Part 11 (2/2)

Servanne's belly turned a slow, sluggish somersault. Beside her, Biddy's mouth gaped open in shock and she sucked in enough air to have stirred the leaves overhead.

”On the other hand,” he continued blithely, bending over to pull on his boots. ”There are some things we do quite differently, and I should hate to think your pending days of wedded bliss might suffer from an unfavourable contrast.”

Servanne's face, throat, and b.r.e.a.s.t.s were now burning. The Wolf, seeing her discomfort, stood up and walked slowly toward her, stopping close enough for her to detect the scent of leather and greenwood that was a part of his overwhelming maleness. He had shaved earlier in the morning, and the reason for sharpening the edge of his knife was evidenced by the two clotted cuts beneath his chin.

At that precise moment, Servanne would have rejoiced in seeing ribbons of blood flowing from ear to ear; a greater ecstasy would be to carve them there herself.

At the same time, she felt a sudden s.h.i.+fting in the weight of her emotions. If this verbal jousting was the best he could do-and would he not have done his worst last night if it had had been his intent?-surely she had little to fear for all his arrogant boasting. A man who had kissed a woman the way he had kissed her, yet had done nothing to carry the threat further, was likely to be no threat at all! If any of a dozen knights of her past aquaintance had found her in their arms and won half the liberties this rogue had stolen, neither pleas nor beating fists, nor gouging knives would have deterred them from taking what they wanted then and there. And not one in a score of knights of her aquaintance had a tenth of the motive for revenge this Black Wolf declared himself to have. been his intent?-surely she had little to fear for all his arrogant boasting. A man who had kissed a woman the way he had kissed her, yet had done nothing to carry the threat further, was likely to be no threat at all! If any of a dozen knights of her past aquaintance had found her in their arms and won half the liberties this rogue had stolen, neither pleas nor beating fists, nor gouging knives would have deterred them from taking what they wanted then and there. And not one in a score of knights of her aquaintance had a tenth of the motive for revenge this Black Wolf declared himself to have.

Perhaps he should have raped her. She might have begun to believe his claim to be Lucien Wardieu.

Expressing her newfound indifference to his petty vulgarities, Servanne sighed and turned to Biddy. ”Now I understand what you mean when you say all men judge all things in life by the size of the brain they carry between their thighs. The smaller the brain, the dimmer their judgment, the larger the voice they use to convince the world they are giants among men. How true. And how sad.”

She tucked her arm through Biddy's and, without a further acknowledgment of the Wolf's presence in the sunlit courtyard, strolled sedately past him and entered the shadowy sanctuary of the pilgrims' hall.

Biddy, light-headed from the amount of gasping and spluttering she had done to maintain her silence out-of-doors, barely managed to keep from swooning until they were in the privacy of their chamber.

”Lost, I tell you!” she wailed. ”We are lost! He plans to ravish you and kill me, and leave our bones to rot upon the road for some unlucky traveler to stumble over.”

”Oh, Biddy-” Servanne was feeling none too steady herself. ”Not now. I can hardly keep my head up.”

”From shame, I should not wonder!” came the instantly revitalized retort. ”What did the rogue mean: rebuffed again? again? Did something happen last night you did not tell me about?” Did something happen last night you did not tell me about?”

Servanne was grateful for the need to touch the flame of one candle to the wick of another before there was enough light to see clearly through the gloom. To buy another few moments, she tipped the second candle and dripped the hot wax onto the stone, making a secure seat for the base.

”Nothing happened. We walked. We talked. He tried to convince me he was in England on an honourable mission for Queen Eleanor-no doubt to gain my support for whatever other heinous crimes they intend to commit before they are all caught and hung. Aside from that ...”

Biddy's eyes were as bright as polished steel and twice as keen when it came to parting half-truths from outright lies. Servanne was hiding something and she had a fairly good idea what it might be. The girl had not blushed so much since her wedding to Sir Hubert, and then only for as long as it took her to realize a bride's bed was not made of rose petals, nor a man's attentions necessarily as rewarding as all their grunting and sweating might promise.

”Curiosity is a curious thing in itself,” Biddy said, deflated by the knowledge her lamb might somehow be suffering a malaise not able to be leeched out or cured. ”It tempts us all to do the things we know can only harm us the most. Rarely does anything good come of knowing what lies beyond the bend in the road. Rarely do we like what we find when we dare to take it, but by then, it is already too late to turn around and retrace our steps.”

”Must it always be so, Biddy?” Servanne asked softly. ”Is there no risk worth the taking?”

Biddy came quietly up behind her. ”I would be the first to agree he is a handsome beast, my lady, but a beast nonetheless. He will have no use for you once the deed is done-the challenge for his kind is in the pursuit, not the surrender.”

Servanne stared at the heart of the candle flame, her eyes stinging, her breath dry in her throat. Biddy was right. No good would come of knowing ... well ... of knowing. knowing. It was odd and unfair that a man who was a beast should be so much more of a man than she had ever encountered before ... but there again, what good would come of knowing? It was odd and unfair that a man who was a beast should be so much more of a man than she had ever encountered before ... but there again, what good would come of knowing?

What good would come of knowing, Friar wondered as he stood near the edge of the embankment and waited for Gil to belt the last of his washed, sodden garments into place. Dusk was well on its way to becoming night and there was little to distinguish between shadow and tree. Gil had finished the filthy task he and Sparrow had been set to and nearly ran all the way to the Silent Pool to strip and scour away the stench and slime of the privies. Judging by the haste with which he dressed, Friar suspected Gil had marked the glowing approach of the horn lantern as it s.h.i.+fted and throbbed through the trees. Friar had brought it as a precaution, not against a twisted ankle or misjudged footfall, but out of deference to Gil's sharp eyes and quick bowhand. It was not wise to be a shadow moving among shadows, not in these woods, and more particularly not when Gil Golden was out of sorts with all mankind.

Friar stepped out into plain view and raised the lantern above his head. ”I thought I might find you here. Sparrow ...?”

Gil shrugged. ”He will probably stew in his own juices a day or two longer to punish us all.”

Friar spared half a smile and set the smoking lantern down on the rock. The light it emitted was minimal, and not so dramatic out in the open as it had been in the heart of the forest darkness. The thin sheets of pressed horn that guarded the weak flame from draft produced a glow the colour and pattern of cobwebs where it was flung across the stone. Everything it touched took on the pale colour of ash-everything save the bright, coppery sheen of Gil's hair.

”You will catch your death of a cold in those wet clothes,” Friar remarked, noting how the linsey-woolsey and the deer-hide shed fat droplets with each move Gil made.

”I have survived worse.”

”So you have. Moreover, I can see this newest escapade will only bolster your already considerable estimation of your abilities.”

The golden eyes flickered up angrily. ”I am not a child needing a lecture from you, good Friar.”

”Your behavior last night would argue the point.”

”My behavior,” Gil spat, starting to push past the other man, ”is none of your concern.”

”It is when you take unnecessary risks to threaten not only your own life, but the lives of every man in camp. Gil!” He reached out and grasped an arm as the master archer strode past, but the leaner and lither Golden whipped around with a curse and yanked his arm free.

”Would you be here having this motherly conversation were it anyone else but me?”

Friar absorbed the curse and the anger without batting an eye. ”You are not any other man, Gillian. Gillian. And if you were, I would hasten to suggest our vaunted leader would not have been so lenient on you as he was. It was a d.a.m.ned stupid thing you did to go off on your own, and you know it!” And if you were, I would hasten to suggest our vaunted leader would not have been so lenient on you as he was. It was a d.a.m.ned stupid thing you did to go off on your own, and you know it!”

”I can take care of myself,” Gil seethed, cinching the belt so tightly around her waist that Friar could not help himself from glancing down at the small, firm b.r.e.a.s.t.s where they jumped into prominence. ”Do you not forget: I joined this troop and lived as one of you-fought as one of you ... killed killed as one of you when it was necessary, for several weeks before any of you were the wiser.” as one of you when it was necessary, for several weeks before any of you were the wiser.”

How could Friar forget? Gillian had concealed her secret well, coming among them as a man, sharing the rugged duties in camp as well as on raids, her skill with the longbow winning unreserved respect and admiration from the rest of the men. It was Sparrow who had uncovered the ruse, and Sparrow who, oddly enough, had been her staunchest defender when the vote was placed before the others whether to allow her to stay or to send her away. The daughter of a local bowmaker, her knowledge of the area had been a strong point in her favour. Her unabashed and single-minded hatred for Nicolaa de la Haye had not hurt her cause either.

Friar had simply been relieved to know he had not been affected by his early years cloistered with monks who slipped back and forth between each other's chambers in the dead of night. He had been fighting an attraction for ”Gil” since the outset; discovering she was a woman made it a good deal easier to accept, although at times, relief aside, Gillian's bold bravado made him want to take hold of her and shake her until her teeth rattled.

”I am well aware of your abilities to protect yourself,” he said, taking a firm grip on his patience. ”But because you prefer to dress like a man and can wield a bow and arrow better than any soul alive-it does not make you any less inviolate to the cut of a swordblade. For Christ's sake, woman, you could have been caught by Wardieu's men. You and Sparrow both could have been dragged before the Dragon and used as fodder for his rage. Think you he would have spared you D'Aeth's skill with iron tongs and hot coals? Think you Nicolaa de la Haye would not have recognized her own handiwork?”

Gil lifted a hand self-consciously to the scar that ran the length of her left cheek.

”It has been more than five years,” she said in a hushed voice. ”The Bawd cannot possibly remember every face she has had plied with brands ... there have been too many.”

For several long moments Gil wrestled with the spectre of her memories while Friar wrestled with the desire to take her in his arms and demand to know what had caused so much hatred to build inside her. It was not just the branding-a hideous enough reason in itself, for with her flame-coloured hair and her smile (when she dared show it) as wide and bright as a summer day, she would have been a rare, exquisite beauty. To Friar, all the physical perfection in the world could not have rivaled her courage, her pride, her strength of spirit. If he could just convince her of this, draw her out of her anger long enough to see she need not be alone in her suffering ...

What then, he wondered. What good would come of it? What manner of promises could they make to one another when the probability of surviving another sennight was not even guaranteed?

”We all walk about with ghosts and demons on our shoulders,” he said finally, breaking the silence with a sigh. ”At times I confess to a pressing need myself to throw back my head and bay at the moon. But then I think: What good would it do to turn as savage and bloodless as those who would only rejoice to see the work they have done in bringing us so low?”

”It would feel good,” Gil said flatly, coldly. ”It would feel as good for me to see my arrow pierce the iron tankard of De la Haye's heart, as it must have felt for you when you plunged your knife into the breast of the Bishop Mercier.”

”The situation was different,” Friar said slowly.

”Why? Because it was done in the heat of the moment while the girl he was raping and mutilating was still bleeding on the altar before him? Or because you, Alaric FitzAthelstan, were born of n.o.ble blood and it was the n.o.ble n.o.ble thing to do, to avenge the girl's death?” thing to do, to avenge the girl's death?”

”I did not feel n.o.ble doing it,” he said quietly.

”But would you have felt human not not doing it? Could you have lived with yourself? Could you have lived with the guilt of doing nothing to avenge her death?” doing it? Could you have lived with yourself? Could you have lived with the guilt of doing nothing to avenge her death?”

Alaric knew the answer even as he saw the hard glitter of satisfaction in Gil's eyes. He reached out and grasped her by the shoulders, squeezing hard enough to cause the water trapped in her s.h.i.+rt to seep through his fingers.

”At least I did not keep the burden of pain to myself. I shared the guilt and the horror, and by doing so, was able to find peace within myself again.”

”There will be no peace for me until Nicolaa de la Haye is dead,” Gil insisted. ”Just as there will be no peace for the Wolf until he sees the Dragon lying dead at his feet. Yet I do not see you cautioning him to make peace with himself. Nay! I see you doing everything in your power, risking everything you say you so solemnly hold to value ... to help him in his quest!”

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