“Then they must be looking for another band. The Dragon resurfaced only in the last months.”
“It does appear his sorties have taken a new direction.” Matthew rubbed his jaw. “As you said, the raids seem to center along our routes. Almost as if they’re trying to direct blame on us.”
“Yes,” Stephen agreed. “These past weeks, the attacks have been planned for a purpose. We’ve got to discover that purpose. But for now, we keep a watch on our new friends. Make sure they are who they say.”
He didn’t yet know what he hoped to learn. For Evie’s sake it should be positive.
****
Sun slanted through the high, narrow window, falling across Evie’s face. Blinking against the brightness, she sat. Her knee stung, but the headache from last night had disappeared. She huffed a sigh.
“Marie?” she called.
“Here, milady.” The maid materialized at Evie’s side, her eyes wide, her voice breathless.
“The lord sent you this wine and asks that you join him on deck when you feel better.” She pressed an object into Evie’s hands.
Mouth ajar, Evie stared at a jewel-encrusted goblet, then glanced up. “Where would Sir Stephen find such as this?”
“Oh, no, milady. Not the captain, the fine lord who travels with us. His man brought it just now, before you awoke. He arrived while Sir Stephen was here.”
“When did Sir Stephen visit?”
“Earlier, milady. He asked about your injury and if you passed a good night. He said to send word when you awoke.”
“You need not bother, Marie. I’ll deliver my own message.” She handed the wine to the girl, then slid to the floor and steadied herself with a hand against the wall. “Bring water, please. Let’s see if we can make me presentable to meet my betrothed.”
Her betrothed. She shivered in the warm cabin. It was true, then.
The idea of marriage hadn’t been real when Henry wrote of it. She’d nurtured a grain of doubt deep inside. Even were it true, she’d not expected fate to throw the two of them together so precipitously. And, inconceivably, the lord she would wed awaited just outside.
Her heart thudded halfway into her throat, and the end of her nose tingled.
I’m not ready
.
“Do you think he will be fine looking, milady? As fine looking as Sir Stephen? That one is pleasing to look upon, even with his old hair,” the maid chattered as she poured water into a wooden basin.
Evie winced at the words. At the back of her head, a dull throb began. She didn’t want to think of Stephen. She didn’t want to think of this unknown man she was to wed. She didn’t want to think at all. But the world wouldn’t go away, no matter how fervently she wished otherwise. The past taught her that.
“Marie, find a gown in my pack, please, and hand me the brush.”
At last, Evie smoothed both hands down her skirt, trying to ease away the travel wrinkles.
Impossible, but the effort was more nervous reaction than real concern for the condition of the gown. Marie rose to her toes to press the finely wrought silver circlet firmly over the lightweight wimple, then clasped her hands in satisfaction.
“Ready, milady. Are you not excited?”
“I’m certainly ready.” Evie straightened her shoulders, then stepped through the narrow door.
Above deck, a mild breeze flapped the sail and swept a pleasant salty odor across the deck. Huge white clouds puffed their bellies low upon the horizon, blocking the sun that had awoken her. A tall, broad- shouldered knight stood fore with Stephen, where they gazed out at the sea.
As if sensing her, Stephen turned, and the motion brought the other man around. Evie’s first glimpse of the other knight encouraged her. He didn’t look cruel or even unreasonable. In fact, many ladies would name him handsome. Nor did he appear as old as she feared, even with the smattering of gray in his brown hair. She started toward them.
Stephen glared and stepped forward. “My lady, allow me to present Lord Fulk d’Ambrosie. My lord, Lady Evelynn of Chauvere.”
Lord Fulk held out his hand and bowed when she placed hers in it. “My lady. I am honored. Thank you, Captain. I will talk with the lady now.” He placed her hand on his arm and angled to the left, far enough to further signal dismissal.
Evie chanced a quick look at Stephen and caught him glaring in resentment. He turned but took just a step. It would be like him to listen to their conversation. She had no time for further thought, for Lord Fulk faced her with a charming smile. And in spite of her earlier assessment, she found herself wary. The smile did not reach his brown eyes.
“This is not the way I envisioned our introduction. I thought we would meet in your brother’s hall with all ceremony, surrounded by your family with their well wishes. But our lives do not always unfold as planned.” He gestured to the ship. “Duty drives us both.”
“As you say, my lord. I had planned to be home sooner, but my cousin has been ill. I’ve been unable to leave her until now.” Betrothed they might be, yet Evie remained reluctant to reveal more.
The side of Lord Fulk’s mouth twitched as he nodded once. “Your brother no doubt informed you that King Richard arranged our betrothal days before he was wounded. King John has affirmed the order. He said nothing gave him more pleasure than to see one of his commanders marry Henry of Chauvere’s sister.”
Lord Fulk’s words sounded formal, courtly, and correct, yet she felt no joy from them. The fall last night must have numbed her mind. He leaned back, gaze moving from her face to her breasts to her hips. When he looked up, his lips compressed and those cold, flat eyes crinkled in assessment.
In the next instant, he smiled with such charm, she wondered if she had been mistaken. She pushed aside the edge of her wimple the increasing wind flung into her face. Perhaps she imagined Lord Fulk’s expression. Did he know of her family’s feud with the king?
She had no doubt John would enjoy creating problems for any of them, considering their history. Her shiver owed nothing to the cool wind whipping across the water.
“You should have brought a warmer cloak,” her betrothed said. “The wind has picked up.” Glancing at the horizon, he frowned. “Indeed. I believe the weather is changing quickly.”
He held out his arm. “Allow me to escort you to your cabin, Lady Evelynn. The weather looks to be turning. It wouldn’t do to have you soaked.” As if in response to his words, a wave sloshed across the edge of the deck, dampening her slippers.
Evie placed her hand on his sleeve and turned to find Stephen nowhere in sight. The wind increased as she and Lord Fulk made their way to the steps. As they reached them, Stephen appeared.
“I’ve instructed your maid to secure your belongings, my lady.” Stephen ignored her companion. “Stay below until I tell you otherwise. From the look of it, we’re in for a storm.”
The muscles on Lord Fulk’s forearm tightened beneath her touch, and his shoulders stiffened. “I can see to my betrothed, Captain.” His voice was tight, mouth set.
Stephen threw him a measured look. “My duty is to the lady, under orders of her brother. Until he tells me otherwise, she is my responsibility. My lord.” The last was delivered in a respectful tone, but Evie discerned the underlying challenge.
She caught the side of her lower lip between her teeth, hoping Lord Fulk didn’t retaliate. Beneath her hand his arm bunched again, and she tightened her hold. Surely he didn’t intend to strike out. The muscles relaxed, but before he could reply, the ship lurched and a wave washed over the bow, where they had stood moments before. Water sprayed her face even at that distance.
Stephen grabbed her and pushed her down the steps. “Get to your cabin and stay there,” he shouted above the rising noise. He shoved past Lord Fulk and dashed toward the sailors struggling with the canvas.
The other man glowered at Stephen’s retreating back, then turned to face Evie. “He’s right. You must remain inside until this squall blows over. We’ll speak then.”
Evie navigated the narrow stairwell, a hand on either wall to balance her as the craft plunged and tilted. The rumble of waves left no doubt of the storm’s growing ferocity. Odd it had descended so quickly. At a particularly sharp pitch she paused, back flat against the wall at the base of the stairs. When the floor righted again, she hurried to her cabin and secured the door behind her.
Marie huddled on a corner of the narrow bunk, face white, eyes clenched shut. It looked like the girl’s enjoyment of sea travel suffered a setback. Evie found the hand basin that had fallen from the stand and brought it with her. Marie sat up, then tried to stand. “Let me help you, my lady,” she murmured. But the boat rocked with another wave surge, and she sank back.
“Never mind, Marie.” Evie perched on the edge of the bunk and handed her the container. “We’ll just sit here until the rain ends.”
Marie clutched the basin to her chest. “Oh, my lady, I fear we are to die. I am not ready.” Her terrified whine carried over the sound of the wind. She yelped at the unexpected crack of lightning and cowered further into the wood of the wall.
Evie reached out to pat her shoulder. The girl’s natural dramatics were not exaggerated for once; the storm was escalating so rapidly Evie, herself, felt a bit alarmed. What might serve to distract Marie’s terror? “Shall I tell you of my betrothed?”
The maid nodded above hunched shoulders, and Evie settled back. Marguerite would scold to hear her gossip with a servant, but at home, servants were treated differently.
“He is rather tall,” she began. “But not as tall as Stephen. His eyes are”—without emotion, like flat stone—“brown. His hair is dark, with bits of gray”—not the gleaming silver of Stephen’s—“and worn short, below his ears.”
Marie sat straighter. “Is he old?” she whispered.
“Perhaps two-score.” Evie pictured the lines weathered into his forehead and around his eyes. Much more pronounced than Henry’s, gifts of time spent in Outremer.
Perhaps Lord Fulk had followed King Richard to Jerusalem as her brother had.
The maid’s fear had dropped away. She leaned forward. “And is he handsome, my lady?”
Evie hesitated. Was he? Perhaps, to be fair. “Many would find him so. Perhaps ‘distinguished’ is the word.”
Thunder rocked the timbers of the small room; Marie squeaked and cowered back into a corner of the bunk. Neither spoke after that.
Working alongside the crew to keep the ship from being swamped, Stephen had no time to think about being ill. At first he worried about Evie, but he reminded himself of her irrepressible spirit. She wouldn’t be frightened by the pitching of the craft, nor of the thunder. She’d be safe below with Marie to care for her should the tossing of the waves prove too much for her stomach.
His biggest concern—the horses. What should have been a journey of a few hours, easily tolerated in tight quarters, was fast becoming a danger for the animals. Jasper, he didn’t worry about. His gelding could withstand most any conditions. The others, however, he wasn’t so sure of. If they became too agitated, they might harm themselves, or each other. They might also damage the ship.
He glimpsed Matthew and bellowed, “See to the horses.” The other man lifted a hand in acknowledgment and disappeared into the curtain of rain.
Another wave crashed over the deck, sending one of the crew rolling toward the side. The man flailed for purchase but found nothing to grab onto. Muttering a curse, Stephen looped the rope he held around his wrist and lunged. His hand grazed the man’s outstretched arm, then caught on the shirt. Stephen hauled back, just as the ship pitched, sending them both into the deck cabin wall.
Stephen released the rough fabric he clutched and grasped the limp sailor’s shoulder to haul him over. But a rough hand shoved him aside, and the ship’s captain dropped to his knees.
“Raoul.” The man grabbed the smaller figure and shook. “You fool. You will not be dead.”
Stephen could see now that the unconscious sailor was scarcely more than a boy.
The youth coughed at last, then turned and retched on the deck.
“
Merci le bon Dieu
,” the captain muttered. He leaned back on his heels and glanced at Stephen. “
Merci
,” he repeated. “My son. His first time to travel with me, the young idiot. Neither of us could return home if he is harmed, for his mother would kill us both.” His gaze bored into Stephen, then he leaped to his feet pulling his still-coughing son along.
“Go below,” he ordered the youth. “Check that the supplies are undamaged.”
Raoul peered up at Stephen, and with a quick nod of thanks, fled toward the hold. The captain turned. “I am in your debt,
monsieur
,” he threw out before racing toward the wheel.
The next few minutes were a haze of lashing sails and wresting rope. Then, just as quickly as it had blown up, the storm quieted. The downpour became a cold drizzle, the clouds scudded north, and the ship settled into a sulking pout of movement, jerking in the roiling water, but no longer in danger of capsizing.
Stephen took quick count of his men. Blood streaked Macsen’s head, and William limped. The others appeared unhurt as they continued to work with the crew to clean up the mess left behind.
Macsen strode toward him, mopping blood from his cheek with his wet sleeve. “I can’t find Matthew,” he reported.
“I asked him to see to the horses,” Stephen said. “I’ll check on him. Tell Davy to make sure the lady is unhurt.”
As he clambered down the wooden rungs that served as ladder steps, he espied the captain’s son darting among the barrels on the supply side, tucking down fingers as he counted.
With a shout, the youth dashed behind a stack of toppled containers near the partition that separated supplies from the horse stalls. Stephen leaped the final rungs and raced to the spot where Raoul stood, mouth agape, eyes bulging.
Matthew lay sprawled in a pool of blood.
The bottom dropped from Stephen’s stomach. He bent to explore his friend’s body. There. On his back, just below the right shoulder. A stab wound. Stephen muttered curses as he pressed two fingers against Matthew’s throat. Not even a slight throb to show breath. He squinted, set his jaw, then blanked his emotions as he did in a crisis, and assessed the surroundings.