Page 35 of Desire's Ransom
“Because I’ll pay them to help us,” Ryland said.
Laurence crossed his arms over his chest and clucked his tongue. “I don’t trust them.”
“Right,” Warin agreed.
“Nor do I,” Ryland said, “which is why I won’t pay them until they lead me to my bride.”
Warin still grumbled, “I don’t see what’s to keep them from simply robbing us blind and stealing off into the woods.”
Laurence could answer that. “A band of motley outlaws is no match for five Knights of de Ware.”
“Is that so?” Warin argued. “They seemed to have had little trouble yesterday.”
“They had leverage then,” Godwin pointed out. “Today, we won’t be taken by surprise.”
“Right,” Ryland said, unbuckling his sword belt and handing his sword to Osgood. “This time we’ll be ready for them.”
Warin glared at him. “What the devil are you doing, m’lord?”
Ryland adjusted the pack on his shoulders. “Offering myself up as bait.”
Warin choked.
“What?” Laurence demanded. “Unarmed?”
Ryland clapped Laurence on the shoulder and winked. “They’re thieves, not murderers. I’ll be fine.”
“Oh, bloody hell, if anyone is going to be bait, ’twill be me,” Warin decided, fumbling with the buckle of his sword belt.
“Nay.” Ryland seized his arm to stop him. “This is my quest. She’s my bride.”
Warin bit back another oath. “If anything happens to you…”
Laurence frowned. “Take a dagger at least, my lord.”
“I’ll be perfectly safe,” Ryland assured them. “And I promise, if I get into any trouble, I’ll give a whistle, and you can all come running to my rescue.”
This seemed to mollify Godwin and Osgood. Laurence still looked displeased. And Warin looked inconsolable.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Ryland said, thumping Warin on the chest. “You’ll make me think that perhaps I’mnotthe most glorious, noble, and upstanding knight in England after all.”
With that, he ventured down the road alone. He followed the path around the bend until he lost sight of his men. Then he began to tromp loudly along toward the narrows, bellowing a tune sure to attract the attention of anyone in earshot. If his heartfelt rendition ofLe Lai du Chaitiveldidn’t roust the woodkerns from the woods, nothing could.
Temair sighed as she picked the blackberries off the streamside vines and dropped them into her basket. She supposed, if she was forced to stay concealed in the woods for her own safety, at least she had the company of her wolfhounds, Bran and Flann. She tossed a berry to Flann, who snapped it up in his teeth, pretending to enjoy it. She laughed, throwing one to Bran as well, who gingerly peeled his lips back and let it drop to the ground.
Now and then her gaze strayed to the fallen log that made a bridge across the stream and the spot where she’d knocked the handsome knight into the water. Her heart skipped as she remembered his bright grin and dancing brown eyes.
She’d returned to this place today, telling herself she was going back for the blackberries. But she knew the truth. As childish as it was, she hoped by some ridiculous miracle to run into that dashing swordsman again.
Of course he wasn’t coming back. Why would he? The woodkerns hadn’t stolen so much as a single coin from the knights. There was no need for them to return to collect their losses. The man was likely halfway across Eire by now.
Not that it mattered if hedidcome back.
Temair had to stay out of sight. Her black hair and telltale gray eyes would instantly mark her as the chieftain’s daughter. Now that she was in danger of being hunted, her mask wasn’t enough of a disguise.
She’d never really minded wearing a mask, to be truthful. She’d always rather enjoyed the air of mystery it lent her. And disguising her gender usually gave her an advantage when it came to foiling foes.
She smiled as she remembered the English knight’s astonished face when he’d unmasked her and realized he’d been defeated by a lass. She wished she could see his perplexed expression again.
