Page 29 of My Warrior
“You have the eye of a falcon, Myles,” Holden praised. “Good work. We’ll separate here. On foot, they can’t have gone far.” He mounted Ariel and patted her sleek neck. “Stephen, Henry, you come with me. Myles, Owen, and John, travel east. The rest of you head north. We’ll meet here again before nightfall. By then, God willing, one of us will have captured the renegades.”
Less than an hour later, a rustling in the bushes ahead startled Holden from his troubled thoughts, and the three steeds froze instantly in response to their masters’ silent commands. Slowly the men dismounted, the only noises the squeak of shifting saddles and the whisper of drawn blades. Stealthily they crept forward. Holden peered ahead toward the source of the sound, but then his keen ear heard a twig snap in the brush to the left behind them and another rustle of leaves from the right.
He only had time for one thought—they’d walked into a trap—before he felt the sharp agony of a blade piercing his flawed mail and sinking deep into his chest.
Cambria watched the day grow rapidly dreary and bleak. Showers were imminent, but the sky aged gracelessly into a vague gray presence that held onto the rain like a miser with his coins. With the knights collected within the keep, she had little desire to leave the security of Holden’s chamber. Consequently she grew as restless as the weather. When the clouds finally spilled their harvest, it was with a vengeance, and she found herself idly wondering if Holden and his men would find shelter in the storm.
She’d been pacing like a lion in a cage, desperately bored, so it was with great relief that she welcomed Gwen’s arrival with apple coffyns and wine shortly after midday.
The servant proved good enough company. Gleaning news from her was like taking the cork from a keg of ale. Never had she met a maid so eager to wag her tongue on any subject, and since Gwen had struck up a courtship with one of Holden’s men, she possessed a wealth of information. Thus Cambria discovered that Holden was one of three sons, the middle one. His older brother Duncan and he shared the same mother, but young Garth was the son of their father’s second marriage. Holden had no doubt joined Edward’s army in hopes of gaining land for himself. That was one of the only ways a younger son could win property and become a lord in his own right. Still, it chafed at her that one of the properties he’d laid claim to was Gavin land.
Cambria was then forced to listen to Gwen’s babbling about the lord’s infamous dalliances. According to all reports, there were few maids he hadn’t bedded, and the de Ware household was constantly enlarging to accommodate a number of baseborn green-eyed children whom his older brother Duncan insisted on fostering. Gwen spared no details concerning Holden’s alleged prowess and renowned virility, and by the time the supper hour had arrived, Cambria found herself completely irritated by the maid’s prattle. Then, as if that weren’t enough, as a final insult to Cambria’s sensibilities, Gwen coyly informed her that she had plans to meet her own lover, Holden’s gaoler, in the dungeon at midnight.
Cambria rolled her eyes. How anyone could focus so much attention on affairs of the heart, or more accurately, the loins, when there were battles to be waged and mouths to be fed, was beyond her grasp.
By nightfall, disgusted with Gwen’s chatter, weary of confinement, and unable to sleep, Cambria decided to venture forth. Perhaps she could find some tome from Bowden’s library in which to bury her nose. To her irritation, she was dogged by a pair of less than discreet squires that Lord Holden had no doubt set to shadow her every move.
Tiptoeing down the stairs to the great hall with an illuminated history of Rome, she was displeased to see the spot by the fire already occupied. The ominous Sir Guy half-reclined in a carved chair, his slippered feet up on a stool and his fingers laced peacefully over his large stomach.
Before she could creep back up the steps, he raised his black eyes. “I’m under oath to cause you no harm,” he grumbled.
No harm indeed, she thought dubiously. Her neck still bore the bruises from the big man’s fingers. “I can read elsewhere. I only need—“
“Read?” he interrupted with sudden interest.
“Aye.”
“What do you have there?” He nodded toward the book.
Wanting nothing more than to remove herself from the awkward situation, she told him. “It’s an account of Roman history.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You weren’t thinking to steal it?”
“Of course not,” she said tightly.
“Bring it here,” he commanded, and she thought that while he may be under oath not to harm her, that certainly didn’t keep him from ordering her about with his dark scowl and menacing presence. She stifled an oath and took a step toward him. He suddenly seemed larger than she remembered.
“How did you learn to read?” he growled.
“My father taught me.”
He smirked. “Swordsandbooks, eh?” He sniffed and nodded again at the tome. “What does it say?”
She realized with astonishment that Sir Guy couldn’t read. And she could. The idea sent a heady wave of pride surging through her.
Well, she was bored, after all, and the great hall boasted the brightest fire by which to see. She supposed reading to the enemy was no great crime. She pulled a chair up next to his, wincing at its loud rasp across the stones. Settling onto the seat, she opened the book and pointed to the words as she began reciting them.
The Englishman listened with great fascination, and soon her awkwardness dissolved away. Indeed, in spite of his coarse appearance, Guy was like a little boy enraptured with a new toy. So engrossed did they become with the reading that the harsh scrape of the outer door made them both jump in surprise.
An icy wind blew in angrily through the portal, causing the fire to dance wildly. Cambria shot to her feet. There was a confusion of movement and shouting as several rain-soaked de Ware knights stumbled into the great hall.
One of the men-at-arms called out to whoever was at hand. “Heat water and bring linen!”
Then the wind slammed the door, blocking out the melancholy wailing of the storm.
Two knights struggled toward the fire, carrying something heavy on a big blanket hung between a pair of lances. Cambria gasped as she recognized the silent, pale form stretched out on the makeshift litter.
It was Holden, and there was blood everywhere.
