Page 60 of While Angels Slept
The man mimicked her expression. “Were you not in danger? Were you not about to be abducted by that knight, perhaps even worse?”
Cantia was at a loss, suddenly not feeling so completely frightened. “You saw what happened?”
The man nodded confidently. “We had been trailing your party for some time,” he said. “We saw the knight kill his two colleagues and set upon you. So we saved you and your children.”
He seemed very proud of himself. Cantia was completely baffled. “Yousavedus?” she repeated. “What in the world is going on here? Why were you following us?”
The man shrugged. “Because you were there,” he said simply. “To tell you the truth, we were going to rob you but when we saw the knight turn against you, we decided to act. Perhaps it was because of the children or perhaps it was because we still seek your riches. I do not know. Perhaps we may kill you after all.”
Cantia was back to fear again. “Please do not kill us,” she begged softly. “If it is money you seek, then I can promise you a handsome reward if you return us to Rochester Castle.”
The man’s careless and rather humorous posturing fled and he peered at her, clearly interested.
“Rochester Castle?” he said, somewhat incredulous. “Is that your home?”
She nodded eagerly. “Aye,” she replied. “My… my husband is Viscount Winterton. He will pay you a great deal of money if you return the children and me unharmed.”
The crowd rumbled restlessly and the man seemed to lose some of his confidence. In truth, he looked rather uncertain.
“Winterton,” he repeated. “Is he not part of East Anglia?”
By his tone, Cantia wasn’t so certain that was a good thing. She didn’t like the way he said it. But she didn’t back out, not after she’d already divulged the information.
“Aye,” she said, eyeing him, eyeing the crowd. “Please return us to Rochester. I will make sure you receive a goodly reward.”
The man let go of her wrist. He seemed to be oddly subdued, unusual for a man who had been so animated moments before. He looked around the fire, at the faces of the dirty and destitute people, seemingly lost in thought. Cantia watched with mounting apprehension as he seemed to ponder her offer.
“He will kill us,” he finally said.
Cantia shook her head. “Nay, he will not,” she insisted. “You did indeed save us from a rogue knight. My husband will greatly reward you, I promise.”
The man’s gaze lingered on her. “Winterton is a man without mercy. I should know. His army burned my village and destroyed my home. My family and I had to take refuge in the forest because we have nowhere else to go. Now we live here, with these fine people, and we take what we want.”
With that, he grabbed her wrist again and yanked her roughly in the direction they had come. The crowd yelled and cheered as the man spouted all of the terrible things he planned to do to the prisoner.
Terrified, Cantia was back to fighting him again, scratching and kicking, until he tried to slap her again but missed. Then she threw herself to her knees, trying to stop the momentum, but he simply pulled her along, dragging her through the grass and dirt, collecting leaves against her knees as he pulled. By the time they reached the shelter where Hunt and Arabel were sleeping, she was verging on panicked tears.
“Please,” she begged. “Do not hurt me.Please.”
He didn’t reply other than to yell victoriously at the crowd in the distance and throw open the shelter door, tossing Cantia inside.
Cantia fell to the ground, nearly landing on Hunt. The boy had been awakened by all of the commotion and was sitting up, rubbing his eyes and crying when he saw his mother sprawled on the ground. His weeping woke up Arabel, who lay next to him but was too weak to sit up as he was doing. She just lay there, crying, with her hands over her face.
On the ground, Cantia cowered as the man entered the shelter behind her and slammed the door. She was horrified at what she was sure was about to happen, in front of her son and Arabel no less, and the tears began to come. Still, she didn’t give up. As the man came close, she put up a booted foot to kick him away. She was going to fight him or die trying.
But instead of descending on her, an odd thing happened. The man veered over to the wall where Cantia’s satchels sat, fairly intact. Cantia watched him, terrorized, and saw he was going for the bags. As she watched, he unfastened the leather ties and opened up the satchel. Then he began to rummage around.
“You have some fine things,” he said, pulling out a luscious topaz-colored silk surcoat and holding it up to the muted light. “This is beautiful. Where did you get it?”
Cantia was still on the ground, confusion mingling with her terror. She slowly began to push herself up.
“I… uh, that is to say, I bought the material in London,” she said hesitantly.
“Did you sew it?”
“I did.”
The man looked at her over his shoulder and she saw a glimpse of that insane smile once more. “You have great skill,” he said, turning back to the contents of the bag and pulling out a blue cotton surcoat. “If you are the viscount’s wife, do you not have women to sew for you?”
