“Macsen,” he shouted as he stormed inside. “Indulge me.” He grabbed a sword from those stationed along the wall and headed to an area at the back. The blond grunted and threw down the dice he’d been casting, left hand against right. Clutching a broadsword, he sauntered after.
When Armand took over Hartley Manor, he’d converted a storage chamber into an indoor practice area, and here Stephen and Macsen faced each other. Macsen stood half a head taller and at least a handspan broader, but Stephen didn’t care. The Viking who’d followed him since France was the only one who could give him a decent workout.
Stephen took the first swing, and the battle was on. Only their grunts and occasional curses interrupted the squeal and clash of metal. Sweat beaded Stephen’s upper lip, trickled from his brow down his cheeks. This is what he needed. Good physical exertion to take his mind off that kiss. How stupid had he been, when all he wanted was to keep her at a distance? One touch and his intention vanished.
“As if I didn’t have a brain in my head,” he muttered, dodging a blow. Then he went on attack. “I’ve got—to get—myself—in hand.” Each phrase was punctuated by a clang of blade against blade.
“What?” Macsen roared as he countered the onslaught. With a quick turn, he leaped on the offensive, and Stephen didn’t speak for a while. But it was no use. The image of sea-blue eyes misted with passion haunted him. Did she realize those mesmerizing eyes reflected her every thought? Every passion their kiss aroused?
Concentration compromised, he stumbled.
“By Thor’s hammer.” Macsen twisted as he fought to halt his swing. “Where’s your mind this day, my friend? I could have sliced you like a side of venison.” Panting, he rested the tip of his blade to the floor. “You dropped your guard like a lick-spit squire.”
Stephen nodded. “My thanks,” he said, gaining his feet. “You spared my neck. Again.” He recalled the day Macsen appeared from nowhere to take down an Assassin at his back. With a gusted sigh, he forced his mind from that bloody day, back to the present. He leaned against the stone wall and swiped an arm across his forehead, glad for the release of frustration the practice provided. “Good challenge.”
The other knight dropped to a stool formed from a large round of wood. “This is not due to the Dragon, I think. Bad news?”
Stephen grunted. “The worst,” he said wryly.
“The lady.” Macsen nodded.
“The lady,” Stephen confirmed.
“Very bad news,” his friend agreed, a slight lift at the corners of his mouth. “But a very pretty lady.”
They relaxed, lost in their own thoughts, until a rumble of thunder broke the silence.
Finally Stephen pushed off the wall and inhaled. “I need a bath. Then I want to ask Armand if he’s hosted any strangers of late. Then perhaps I’ll see if Glenna still serves up ale at the inn.” God knew he could use a different kind of release.
****
He failed to return for the evening meal. Not because of Glenna; she no longer lived in the village. A messenger from Bernard arrived, having tracked them from the monastery. Stephen summoned Macsen to the barracks.
“Bernard reports he met a friend at an alehouse near his home.” Stephen tossed the grubby parchment fragment, which Macsen plucked from the air. “He says the man may find us on the road to England and to welcome him with the joy of Minoch.”
“Minoch, is it?” Macsen’s face darkened at the word. “Can we trust the messenger?”
“I think so. He’s a groom from the inn Bernard’s used before. The boy’s sharp. He found us with no trouble. Even if another read the note, only we know the code.”
Years earlier, after the Dragon’s bloody massacre of a nameless village, Stephen’s troop found a tiny girl sobbing beside the central well, clutching her butchered pup, Minoch.
“Then according to this”—Macsen waved the parchment—“one—or more—of the Dragon’s men travels behind us.”
“Apparently headed for England.” Stephen paced to the open door and stared out. “Either they know my identity, or the Dragon is there.”
Macsen grunted. “No matter which, the chance of encountering them is high. Not a good time for the lady to be present.”
Stephen turned with a grimace. “And there’s not a damned thing we can do about it, except move too fast to get caught. I must get her home before trouble finds us.”
****
Evie awoke at a sharp knock. A disoriented glance toward the window showed no sign of light. What could be wrong? She opened the door to find Marie in the corridor, candle held aloft.
“Davy sent me to help, milady. He said we leave soon.”
“At this hour?” Evie checked the night candle tucked on a small table near the bed. “Dawn is at least an hour away.”
The maid slipped past her into the room and shrugged. “Davy said Sir Stephen wants every person mounted by first light. And Davy said no one argues with the commander.”
Argue with the commander indeed. Muttering distinctly unladylike curses, Evie jerked her gown from the bench near the wall. Lack of rest often left her out of sorts. And last night’s sleep proved anything but restful. Images of the kiss repeated over and over in her dreams, like a troubadour’s tale. Each time she awoke with a strange ache in her chest.
What nerve he had, invading her dreams with his taunting kiss, when he couldn’t bother to attend last night’s meal. Who knew what—or who—occupied him. She certainly did not care, and she resolved never to let that kiss pass her mind again. But the blasted dream took up the moment she drifted off.
The memory fueled her anger as she stomped around the room, shoving belongings into a pack. Marie tried to help, but Evie sent the girl belowstairs to break her fast, provided Sir Heartless allowed anyone to eat.
Exasperation provided a shield when she encountered Stephen shortly after arrival in the hall. Ignoring his presence, she accepted bread and watered wine but declined meat from last night’s meal. Let the men devour it. The flesh of animals suited
him
perfectly. He undoubtedly preferred it raw, the beast.
Now she was being foolish. She bit her lip against a reluctant smile and instinctively flicked a look at him. Head bent, he spoke with Sir William. Lady Joan approached from the direction of the kitchen, carrying a large packet.
“Take this,” she insisted. “You’re bound to need something more substantial than bread once the sun rises. I cannot stomach food this early, myself.”
Evie accepted the provisions with thanks. “I appreciate your hospitality. You made us very welcome.”
Lady Joan’s beaming face brought light to the shadowed hall. “Oh, don’t mistake. It is I who appreciate the company. Such a treat to speak with another lady. I only wish you might remain longer.”
She stepped closer, and her voice lowered. “Since you’ve known Sir Stephen for so long, I needn’t warn you to disregard his bullying.” She glanced his way. “He’s in a rare temper. ’Twas the message last eve. Even my lord worried over it far into the night. Beware. If the Phoenix suspects danger, he’ll turn tyrant to keep you safe.”
The Phoenix? Why would she call Stephen by such a name? Evie nodded as if she understood but avoided Lady Joan’s eyes.
And to what danger did she refer? Was it the same menace that forced the party into flight a day earlier? But theirs was a small, unthreatening group that traveled peacefully. Why would anyone wish harm for an unimportant lady and two monks on pilgrimage to…what was the pair’s destination? In the turmoil of discovering Stephen, then dealing with the strain of being in his presence, she’d completely forgotten to ask. To what holy site did they venture?
Evie caught Lady Joan’s anxious frown at Sir Armand, and a flash of uncertainty chilled her. Perhaps an earlier instinct proved right. This pilgrimage masked a different mission.
Grasping at the thread of earlier conversation, she asked, “Why would Sir Stephen anticipate a threat to our journey?”
Lady Joan’s eyes widened, and her face pinked. “Um…that is something you should ask him. Please excuse me, Lady Evie. I must gather supplies for the men.”
Evie frowned as the lady—fled, the only word to describe her rapid retreat. Danger, was it? Sir Stephen owed her an explanation, and she intended to extract one. Later, she decided, as he joined Macsen at the doors. Again that unspoken command drew everyone outside. For now, they rode.
The pace proved as grueling as that of the last two days. More than once, Evie recalled Lady Joan’s comment about Stephen’s speed of travel. He hadn’t required anyone to gallop yet, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he did.
Without Davy’s presence, Marie would have been a soggy lump of tears. But the young man kept the maid entertained with stories about England and his exciting exploits since becoming a squire for Lord Henry. His previous lord, Sir Giles, lived all too calm a life these days, and Davy sought adventure.
Macsen approached and reined his mount around. The big knight nodded solemnly. “We’re to stop up ahead, my lady. The captain thought you’d want to distribute provisions the Lady Joan sent.”
“What wonderful news. I’m sure the men will be happy for a break as well.” Evie squinted to make out the area he’d waved toward. The trees looked inviting. Try as she might to appear unshaken, she was tired. Those blasted dreams.
Her attitude had mellowed as they rode, but the exhaustion grew. Overall, the morning failed to reach any definition of pleasant. Perhaps she’d feel better after eating. So thoughtful of Lady Joan to provide food for everyone. Evie liked the lady. They might have become friends, given more time.
The group reached the trees soon. She unpacked the provisions and shoved a chunk of bread and wedge of cheese at Marie to give Stephen. Except for a flashing glance, he made no notice of her obvious efforts to ignore him. That slip would have gone unnoticed had she been able to keep her own gaze away from him.
Soon after, calling herself all manner of foolish, she concentrated on gathering the remnants of the meal. One of the guards packed the food into a leather satchel while she folded the blanket.
Macsen appeared at her side once again to help her mount.
“I hope the stop has refreshed you, my lady.” He held his hands for her foot.
She longed to tell him precisely how she felt about the hurried pace, but good manners prevailed. No reason to strike out at this knight simply because his captain was an unfeeling rock.
“Thank you, yes, Sir Macsen.” Evie managed a smile. “This rest came at just the right time.” She tucked down her skirts and took the reins. Lying was coming much easier these past few days. Travel had, indeed, been a great teacher.
Another mount drew close and without turning her head, she stiffened. Her heart thudded, and her breath hitched. Her body hadn’t learned to lie at least. It reacted when Stephen was near, even when she didn’t face him.
He rode for a time without speaking. From the corner of her eye, she watched him stare ahead, as if determined not to look her way. Best that he did not, after his disgraceful behavior yesterday. Surely he didn’t expect her to speak. The silence grew, and with it, an unwanted quickening of her pulse. Her palms began to tingle. Not a good sign.
The side of her mouth twitched, and she clenched her jaw. All the good manners in the world couldn’t stop her from lashing out if he didn’t move soon. Much easier to give vent to festering anger than to reveal any other emotion.
“Macsen says we’re traveling too fast for ladies,” he finally ground out. “I fear we’ll be caught by rain as it is. I want to reach port before nightfall. The sooner we arrive, the sooner I can secure passage to England.”
He turned to her, expression blank as an effigy. “If luck holds, we’ll be in England very soon. That should please you.” Without waiting for a reply, he touched spurs to the bay and galloped away.
She wanted to shout. She wanted to—well—throw something. Until Stephen of Rively reappeared in her life, she had not resorted to violent thoughts. The cursed man had the power to provoke her into behaving in ways she wouldn’t. Thinking in ways she shouldn’t. Her dreams of him, waking and sleeping, ought to make her ashamed. They simply made her angry.
Her shoulders slumped. And sad.
The wind picked up throughout the afternoon, and the men often checked the darkening sky. Evie had no doubt they’d be drenched before any town appeared, yet Stephen made no attempt to find shelter among the thinning tree cover. He acted as if the approaching rain held no threat.
The fat, charcoal-bellied clouds rolling in left no doubt in her mind. This would be more than a gentle spring rain. At home, storms at this time of year could be devastating. Not so many years ago, Chauvere’s village lost its blacksmith shop when winds uprooted a giant oak and flung it across the structure’s roof.
She twisted in the saddle to check the surroundings. Nothing close that would provide any kind of protection should a storm become vicious. Stephen’s insistence on speed this day suddenly seemed very wise. But it might all be for naught.
She made out a few large rocks to the west. That might be the best bet if they couldn’t outrun the coming weather. Marie’s pony trotted up, the maid’s round face creased in alarm.
“Davy says we should stay together, milady,” the maid called. “In case that cloud means business.”
Evie smiled at the girl’s words. They sounded straight from Davy’s mouth, all right. It seemed the squire had developed an ardent admirer.
The words proved prophetic. Thunder cracked in the distance. The latest scout appeared, waving to Stephen. Macsen joined them, and they consulted briefly, then Stephen galloped her way.
“We can’t make it farther today,” he called as he pulled his mount to a sharp halt. The gelding tossed its head and blew, as if agreeing. “William has found a place where we can stop. It’s ahead, away from the coast. If we hurry, we should be able to make it before the brunt of the storm hits. Hand me your reins and hold on. I’ll direct your mount.”
His outthrust hand hung in midair as Evie glared. “You must be jesting,” she said. “I’m not a child. No one needs to guide me. I can ride with the best of your men.”