Part 11 (1/2)
”And ...” The gleaming amber eyes lifted to meet his. ”And I saw her. She was standing fifty yards away, a clear shot, bold as evil under the moonlight. I did not even realize I had fit an arrow to my bow, or raised the bow to my shoulder until the string was drawn and the arrow in flight.”
”You shot shot her.” her.”
The crown of unruly red curls bowed again. ”I shot at at her. I missed.” her. I missed.”
The Friar, perched quietly nearby as a casual witness to the proceedings, crooked an eyebrow. ”You missed? A clear shot from fifty yards ... and you missed!” missed!”
Gil reddened, for it was something that did not occur with any great frequency.
”She was not alone. Whoever was with her must have seen something and pushed her out of the way just as I loosed my arrow and ... well ... before I could notch and fire another, Sparrow flew down on me out of nowhere and-”
”Saved your crusty hide, no doubt,” the Wolf cut in bluntly. ”Did they not give chase?”
”They tried, but we lost them. There was no harm done.”
”No harm,” Friar snorted.
”Except to the sheriff,” Sparrow chirped brightly, his smile fading almost instantly on a slanting glare from Gil.
”What about the sheriff?” the Wolf asked guardedly.
Gil chewed a lip and looked as if he regretted not staking Sparrow out as a tidbit for the wolfhounds. ”The sheriff just happened out of nowhere-”
”He was behind the Bawd when Gil's arrow went sniffing,” Sparrow provided helpfully.
”... and when she was pushed out of the way-”
”The shaft found him a ready target!” the elf concluded happily.
Friar and the Wolf both stared.
”You shot Onfroi de la Haye?” Friar asked at length. ”Is he dead?”
”He took the arrow in the belly,” Gil shrugged, indicating the worst could be a.s.sumed.
The Wolf continued to maintain an unbroken silence for a full minute before he released a short, sharp gust of air from his lungs and turned away.
The four were standing near the main gates. There, the early pastels of dawn and an alert sentry had conspired against the two culprits' attempt to regain entry to the abbey grounds unnoticed. Sparrow's face and hands were smudged with sap, his clothes torn from his journey through the tree-tops. Gil was not so leafy, nor so sticky, but a seam of his deerhide jerkin had parted at the shoulder and the flap hung down like a limp pennant on a windless day. Both recalcitrants were wary of their leader's temper. Both squinted upward from time to time, curious to know how the sun could continue to s.h.i.+ne so brightly up above while the gathering storm clouds bristled so ominously below.
Friar, debating whether or not he had ever seen a blacker expression on the Wolf's face, shook his head sadly and looked down at his hands.
”The Dragon will not be pleased with this turn of events,” the Wolf said, almost to himself. ”To have his puppet sheriff slain in the midst of a kidnapping, with an unholy wedding pending and a conflict with a brother he thought long dead ... all at a time when the secrecy and stealth of his actions should have commanded the utmost priority? Nay, the sheriff's untimely death will not please him. Not Not that it pleases me-” he added with a pointed glance at the two penitents. ”But knowing it will please that it pleases me-” he added with a pointed glance at the two penitents. ”But knowing it will please him him less and p.r.i.c.k Prince John's ears to attention sooner, takes away some of the sting that should have been applied to both your hides. You, Gil Golden, are still guilty of disobeying direct orders; and you” -the piercing gaze launched a daggar in Sparrow's direction -”should have had better sense than to go chasing after Gil on your own.” less and p.r.i.c.k Prince John's ears to attention sooner, takes away some of the sting that should have been applied to both your hides. You, Gil Golden, are still guilty of disobeying direct orders; and you” -the piercing gaze launched a daggar in Sparrow's direction -”should have had better sense than to go chasing after Gil on your own.”
”There was no time-”
”There was no mischief to be made, you mean, in sharing the hunt with someone else. Suppose Gil had had been a traitor seeking to sell information to the Dragon's camp? Suppose the pair of you had been caught and plied with milord D'Aeth's special talents for prying secrets? Or suppose you had spilled headfirst out of a tree and lain somewhere broken and bleeding the night long with no one the wiser for your absence?” been a traitor seeking to sell information to the Dragon's camp? Suppose the pair of you had been caught and plied with milord D'Aeth's special talents for prying secrets? Or suppose you had spilled headfirst out of a tree and lain somewhere broken and bleeding the night long with no one the wiser for your absence?”
”No one would have mourned the loss,” Sparrow said petulantly and kicked a pebble with the toe of his boot.
”To be sure,” the Wolf agreed, narrowing his gaze to suggest a cataclysm had not been entirely avoided, ”no one will mourn either one of you if your recklessness brings the hounds too near Thornfeld. The abbey is not so darkly steeped in legends of druids and pining ghosts as to have completely escaped the memory of local foresters-some of whom might be only too willing to lead the Dragon's men here in exchange for a coin or two. We will have to double the guards for insurance.”
”I will see to it,” Friar nodded.
”Aye, and while you are about it, see to fetching these two a pair of stout shovels. My nose has been telling me it is long past time to fill in the old privy trenches and dig new ones. That should quench their sense of adventure for the time being.”
Friar grinned. ”Their 'scents' of all else too, I warrant.”
Gil looked dismayed, Sparrow was plainly indignant. Neither was foolhardy enough to protest the punishment, knowing it could have gone much worse for them. Still, Sparrow would not have been Sparrow if he had not delivered the final, parting comment. Luckily the breeze was kind enough to delay the words ”like a p.i.s.sed newt” from reaching the Wolf's ears until he and Gil were safely around the corner of the pilgrims' hall.
The Wolf was still scowling-perhaps not in exact accordance to Sparrow's description, but near enough to deserve fair comparison-when his morning solitude was interrupted a second time. He was seated on the cracked stone lip of the cistern, his head bent over in concentration, his fingers working dexterously with knife and whetstone. The small, thin blade of his poniard glittered on each stroke; the sound of the steel sc.r.a.ping slowly along the stone could have been likened to a whispered warning.
The cistern and its extended stone trough had at one time brimmed with water from an underground well, but now held only the stains and decay of mouldy leaves. The circular portion was in the full sunlight, the trough in the shade of an old drooping yew. The Wolf was seated midway along the trough, his vest set aside in deference to the warm day, his linsey-woolsey s.h.i.+rt gaping open to the waist. It was apparent he had recently come from the Silent Pool; the dark chestnut hanks of his hair curled damply over his shoulders, and his feet were bare, stretched out at the end of his long legs to bask in the heat of the sun. His tall deerhide boots were folded on the ground beside him, and within an arm's reach away, his longbow and quiver of arrows; beside that, a brace of neatly skinned, gutted rabbits.
The sight of him caused Servanne to stop so suddenly, the hem of her skirt fluttered forward several inches before creaming back around her ankles.
The ruined monastery boasted few chambers where either privacy or comfort from the damp and decay could be found. Servanne and Biddy had been taking their time strolling to the stream and back, not the least bit anxious to relinquish the warm suns.h.i.+ne for rancid gloom. Biddy had harangued an ill-tempered Sparrow until he had relinquished the missing trunks, and the plain velvet gown Servanne wore, if a little wrinkled from mishandling, was at least clean and cut in a prim enough style to discourage more than a cursory inspection. The neckline came close up to her collarbone, the bodice was tight to extreme and embroidered stiff enough to obscure all but the slightest hint of shapely b.r.e.a.s.t.s beneath. The sleeves were long and full from the elbows, the waist rode low on the hips and was encircled by a girdle of hammered gold links.
Plain, had been her critical opinion, and with the addition of a starched white wimple: prudish. Unworthy of attracting the notice of a flea ... or a wolf.
Servanne released the breath she had been holding and gauged the distance from the trough to the door of the pilgrims' hall. Twenty paces, no more, and most of it dappled in soft, musty shadow. Unfortunately they would have to walk past the cistern to reach the hall, but since it could not be avoided, it would be best accomplished with haste.
Servanne lifted a slippered foot and inched it forward. The gray eyes came slowly up from the whetstone, tracing an impudently bold line from the toe of her shoe to the pink stain on her cheeks.
”G.o.d's day to you, ladies,” he said, his tone so sweet it left crystals on his tongue. ”I trust you slept well last night?”
Biddy harrumped and swelled her bosom for battle. Servanne sniffed the air as if the leaves were not all that smelled rotten in the heat of the sun.
”The accommodations are deplorable,” said Lady de Briscourt icily. ”The company is crude, unbearable, and utterly without conscience. I did not sleep a wink last night, and therefore see nothing to give G.o.d thanks for.”
The Wolf responded with a lazy grin. ”You might want to give thanks your virtue is intact. Conversely, your lack of sleep may be due to regrets that it is not. If you wish to reconsider, I would be only too happy to oblige.”
The audacity of the remark was as unexpected as the tingle that skittered down Servanne's spine. She had indeed lain awake most of the night, turning and tossing restlessly upon her wretched little sleeping couch, cursing each errant needle of straw that thrust its way through the ticking. Most of all, she had cursed the man who had caused her body to suffer through one s.h.i.+vered memory after another, all unbidden, unwanted, unconscionable. He might well have been physically in the bed beside her, for his face and body had never been more than a despairing groan away. She had not been able to will him, force him, or dream him away. Her lips had lost none of their bruised tenderness, and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s had ruched with treacherous insistence each time they had brushed a pelt or blanket. As for the relentless aches elsewhere in her body ... they did not bear thinking about. Most certainly not now, not when her tormentor was but a few paces away, grinning like the predator whose name he bore, making her acutely aware of each flicker and stroke of the tanned, tapered fingers.
”How long do you plan to keep us prisoner?” she demanded.
”Ah, rebuffed again,” he murmured. ”Perhaps in a week or two, you will have a change of heart.”
”A week!” she gasped. ”Two! Have you not delivered your outrageous ransom demands to Lord Lucien?”
”I have delivered my demands to the man who calls calls himself Lord Lucien,” he countered smoothly. ”I have also offered to relieve him of the task of disposing of you should he be entertaining second thoughts on the marriage. It is a great deal to contemplate in the short time since we plucked you from the road; the choices too tempting to deliberate in haste.” himself Lord Lucien,” he countered smoothly. ”I have also offered to relieve him of the task of disposing of you should he be entertaining second thoughts on the marriage. It is a great deal to contemplate in the short time since we plucked you from the road; the choices too tempting to deliberate in haste.”
The tint in Servanne's cheeks burned darker. ”There is no choice, m'sieur. You will hear from my lord within the week.”
”Really?” He folded his arms across his chest. ”May I ask why you sound so confident?”
Servanne lifted her eyes from the forest of dark hairs that covered the hard, banded muscles bulging through the opened s.h.i.+rt ... and almost forgot the question.
”Th-the wedding,” she said lamely. ”The preparations have all been made.”
”Have they, indeed. What an inconvenience not to have the bride present for the service. Perhaps I could offer yet another compromise: a marriage by proxy. I could take the place of the groom here, in the forest, while some equally affable damosel stands your place at the castle. In this way, he could carry on with the feasts and entertainments he has undoubtedly already paid for in good coin, while we”-the wolfish smile stole across the insolently handsome face again -”we could find some way to celebrate the union in our own fas.h.i.+on. As I mentioned before, the Dragon and I are much alike in countenance and bearing. Not so much so as Mutter and Stutter, but near enough to give you a healthy idea of what to expect when you draw back the sheets in the bridal bed.”