offered from behind. “That other horse belonged to your half brother.”
“The palfrey was outfitted for a woman. So, who is she?”
Garrett glared at the female and felt another flash of need. Of a sudden, he had an idea. Why, he wondered, hadn’t he thought of it before. This woman had served in the castle, and her purpose was plain as the nose on his face.
Several of Alwyn’s sons were old enough to have a kept woman, a leman. That would surely explain the fine pony she rode, the quality of her clothing, the cleanness of her body. She served to satisfy the physical needs of one of the sons, mayhap even the father.
Garrett shifted his burden. He ought to take her to Knockin and let her serve him in the same way. He smiled. A fine revenge! However, his plans must be made known to them and that meant they had to find those other sons. Aye, and when he found one of those sons, he would let him know of his plans for one of their playthings. He grunted with satisfaction, his questions answered, his confusion gone.
“My Lord,” Lydon’s voice interrupted Garrett’s musings. “The soldiers stumble in their fatigue. If you plan to meet the enemy again, your men need rest.”
Garrett smarted with frustration. There had been no need for a battle on the ridge. He’d had Alwyn in his sights. It would have been a simple matter…
But deVerney had ended Garrett’s plan. Now he had to prepare for another battle. It was not to his liking.
“Give the order, then. That forest to our right. Aye! Over there. That will serve our needs. Tell the men I want no smoking fires and have them spread out through the trees. Send men to scout the area. I want those brothers. And ask the Scotsman to see to this woman. The wound must be cared for before we leave this place.” He withheld his own groan of exhaustion.
“Aye, my lord. And, what of the boy?”
“Tell Joseph to keep the lad with him and to watch him closely.”
“Garrett, I speak now as your friend. Mayhap, Joseph or I needs take these two back to their cave.”
“Nay,” Garrett snarled, “I want them with us.”
Lydon countered, “You don’t like the Welsh and all here know it. Think about your men, Garrett. She threatened a curse upon you. There may be some who ‘twould see that as witchcraft. Your people at Knockin, what of them? You know how superstitious they can be. It will go hard with these two if you insist on taking them home.”