The Bride Hunt (4 page)

“I am well enough, Lady Isabel.” Surprised that she would fret over him, Anvrai quickly realized her concern was for Roger. She was afraid he would drop the boy.

Anvrai led the way out of the enclosure, and when he would have headed straight for the hills, Isabel stopped him with one hand upon his arm. “We must go to the boats,” she said.

“What boats? Where?”

“This way.” She pointed in a direction opposite the village. “They brought us across a wide lake in a boat last night. It’s the way we should go to get back.”

Low hills obscured Anvrai’s view of the lake Isabel spoke of, but he now knew he’d not been entirely mistaken about the voyage on a ship. Getting on the water was a much better plan than running into the hills. They should be able to put miles between themselves and the village before the Scots realized they were gone.

And the most fortuitous part was that it would not be necessary to carry Sir Roger for
any great distance. The young man could continue to sleep in peace in the hull of a boat.

Anvrai followed Isabel’s shadowy form since she seemed to know the way. And because the sway of her body beckoned him.

Even with an injured foot, she moved with an alluring feminine grace. Anvrai thanked God for the rapidly fading light, making it nearly impossible to see the fullness of her breasts or the curve of her hip. And he prayed that it did not rain. Moisture would render her chemise transparent.

“Can you pilot a boat, Sir Anvrai?”

“I’ll manage.”

Roger groaned and started to stir, but Anvrai held on to him and kept moving. He focused his full attention on following Isabel and keeping his balance with Roger’s weight upon his shoulder. She moved quickly in spite of a pronounced limp. Anvrai did not know what had happened inside the cottage, or how she’d escaped, but he could not ask her at present. Mayhap he would never ask…’twas not his concern.

His task was to get them away from their captors.

The lake came into view in the gloaming, and Anvrai could hear the gentle lapping of the water. Isabel turned, and spoke quietly. “There is a pier, with several fishing boats moored to it.
None of the boats are very large…I—I’m not sure which one we should take.”

Anvrai knew little of boats. ’Twould be a challenge to steal one of these and get it out on the water in the dark. But he intended to manage somehow. “We’ll take the one farthest out.” That way, they would not need to navigate around the others and would be out in the open water much sooner.

They stepped onto a long wooden quay where several currachs were tied. A number of the boats were small, and Anvrai hoped they would find one near the end that would hold the three of them and be navigable as well.

He walked to the edge of the quay and lowered Roger to the ground. “Now would be the time, boy,” he said, tapping him on the face. “Come ’round. You’ve got to climb into the boat.”

Roger took a deep breath and groaned, then looked up at them. “Isabel?”

“We’ve got to hurry, Roger,” she said. “They’ll soon be after us.”

Anvrai helped Roger to a sitting position.

“What happened? How did we get here?”

“Questions later,” Anvrai said. “Can you climb into that currach?”

“My head…” Unsteadily, Roger got to his
feet. Anvrai and Isabel supported him on each side and managed to get him into the boat. Isabel followed, then Anvrai. After cutting the mooring line with the sword he’d taken, Anvrai pushed away from the quay. The oars lay on the bottom of the currach, and he picked them up, sat down, and started rowing out toward the middle of the lake.

“That way is south,” Isabel said, pointing to the far shore.

Anvrai steered them in the right direction as Isabel leaned over Roger. The small currach started to tip with her movements. “Be still, Isabel. We’ll capsize.”

’Twould be sheer luck if they did not overturn. The currach had been made for no more than three or four men, and there were nets and other fishing equipment in the bottom. The small craft rode low in the water.

“But Roger is hurt,” she said, lowering herself behind Anvrai.

He felt her breath upon his back, warm and vibrant. “Just sit still and answer my questions.”

A deep silence fell, and though questions hovered in his mind, suddenly Anvrai did not want to know what had happened to Isabel. He did not want to hear of any of the hurt or abuse she’d suffered. She was not his mother or sister,
nor was she his wife. She would have to bear her troubles alone, for he was no woman’s guardian.

The paddles moved in the water as smoke from the burning village billowed across the lake. Anvrai heard Isabel take a shuddering breath, then he felt her warm body press against his as she collapsed against him.

“I killed him,” she said. “The headman. I gutted him, with his own knife.”

I
sabel hoped she did not smell as bad as Sir Anvrai. Trembling, she pushed away from his broad back and turned to look at the smoke and flames engulfing the village. “I did not mean to wreak havoc on that village,” she murmured.

She had killed a man.

By all the saints, she had not been tutored in the rough ways of men or been given the knowledge she needed to protect herself against the lowest of them. Surely her father had intended to protect her from any mishap, yet he’d failed. ’Twas even possible he’d lost his life in the attack upon Kettwyck.

She could not think of such horrors. ’Twould
take all her efforts just to survive the coming night.

“He fell,” she said softly to herself, as if seeking some new explanation for what had happened. “After I stabbed him, the chieftain staggered back and fell. He knocked over a lamp, and it caught fire…”

Sir Anvrai continued rowing, as if he had not heard. ’Twas just as well, for she was not talking to the hulking knight, a man who could not possibly understand her need to speak of the atrocities of the night. Nor did Isabel herself really understand all that had happened. Her thoughts were oddly scattered, and there was blood on her hands.

She reached over the side of the currach and scrubbed them, though she suspected ’twould take several washings before she felt clean. Drying them on one of the leather skins that lay at her feet, she could not help but think of what she’d stolen from the man she’d killed.

The man she’d killed.

She had stood as if paralyzed, staring at him, at the terrible wound she’d inflicted upon him and the blood that welled from the deep gash in his belly while flames engulfed his house.

“Did I do that to him?” Her voice was just a whisper as she gathered the edges of her chemise together. The chieftain had ripped away
the ties, and the garment gaped indecently. Her fine kirtle had been stolen from her some days ago, and she’d been forced to travel all the way to this Scottish clime clad only in a thin, chainsil chemise. It had once been a lovely undergarment but had been thoroughly spoiled…filthy and torn, ’twas hardly the modest garb she’d worn at the abbey.

Isabel trembled with the cold as well as with dread. By the grace of God, they would escape. She prayed for deliverance but could hardly hope for a reprieve. Anvrai was injured and in too poor a condition to row them to safety. Roger lay groaning in the hull of the currach, clearly unable to aid in their efforts to escape, and ’twas too dark a night to navigate accurately. ’Twould be a miracle if they survived the crossing to the other side of the lake.

“Sir Anvrai…Can you see the far shore?”

He hesitated before answering, and his voice was gruff when he spoke. “No, Lady Isabel, I can see naught.”

The deep darkness was unsettling, likely even more so for a man who was half-blind. “How can there be no moon tonight or any stars in the sky?”

“The clouds are thick. ’Tis likely we’ll be soaked before long.”

“Are they coming after us?” Isabel turned
again to peer into the darkness behind them, but she could barely see the shadowy hills where the village lay.

“They would light their way.”

“Oh. Of course.” No one would be so foolish as to try to cross this broad lake in the dark. Pursuers would be obvious. But there were no lights and no sounds other than their own voices and the lapping of the water ’round the currach.

The rain held off, but the fugitives continued on for some time, until Isabel heard Anvrai’s breath rasping with strain every time he stroked the oars. He was exhausted and injured. He could not go on much longer, but what choice did they have? Roger was barely conscious, and Isabel but a woman, hardly skilled in seamanship. She could not take over the rowing. She would not know how to begin.

She knit her brows together. Could it be so difficult? Before night had enclosed them in complete darkness, she’d seen the way Anvrai held the oar and pushed the boat through the water. It certainly did not require any intelligence to do it, only brute strength.

“You must rest a while, Sir Knight,” she said, resolved to do her part. “You cannot go on at this harried pace.”

“Aye. I can.”

“Surely you are weary.”

He did not answer, but continued rowing while Isabel wondered if all men were so stubborn. Certainly her father was. It had taken many sessions to wear down his resolve to wed her to Lord Bernard. Yet Sir Anvrai was not merely stubborn. Isabel wasn’t certain he was actually human. Still, he could not go on this way, not with the damage the Scots had done to his powerful body.

“Pl-Please allow me to take a turn. Surely we’re far ahead of any pursuers.”

His only answer was another grunt of pain.

“I’m quite strong.” At least, she hoped she was strong, strong enough to propel them on their course across the lake.

Anvrai muttered something Isabel could not quite hear, but he turned ’round and helped her move to the center of the boat. She took hold of the oars, slipping them into the water, steering the boat in the direction of the southern bank. The movement was awkward, unlike anything Isabel had ever done; but she managed to make progress, in spite of Anvrai’s doubting stare through the murky darkness.

She wondered how his eye had been torn from its socket. Surely such an injury would have been the death of many a knight, yet Anvrai had not only survived the wound but lived
on to wage subsequent battles. She could not help but shudder at such barbarity. He was little more than a beast.

’Twas nearly silent on the lake, but for the sound of the oars cutting through the water and Roger’s occasional groan. But the acrid smell of smoke was still strong, so Isabel knew they hadn’t gone far enough to start feeling safe. Once they made it to the southern bank, she would be able to relax, and not one minute sooner.

Isabel could see naught in the darkness, but she’d always had a strong sense of direction. Surely her strength would hold, and she could row the currach until they reached their destination. With God’s grace, Roger would rouse himself and manage to keep up as she and Sir Anvrai took to the paths that would lead them south, toward Kettwyck.

“Do you remember a river?” Anvrai peered into the darkness ahead of the currach, but he was only able to hear it. The character of the water had changed, and ’twas no longer a placid surface.

“No,” Isabel replied. “We crossed from the south bank and traveled due north. I’m certain…a—at least I think…”

“Move aside.” Anvrai scrambled to the mid
section of the boat and took the oars from Isabel, whose voice sounded anything
but
certain. “We’ve drifted off course.” And he hoped they were nowhere near a waterfall.

Pain roared through his shoulder as he tried to turn the boat around. Wherever they were going, it was not the direction Lady Isabel had intended.

A sudden flash of lightning gave him his bearings, and he started rowing toward the shore. “Look back, Lady Isabel,” he said. “Keep your eyes open. If the lightning comes again, you’ll be able to see where we are.”

“But I…I am sure I rowed south. I couldn’t have steered us so far off course.”

Anvrai would have laughed at her incredulous tone if their situation had not been so dire. Once again, lightning illuminated the way, and Anvrai corrected their course. “Can you see the village?”

“No—Yes, I can see smoke billowing under the clouds,” she said. “At least, I think it’s smoke.”

“The smell is not so strong anymore.”

Anvrai had no idea where they were. They must have traveled some distance from their captors’ village, thanks to Isabel, even though they were far from the other side of the lake. She must have been rowing them in ever-widening circles.

“We’ll stay on the river,” he said, “and let the current carry us farther away.”

’Twould be best for them to conserve their strength, yet the lack of control was unnerving. Anvrai had no clear sense of their direction and was able to correct their course only during the occasional bursts of light from the sky. Even so, there did not appear to be anyplace to land the boat. The shore was bordered by high cliffs on both sides.

Somehow, all remained well until Roger roused himself and began to retch in the bottom of the boat.

“God’s bones,” Anvrai muttered in disgust, but when the boy did it again, his annoyance turned to anger. “Do that again, and I’ll toss your sorry arse overboard,” he barked.

“Let him be! He’s ill!”

“He can be ill
outside
the boat!”

The currach began to rock and Anvrai realized Isabel was moving from the back of the boat. She crawled toward him and slipped into the tight space beside him, pushing the oar away. “He needs help,” she said as she squeezed past.

“By God, woman, if you capsize this boat, I won’t be responsible for you.
Either
of you!” Battles were his forté, and hand-to-hand com
bat. Responsibility for Lord Henri’s daughter was the last thing he needed.

Isabel ignored him, rocking the boat as she pulled Roger up. Anvrai could barely see them in the dark, but she managed to prop him up and rest his chin upon the side of the boat. They were dangerously heavy in front, so Anvrai slid back a few feet in order to balance them better.

His mood was not improved by the sound of more retching over the side.

The river continued to carry them, and by the time the rain came, Anvrai estimated they’d floated a good many miles downriver. ’Twas much farther than if they’d fled on foot, but where were they? Surely they were far enough that the Scots would not come after them even though Lady Isabel had killed their chieftain. They would need to concentrate all their resources on rebuilding their village before winter came.

Diffuse light illuminated the sky behind them, and Anvrai saw the moon emerge from behind the rain clouds. The shoreline looked rugged and unapproachable, and Isabel’s form became more than just a dark shadow before him. Her hair lay soaked against her skull, and the dark bruises on her cheek and
lip stood out against her pale flesh. Her clothing was saturated—hardly adequate protection against the rain, certainly not a shield against his unwilling gaze.

Anvrai reached behind him and took hold of one of the skins she’d carried out of the chieftain’s cottage. He tossed it to her. “Put that over your shoulders so you don’t freeze.” He looked toward the shore. “We’ll head in…See if we can find some shelter.”

“Aye. Kindly hand me the other skin, and I’ll cover Roger, too.”

Anvrai clenched his teeth and avoided looking toward the comely young woman tending her pitiful suitor. Instead, he searched for a suitable place to dock the boat, but the river suddenly became more turbulent, and Anvrai turned ’round to see what lay ahead.

Dangerous outcroppings of rock rose out of the water near the banks and the current began to spin the currach in circles. Quickly, Anvrai rose on his knees and began to paddle toward the south shore. “Isabel! Take the other oar and start rowing.”

“But Roger—”

“Do as I tell you. Now!”

She moved Roger off her lap and knelt to do Anvrai’s bidding, while he used all his remaining strength to steer them away from the obsta
cles in the water. “We must get off the river before we collide with these rocks!”

As if the danger had suddenly become real to her, Isabel moved beside him and started to work. They ignored the rain as it pounded their bodies and chilled their bones. Isabel’s leather shawl fell away, but she did not allow that to interrupt her rhythm as she followed Anvrai’s lead.

“This way!”

Anvrai barely felt the pain in his shoulder or his aching rib as he paddled toward the shore. The current tossed the currach wildly, and they heard the boat scrape against something beneath the surface of the water. But the hull remained intact as Roger moaned, distracting Isabel from her task.

“He’s all right,” Anvrai shouted above the sound of the rain and the rushing water beneath them. “But
we
won’t be unless we get this currach out of the current!”

They struggled against the crashing waves. Roger leaned to his side and retched once again, and though Isabel faltered momentarily at his distress, she never stopped rowing.

’Twas fortunate, for Anvrai knew he could not manage to get them to safety without help. The torrent of rain and the crashing river were more formidable than any army he’d ever faced. The
trials of the past week had severely diminished his strength, and he doubted he would be able to continue much longer.

Isabel cried out, but Anvrai did not waste the effort to look in her direction. He kept moving the oar, pushing the boat through the water toward the shore. The wound in his shoulder burned with pain in spite of the cold rain that continuously washed it, and his ribs ached as if they were caught in an armorer’s vise and were being squeezed with every move he made.

“How long have we traveled thus?” she shouted.

“On the river?” he asked her.

“Aye!”

“I do not know, my lady,” he replied with what breath he had. “But if you do not continue rowing, our journey will end prematurely. At the bottom of the river.”

She went back to work, paddling in earnest against the rain and the rough current that tossed them dangerously from side to side. The waves carried them precariously close to the rocks, but they managed to get ’round them and maneuver past the strongest part of the current. “Look for shelter—anyplace to pull in,” Anvrai called out.

Craggy cliffs towered over them, and sheer rock walls dropped straight down to the river.
Even if they managed to row to the edge of the water, there was nowhere to land.

“There!” Isabel called. “Up ahead!”

She pointed out a small outcropping, and they paddled with renewed strength to reach it. Though ’twas unlikely there was any shelter from the rain, Anvrai thought they might be able to pull the currach out of the water and prop it up against the storm. In any event, they would be safer out of the river, at least until they had a chance to rest.

“Keep paddling,” Anvrai shouted. “I’ll pull us in!”