Sharon Schulze (12 page)

Dear God, that sounded nigh as terrible as being regarded as a tease!

Now that she considered her behavior, however, she could see how it might appear. In the past she’d employed such wiles almost exclusively on the old knights she’d spoken with in the barracks. They’d treated her with respect, and seemed flattered by her interest in their tales.

Using those same tactics on a man nearer her age might be construed in a completely different manner.

Rafe continued to watch her, his expression unreadable.

She suspected her wiles had no effect upon him. That fact, combined with her ever-present curiosity, emboldened her to ask him, “What reason do you think I have?”

That
startled him out of his complacency, she noted with satisfaction, for his tanned face reddened a bit and his expression grew cautious.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Laughing, Alys settled herself more firmly in the saddle and leaned closer to him. “Come, Rafe,” she placed her hand on his arm, “you cannot accuse me in such a fashion, and then pretend you don’t understand what I’m talking about.”

He shifted from cautious to hunted in a heartbeat. His gaze dropped from her face to her hand, the color riding upon his cheeks darkened.

Rafe seemed, amazingly, at a loss for words.

The sense of feminine power flowing through her at that moment felt enormous. She’d never realized she had the capacity to produce that kind of effect on a man.

However, she’d prefer to make use of her charms on another man, not Rafe.

She took pity on him, moving her hand from his arm. “I’m not saying ’twas the case, mind you—but you thought I was trying to entice you, didn’t you?” Watching his eyes widen in reaction, she added eagerly, “Did it work?”

A
lys was vastly relieved when Rafe gave a dry laugh and shook his head. “Nay, lass. Though the fault lies with me, not you.”

“Oh, good,” she said. While she was glad ’twas so, she was also curious as to the reason. “Why not? Not that I was actually
trying
to—”

“I believe you, lass,” he reassured her. “I didn’t truly consider ye’d be trying that on
me,
anyway. But I couldn’t resist teasing you. If you could have seen your face, milady… I could tell exactly when you understood what I was saying by the look of horror that crossed your face.”

Alys felt a flush rise to her cheeks once more, knowing her feelings had been so obvious. When he began to laugh at her, she poked him in the ribs.

“I doubt ’twas
that
funny,” she protested—until the memory of Rafe’s earlier expression, when she’d placed her hand on his arm, made her chuckle, as well. “I supposed it was,” she conceded. “As was yours. Come, admit I frightened you.”

“For a moment,” he agreed. “You do know how to startle a man, Lady Alys.”

They rode along in silence for a moment. Alys could feel the weight of Rafe’s gaze upon her face, but she remained quiet, unsure what to say.

Rafe tugged on the reins to guide Arian around an uprooted tree. “I didn’t mean to strike you mute, you know. Nor to make you uncomfortable.” He halted the mare in the middle of the path. “Would you rather I get someone else to ride with you?”

“Not at all,” she said. “’Tis not you making me quiet. It’s just that now I find myself with a bit to consider. I’d never thought of myself as someone who might lead a man to think things I didn’t mean.”

Before he could reply, someone behind them shouted, “Is everything all right? Have you found the road we seek?”

“Nay,” Rafe shouted back. “Just paused for a moment.” He turned round enough to peer behind them. “Sir Padrig, shall we stop soon?”

“We’ve plenty of distance left to travel,” came the reply. “Let’s keep going for a while longer.”

Rafe nudged Arian into motion. “What were we talking about?” he asked. He nodded. “Ah, yes. Are ye the kind o’ woman who would lead on a man?” Amusement filled his gaze. “I wouldn’t say you are, milady. Not unless you meant to be, anyway.”

Uncomfortable with where considering
that
notion took her, Alys glanced up and scanned the area. They’d been riding for some time. They ought to have reached the road to Winterbrooke Manor by now.

Of course, for all she knew, there might be more than
one road leading to the place—in which case she’d be of no help whatsoever, she thought wryly.

She might as well continue her conversation with Rafe, she decided. At least then, she’d keep herself from wallowing in melancholy.

She brought a smile to her lips. “Then tell me, what is the fault that lies with you, not me?”

“You’re much too noble for me, milady, if ye know what I mean.” He shrugged. “I know better than to aim so high. I vowed long ago that with women, I’d never get myself caught up in a situation I couldn’t control.” He turned his head away from her, but she heard him mutter, “Unlike some I could name.”

“No offense to you, but I’m glad my wiles—whether that was that I intended or no—didn’t work on you,” Alys told him. “I’m having a difficult enough time as it is, contemplating the fact that I might be behaving in that fashion. Do you think I have been, without realizing it?” she asked, giving voice to her concern.

“What I think, milady, is that I shouldn’t have teased ye about this in the first place.” Rafe’s tone, the look in his eyes, held reassurance. “You’ve done nothing wrong at all, and I apologize for making ye believe you had.”

He closed his hand about her shoulder and turned her to face forward in the saddle. “Now then, focus those pretty eyes of yours and let’s see if you can find something you recognize.”

Padrig plodded along in the wake of the troop, grateful that no one had fallen from their mount, and that everyone, so far as he could tell, had come to no further harm from the rigors of the journey.

As he’d expected, it had been no hardship to keep
pace with the others while on foot. The terrain was rough in places, made doubly so by the effects of the storm’s wrath. The magnitude of devastation, and the size of the area affected, was unimaginable. Downed trees, blasted by lightning, lay in splintered lengths all around them. Other trees and bushes had been uprooted by the wind, their branches ripped free and tossed about willy-nilly.

’Twas similar to what had occurred on the road they’d been following when the storm struck. Despite the rising warmth of the day, the sight sent a chill down Padrig’s spine. God or the saints—someone up above—must surely have been watching over them, for it was truly a miracle they’d not been hit harder than they had.

His eyes took note of his surroundings, but his mind seemed to prefer other matters. Unfortunately trudging through the forest gave his mind too much opportunity to mull over things he shouldn’t be thinking about.

Too many chances to stare ahead at the woman he knew he could not have.

She was in good hands with Rafe—but must they lean so near each other to talk?

What could they be discussing that involved touching, that made them smile and gaze into each other’s eyes in such a way?

Was the reason Rafe had warned him away from Alys because Rafe wanted her for himself?

Padrig halted in his tracks, taken aback by the possibility.

His gelding gave him a nudge in the back, jolting him out of his bewilderment. Turning to check on his charge, Padrig handed John a flask of water, absently answered the man’s question, though he scarce knew what the
question had been, and adjusted several of the ropes securing John atop the horse.

All the while, he kept hearing Rafe’s voice echoing in his head. Telling him that Alys wasn’t for the likes of him, that he should have a care how he behaved with her around the others.

What of Rafe, the wily bastard?

Rafe’s birth was even lower than his own, so far as Padrig knew. And the man had not won his spurs yet, either.

A simple knighthood did not a true nobleman make, but the honor certainly brought him closer to that position.

Padrig’s heartbeat raced, his pulse sounding loud in his ears. His hand closed snug about the hilt of his sword. He was battle-ready…

Yet who was he to fight?

His second in command? ’Twould be a difficult thing, to tell Lord Rannulf he’d attacked Rafe because he’d suddenly turned into a jealous fool.

Should he battle himself? Aye, mayhap he did need a sword taken to him.

For being an idiot.

The dull thud of his pulse slowed. Rational thought replaced hot-blooded jealousy.

By Christ’s bones, but he was a fool!

He shook his head at his own idiocy and forced himself to pay heed to his surroundings. They’d been traveling for some time now. They ought to be within the borders of Winterbrooke Manor’s demesne by now.

He’d not noticed any signs of settlement, but anything much less than the keep itself could likely be hidden beneath the chaos. Anything as small as a shepherd’s hut or the road to a remote farm could be nearby, and they’d never find it under these conditions.

If Alys had noted anything familiar, surely she’d have told him.

If she was paying attention to the area, not the man sitting so close behind her…

Disgusted with himself and his mindless jealousy, Padrig handed over the gelding’s reins to the man ahead of him and wended his way around the plodding horses until he caught up to Rafe and Alys.

“Sir Padrig,” Rafe called as Padrig drew near. “We were just now about to call for you.” He halted the mare, moving her to the side of the trail so the others could continue past.

Alys smiled down at Padrig as he joined them by the edge of the rough path.

That simple action sent warmth throughout him, made his heartbeat stutter, then speed up.

Silently berating himself for a fool, he ruthlessly ordered his disobedient body to behave.

Yet he found himself smiling up at Alys in return.

“How fare you, milady?” he asked quietly, resting his hand on the mare’s tangled mane and twining his fingers in the coarse hair. He barely kept himself from reaching instead for Alys’s hand, resting so enticingly near on the mare’s withers.

“I am better than I expected to be, milord, thanks to your help.” She touched the cloth that immobilized her arm. “You are a skilled chirurgeon. With this binding in place, I cannot move my arm by mistake, and I scarce feel the pull on my shoulder.”

“You may make light of it, Lady Alys, but I know ’tis painful.” He scanned her face, noted the way she held herself in the saddle, as he tried to judge precisely how much she did hurt.

Quite a lot, if he used the tension that fairly radiated from her body as a guide.

Her expression grave, she watched the slow procession of the injured past them. “’Tis not so much I cannot bear it,” she told him. “Compared to the others, my case is not so bad.”

He nodded. He well knew the guilt that could strike after a tragedy. Sorrow for those worse off than yourself…

Combined with everlasting gratitude that it wasn’t you.

She had a soldier’s outlook, a practicality that should stand her in good stead in the days to come.

“I would have told you if Lady Alys needed to rest, Sir Padrig,” Rafe said abruptly. “You can trust me to keep a close watch over her.”

“I’d not have had you ride with her otherwise,” Padrig replied, his tone equally short.

Padrig glared at Rafe, who met the look with a similar one of his own.

Mayhap he’d not been so far off the mark with his earlier notions, Padrig mused. Rafe seemed as wound up as he felt himself, when he had no reason to be.

Unless he’d an interest in Alys, as well.

“I don’t know what your problem with each other might be,” she mused, glancing from Rafe to Padrig, a stern expression on her face. “Whatever it is, we shall have no more of it.” Alys continued to stare at Padrig, her amber eyes darkened to a tawny gold, the look in them speculative.

He held her gaze and felt his irritation begin to fade away.

“Aye, milady,” he said. “We’ll behave, if ’tis your wish.”

“It would hardly serve us well if you don’t,” she told him, her voice tart. “Besides, we’ve more important
business for the nonce than waiting while you two take out your aggravations upon each other.”

She turned slightly in the saddle. “
That
is what I noticed.” She pointed toward an oddly-shaped rock formation that loomed up through the wreckage of the forest. “I wish I could remember what they called it—’tis Welsh. I believe it means the Devil’s Lair.”

“Ffau gan ‘r diafol?”
Padrig offered. He’d heard of the sprawling rock outcropping, rumored to be riddled with caves and shafts that led deep into the earth.

Or to hell itself—hence its name.

“Aye. ’Tis a lovely sounding name, despite its meaning. To me, everything sounds beautiful in Welsh. Even the most foul curses would, I imagine.” Alys gifted Padrig with a winsome smile. “Thank you, milord. Most likely I would have mangled the saying of it even had I remembered what it was.”

Jesu, he thought wryly, if that was her reaction when she heard his native tongue, he’d have to speak it round her more often.

Or not. He
had
vowed to keep her at a distance.

Damnation! He felt his foul mood rushing back with a vengeance.

“’Twas not so visible before, when the trees grew all around,” Alys said. “We rode quite close when we were hunting deep within the woods beyond the keep. Game is plentiful here. Sir Cedric, who holds Winterbrooke for my father, told us most everyone hereabouts is too frightened of the place to go near it, so they’ve done naught to clear away the trees or to plant the fields nearby.”

Padrig looked around at the ruins of the forest. “They might change their minds now. There’s years’ worth of easy pickings here for the woodsmen.”

“They will still be afraid,” Alys pointed out. “It appears the place got its name from all the strange mishaps that have occurred here as long as anyone can recall. This damage will only make their fears more real.”

Needing to look away, to see anything but the temptation Alys represented—save perhaps Rafe’s satisfied expression as he continued to sit so close to Alys, raising a questioning brow when he met Padrig’s gaze—he instead glanced up the road.

The others had moved quite a ways ahead while they’d been stopped here, he realized—and ’twas not as though they’d been traveling quickly.

He’d be glad to move on. Perhaps with some distance between them, he wouldn’t be so tempted by Alys.

Or so troubled by Rafe.

“I’m sure I’d find this most fascinating some other time, milady.” Only with great effort did he manage to temper his voice from the snarl welling inside him to a more moderate tone. He took a step back from the mare and settled his sword belt more comfortably at his waist. “However, I would be more interested to hear whether you can tell us how much farther we must travel to reach the keep.”

She glanced up at the sun, climbing closer to its zenith in the clear summer sky. “We cannot be more than an hour from Winterbrooke. Mayhap less.” Her lips curved into a smile. “I believe if we continue along this route, ’twill take us straight to the postern gate at the rear of the curtain wall. We’ll be within the manor before dinnertime.”