Trapped at the Altar (24 page)

It was all over in the next few minutes, the would-be brigands on the ground, clutching their wounds. “Secure them, and leave them against the fence,” Ivor instructed as he assessed the damage. “Who else is hurt?”

“Just a scratch, sir,” the coachman said, tearing off
a piece of his shirt with his teeth to fashion a bandage around his bleeding arm. “And Jake there got his shoulder out of joint.”

“Tilly's inside waiting,” Ariadne said. “She'll put your shoulder back, Jake, and she'll have bandages and poultices and whatever.”

“Where are the horses?” Ivor looked around, frowning.

“I let them loose. We'll have to round them up when it's light,” Ari told him.

He looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. Anger glowed in his deep blue eyes. “Get inside,” he instructed sharply.

It was an odd tone to use to someone who'd just saved his life, she thought, but she was going inside anyway, so she wiped her knife blade on a piece of straw and made her way back to the cottage.

Tilly was in the taproom tearing an old sheet into strips. Her little bag of herbs was on the counter together with a jug of steaming hot water. “How bad?” she asked, glancing up as Ari came in.

“Our own men? Nothing too much. Jake's put his shoulder out, and Abe has a cut on his arm. There may be other minor wounds, but everyone's on their feet . . . at least, our men.” She went to the fire and piled on more logs. “It'll be dawn soon. Where's our genial host and his lady?”

Tilly shook her head. “Haven't seen 'em. Once the shouting started and the fire, the lad went off running like the devil was on his heels. There's not a soul in the kitchen.”

“Wise of them to beat a retreat,” Ari observed. “I wouldn't give much for their chances if our lot got hold of them. At least the rain stopped the fire from taking too quickly.”

The door opened on a wet gust, and the Daunt men came in in a group, wet, muddy, and bleeding. “Jake, you first,” Ari called, seeing the man's ashen face as he cradled his limp arm against his chest. “Tilly, can you put it back for him?”

“Sit you down there, now,” Tilly instructed, pointing to a stool. She moved behind him, her hands feeling his shoulder socket. He bit his lip hard to stifle a cry of pain at the probing. “Hold still.” There was something about Tilly's calm manner that instilled confidence. She gave a pull and a push, and Jake yelled and then breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“Eh, lass, I reckon you've done it.” He put his hand tentatively up to his shoulder, moving it slightly in the joint. “Aye. Feels good.”

“Let me strap it.” Tilly fashioned a sling from some of the old sheeting she'd been tearing for bandages. “Reckon a tot of brandy'll set you up fine now.” She looked around. “Who's next?”

Ivor was filling cups liberally from the innkeeper's brandy cask, handing them around to his men as they waited for Tilly's ministrations. He said nothing to Ariadne, although he passed her a cup with the rest.

“Are you hurt?” she asked as she took it.

He shook his head. “Nothing that won't heal in the
fullness of time.” He looked at her, that same anger glowing in the blue depths of his eyes.

“What's the matter?” Ari asked directly.

“Are you hurt under all that soot and filth?” he asked instead of answering her.

“No. And what's a little soot? It'll wash off.” Soot didn't seem an adequate explanation for his anger. She left him and went to the counter, dipping a cloth into the hot water to wash her face. The cloth came away black as pitch. She must look like a chimney sweep. She poured water into a bowl and carried it up to the loft. There seemed nothing further for her to do in the taproom, and Ivor was issuing orders for guarding the trunks and rounding up the horses as soon as dawn broke.

She was weary, Ari realized, now that the excitement was over. It seemed an age since she had woken and started that blissful interlude between the sheets. An interlude so brutally shattered. She shrugged out of her jacket and slowly eased off her boots and britches, shaking down her night shift.

Ivor's steps sounded on the stairs as the shift fell to her ankles. She turned to greet him with a tired smile, which died as she saw his expression in the light of the candle he held.

“I told you to stay here,” he declared, setting the candle on the mantel. “Just what in
hell
did you think you were doing?”

Ari felt her own temper rise as the events of the night took their toll. “Setting the horses free of a burning barn,
saving our possessions, saving your life, as I recall. Did I do something wrong?” Her voice was as sharp as an ice pick as she faced him, a sparrow to his falcon.

Ivor pressed finger and thumb into his eyes in a gesture of utter weariness. “I told you to stay here,” he repeated.

“Did you? I didn't hear,” she responded. “And on the whole, I'm glad I didn't. You might not be here if I had.”

His expression lightened slowly. He shook his head, and there was now a glint of amusement to replace the earlier anger in his eyes. “You really won't ever be an obedient wife, will you, Ariadne?”

She gave him a look of astonishment. “No, of course not. Whatever made you think I might be?”

“Oh, I don't know,” he returned, shaking his head. “A moment of lunacy, probably . . . or perhaps a little wishful thinking.”

“Not something to be indulged too often,” Ariadne stated. “Do we have time to go back to bed before dawn?”

He looked at her a little warily. “If you've sleep in mind, then, yes.”

“What else?” she asked with an innocent smile. “I'm exhausted.” She fell back on the straw mattress, opening the top sheet in invitation. “Sleep, Ivor.”

He pulled off his boots, blew out the candle, and climbed fully dressed into bed beside her.

“Where are the innkeeper and his wife, do you think?” Ari asked, turning into the curve of his arm.

“I have no idea and not the slightest interest,” he responded. “Any more than I care two farthings for those brigands outside in the rain.”

“But we'll have to do something with them,” Ari murmured. “We can't leave them tied up in the rain forever.”

“Go to sleep . . . unless you want to go and join them.” His arm tightened around her, and she could feel his smile as she slipped into an exhausted sleep.

A
riadne awoke in broad daylight. The storm had passed, leaving a clean-washed pale sky and sodden ground. Ivor was gone from the bed, and she could hear raised voices through the ill-fitting window. Pushing aside the covers, she staggered to her feet, aware of every muscle in her body. She went to the window, throwing open the shutters. Below was a scene of ordered busyness. A miserable-looking group of would-be brigands was huddled on the wet grass while Tilly moved among them tending brusquely to their wounds. Two Daunt men stood guard with an air of indifference.

She could see no sign of Ivor and none at all of the owners of the Fallow Deer. She dressed rapidly and went downstairs. The taproom was deserted, although the fire burned brightly enough. She stuck her head into the kitchen. No one there, either, but again, the fire in the range was hot and bright, and a kettle of water steamed. She realized she was ravenous, but there
was a conspicuous absence of breakfast, not even a loaf of bread.

Ari went back through the taproom and outside. “Can I help, Tilly?”

Tilly, in the process of attaching a poultice of what looked like rotting moss to the bleeding thigh of one of their assailants, shook her head. “No, thanks, Miss Ari. But they're having trouble with the horses, and Jake's shoulder's too sore to do much. Sphinx is still spooked.”

“I'll go and see what I can do.” Ari vaulted the low wall that separated the patch of front yard from the rear. Ivor was leading Turk into the yard. The big black reared at the lingering smell of smoke from the barn.

“What can I do?” Ari asked, laying a soothing hand on the horse's withers. “Have you seen Sphinx?”

“He's about a hundred yards distant, and keeping his distance,” Ivor responded. “I don't think anyone will be able to do anything with him except you. There's a rope halter on the water butt over there. Oh, and there are some bruised windfalls in a basket behind the barn.”

Ari fetched the halter and found the apples. She took two, dropping them into the pocket of her jacket. “Where are the rest of the horses?”

“Coming in slowly. We managed to salvage enough bran for a decent mash, and Jake's mixing it with his one good arm. Abe's cut is deep, but he can hammer a nail, so he's helping to make a corral out back for them. It'll hold 'em overnight.”

“So we're to stay here all day?”

“Licking our wounds,” Ivor agreed. “We've lost our
host and hostess, but there are sufficient provisions for us to have a decent meal, and after a night's rest, we'll start off at daybreak tomorrow.”

“You don't expect another ambush?”

His laugh was sardonic. “Unlikely, dear girl. I think the lesson's been learned.”

Ari nodded and left him, going in search of Sphinx. She saw him, as Ivor had said, standing warily a few hundred feet from the inn. The village felt completely empty, as if all its inhabitants had been driven off by a long ship of Viking raiders. Either that, or they were cowering behind locked doors.

Ari approached the horse slowly, talking softly to him, the halter concealed behind her back. He could lead her a merry dance through the hills if he chose to be difficult, but she knew he was hungry and scared and in need of familiarity.

“Here, boy.” She held out an apple on her flat palm. “It's quite safe now.” He let her approach within a few feet, and then he tossed his head and retreated a few yards, still watching her warily, his eyes rolling.

Ari sighed. It could be a long morning, and she was very hungry. She took a bite out of the bruised windfall and watched her horse, who watched her back. “It's good,” she said, holding it out on her palm again. This time, Sphinx approached with a dancing step, head high on his arched neck. He came close enough to snatch the apple from her hand and then retreated, but this time not so far.

Ari took a bite out of the second apple, watching him
now out of the corner of her eye. Then she turned and walked casually back towards the yard, whistling softly to herself. She could sense Sphinx move behind her, tentative steps in her wake, and she nodded in silent satisfaction. He was following her home to safety, and soon she would be able to slip the halter over his head.

Ivor had Turk secured in the corral by the time Ari and her horse came into the yard. “What are you intending to do with those vermin from last night?” Ari inquired, releasing Sphinx into the enclosure.

“Send them on their way, once Tilly has patched them up. They're no use to us, and I don't think we need to involve what passes for the law in these parts, do you?” He bit into a windfall, leaning back against the rough railing of the corral.

“No,” she agreed. “Can I have a bite? Sphinx ate all mine.”

Amiably, Ivor held out the apple, and she took a bite, spitting a pip to the ground at her feet. “Are we safe here for the day?”

“Why not? We didn't break the law . . . we didn't attack innocent travelers in their beds. No one knows who we are.”

“I doubt that's true,” Ari said, leaning in for another bite. “When the Daunts leave the valley, the whole countryside knows. Although,” she added thoughtfully, “maybe the news didn't reach this far across the Levels.”

“Probably not.” Ivor tossed the apple core into the
enclosure. “Otherwise, I doubt we'd have been attacked. We're finished here for the moment, and I'm famished. Let's see if anyone's getting breakfast.”

“Tilly's still busy with the wounded.”

“Well, you're not unversed in kitchen arts, are you, ma'am?” he asked with a mockingly raised eyebrow.