Chapter 4
Apile of slender, dry sticks gathered in the crook of Drake’s arm when Bean’s voice pierced the air with the crack of adolescence.
“Master Fletcher,” the lad shouted. “Hasten back!”
There was an urgency to his tone that had Drake dropping the wood to the ground as he sprinted back to the horses. Bean stood by Drake’s destrier, his head swiveling about, searching the surrounding forest.
“She’s gone,” he cried.
Drake relaxed, realizing the lad was merely upset about Greer having gone on her own path. “Some travelers prefer to be on their own way. I’m sure she dinna mean offense.”
“But she took Brevis.”
Drake tilted his head. “Brevis?”
“My horse.” Tears shimmered in Bean’s eyes. He clenched his jaw and slid his gaze away. “My da let me pick him out…”
A swift glance confirmed the pony was missing. Drake hissed an exhale.
“We can track her, lad…” he started, then stopped abruptly as his gaze landed on his saddle. And the very apparent absence of his sword.
His stomach curled into a cold ball of ice. His father’s sword. The only thing he had left of the man he had so loved and admired. It wasn’t often Drake cursed, but he did so now at the loss of such a treasured possession.
“A knight shouldna ever utter such coarse language,” Bean said miserably and turned his bright blue gaze on Drake. “But I understand.”
“Ye’re right. I shouldna have said what I did,” Drake conceded. He put a hand to the lad’s shoulder and squeezed it. They both had lost much that day. “Come. We’ll see if we can find her.”
Drake helped Bean onto the destrier, then swung up behind him. From that vantage point, it was easy to make out the paths on the field where horse hooves had trod, leaving the grass flattened. One in the direction they’d come. And one to the right, disappearing into the forest.
No doubt she was heading toward the nearest village to unload the horse and sword. Even if they did not find her, at least they could reclaim the things that meant so much to them. Recovering them would be costly but worth every groat.
Drake guided his steed in the same direction and immediately began to follow her trail.
It was easy to do so with so many broken sticks and twigs.
The lass did not know how to travel discreetly.
As they traveled, the trees became dense, meaning they had to navigate more carefully and at a slower pace, which made the press of urgency enough to drive Drake mad.
Bean gave a sniffle from where he sat in front of Drake. “It was cruel of her to steal from us. Especially after we had shown her such kindness.”
While Drake’s reaction had been a flash of anger with a similar line of thought, he had enough experience with thieves to know their deeds were seldom done for pleasure. Especially female thieves, who had so few options available to them by way of earning an income.
Again, the yearning to protect Greer caught him in a hard grip. He could still recall the way she had regarded him with such wariness when he’d offered to let her ride his steed with him. That immediate need to distrust was not innate; it was learned. And oft through hard experiences.
“Ye dinna know what circumstances can lead to such desperation,” Drake replied.
“Stealing will always be wrong,” Beathan said vehemently. “My da says ye should always respect the belongings of others.”
“Aye, and he’s correct,” Drake agreed. “But mayhap she needs help.”
The lad went silent at that, thinking over what Drake had said.
Snapping twigs and the dull thump of the horse’s massive hooves thudding into the soft soil filled the lack of their conversation. In the distance, several streams of rising smoke indicated a nearby village. Tension knotted in Drake’s shoulders.
Hopefully, he was correct in his assumption that was where Greer had gone.
“We should offer her aid.” Bean’s voice cut into Drake’s thoughts. “If we find her.”
“Ye’d aid someone who stole from ye?” Drake asked, surprised at the lad whose thick voice indicated he was still aching from the loss of his pony.
The slender shoulders in front of Drake lifted in a careless shrug. “If I’m able to be reunited with Brevis, it doesna matter, I suppose. And if the lass is in trouble, wouldna it be our duty to offer her aid?”
“Aye,” Drake answered slowly. Bean wasn’t incorrect. But then, Drake also had an obligation to ensure Bean stayed safe. What if the lad had tried to stop Greer from leaving? Would she have hurt him?
He recalled her demeanor with the boy, how she’d ruffled his hair like a child, and reserved her brightest smiles for him.
Nay, she wouldn’t have hurt him. Or at least, Drake didn’t think so.
But was he willing to stake the boy’s life on that assumption?
The scent of smoke grew more apparent as they arrived at the village’s edge and mingled with everyday odors of village life, where pigs walked about in the alleyways and refuse piled up.
They slowed as they passed the simple huts on the outskirts and worked their way inward to the center.
Multiple stalls had been set up for market day.
“Of all days, it had to be market day.” Bean’s proud posture deflated somewhat.
Granted, the multitude of people in attendance would provide more of a crowd for Greer to blend into, but Drake knew it would be impossible to miss her.
Not the wealth of her auburn hair bound back in a braid or the slender waist and generous hips he couldn’t keep from noticing, no matter how much he tried not to.
She was not a lass he would ever overlook again.
He scanned the surrounding area, seeking Greer or Bean’s horse or even the blacksmith’s shop as he suspected.
Urgency pressed in on Drake, nipping at the edges of his patience.
Not only to save his sword and Bean’s pony, but also mayhap the woman herself.
The blacksmith’s shop was a stone structure with a slate roof.
The door was propped open to reveal a glowing forge and a figure moving within.
Greer tied Bean’s horse to a post out front and strode into the shop.
A large man in a leather apron was bent over an anvil, a bit of glowing red metal secured in a pincher grip by a pair of tongs.
Catching sight of her, he set aside his hammer and the tongs and straightened with a grin.
His gaze moved appreciatively, first over her, then over the hilt of the sword where it jutted from its leather-wrapped sheath. She pulled it free and tried to make its weight appear easily managed with one hand.
It wasn’t, though. The solid metal seemed to weigh more than a millstone and left her arm trembling with the effort to hold it aloft. She set the stolen item upon the stone counter as slowly as she could despite her eagerness to be free of its heft.
If the blacksmith noticed her struggle, he didn’t make a show of it. Instead, his gaze danced over the weapon from hilt to tip. “’Tis a fine sword.”
She tilted her head up at him. “Worth a fine bit of coin, aye?”
His pale gaze lifted to hers and his eyes narrowed. “Is it stolen?”
She gave a carefree chuckle. “Does it matter?”
“Aye,” he said sternly. “It does. ’Tis an arming sword, one belonging to a knight, I wager. I’ll no’ have a knight up my arse for buying his weapon.”
Damn.
A shop owner with a conscience was no friend to a thief.
“Well, I’ll no’ trouble ye then.” With a nonchalant lift of her shoulders, she reached for the hilt.
The blacksmith put his hand over the weapon, trapping her fingers between the heat of his rough skin and the cool metal. “This sword doesna belong to ye.”
The seriousness in his eyes told her any attempt at arguing would be a losing battle. It was time to change tactics.
She widened her eyes, letting them soften with innocence. “Please let me leave,” she said quietly. “I’ll starve if I dinna have this.”
The furrow of his brow melted.
“Please,” she whispered. “I’ve no’ eaten for two days.” It was a lie this time but hadn’t been on many other occasions. She would say anything to leave the shop without being dragged to the local lord and thrown into the dungeon.
There would be no helping Mac then.
The very thought caught at her heart and made it flit about like something wild and trapped.
The light in the shop dimmed as the entryway was blocked. “That sword isna for sale.” The familiar voice sent dread thumping in Greer’s chest.
Drake.
Panic whipped around her. There was nothing for it now. She would be thrown into the dungeon, like Mac. And they both would be left to their dismal fates.
An image flashed unbidden in her mind of Mac cold and hungry in a dank cell, wondering when she would arrive to help.
And now, she never would.
The men she was up against were just and honorable, both far larger than she.
She might be able to run. The possibility stuck fast in her mind and set her heart racing. She spun about with intent and found Drake directly behind her.
Usually, she was swift with a ready quip, an excuse, anything. Now, she simply stared up at him, her breath coming and going so fast, it made her vision go dim. “I…”
His expression was hard, his mouth set in a firm, thin line. “Did ye have the blade sharpened?”
She blinked. “I…”
“She was trying to sell it,” the blacksmith offered. “I take it this sword is yers.”
“Aye, ’twas my da’s.” Drake continued to look at her as he said pointedly, “’Tis all I have left to remember him.”
He said it in a reverent way that indicated his father had been one worth remembering. Unlike her own, who had been found stone-cold dead on the doorstep of a tavern four years prior, a jug of spirits clutched in his stiff hands.
“I asked her to have it sharpened, no’ sell it.” He gave her an easy smile that made the guilt inside her burn as hot as the blacksmith’s forge.
“Will ye sharpen it?” Drake pressed the man.
Greer turned around and regarded the blacksmith.
The man looked first to Drake, then to her, his eyes narrowing perceptively before running his finger over the edge. “’Tis already sharp.”
“I want it sharper,” Drake replied.
Still, the man hesitated until Drake reached into the purse at his side and withdrew a coin.
Greer could not help but let her gaze linger over the fat pouch of coins.
What must it be like to always have ready access to funds?
To never worry about where one’s food would come from or where one would sleep that night?
The unfairness of it ached inside of her and filled her with a spiteful ire.
Drake would never have to face a brother whose life could only be saved with thievery. He’d never known hunger or struggle.
The blacksmith accepted the payment, took the sword, and pressed his foot down on a petal that set a large grindstone spinning.
Greer didn’t know why Drake appeared to be helping her, but she had no intention of staying to find out. As soon as the blacksmith set the sword to stone and the scream of sharpening metal cut the air, she slowly stepped backward.
“Beathan is waiting for ye outside,” Drake said in a casual tone. As if he had anticipated she would attempt to leave.
Damn. No doubt she would receive her punishment in other ways. Would Drake insist she repay his kindness with servitude? With her body?
Her stomach tightened.
At least it would not result in her being locked in a dungeon where she would not be able to save her brother.
She would bear anything to ensure she remained free to save him.
Bean waited outside for her as Drake had promised, the flat of his hand braced against his brow to block out the glaring sun, his other hand possessively resting on the pony’s reins. As soon as she appeared in the entryway, he frowned at her from where he stood by his horse.
“How could ye?” he asked, his face so full of hurt, it actually made Greer’s heart wince.
“We canna all have an easy life, lad.” She reached to ruffle his hair, but he pulled his head back.
His wounded gaze locked on hers. “How could ye take Brevis?”
She lifted a brow. “Brevis?”
“My horse.” He gently stroked a hand down the pony’s glossy brown neck. “He means so much to me and ye…” His jaw clenched, and he looked away, angry tears burning in his eyes.
A similar memory of Mac in such an agitated state wound its way into her awareness. “Forgive me,” she said earnestly. “I dinna realize he means that much to ye.”
“He does.”
“Will ye tell me why?” she coaxed.
Lads Bean’s age—probably only a summer or two older than Mac, but still so similar—liked to pretend they didn’t need to share their thoughts, but like anyone else, they simply wanted to be heard and taken seriously.
Bean gazed up at her, the hurt narrowing in shrewdness. “Will ye tell me why ye stole from us?”
His request took her aback, but she nodded, knowing she couldn’t be entirely honest with her reply.
“I picked him out myself five summers ago.” Bean gave a little smile and rubbed his hand over the horse’s velvety nose.
“I could have any horse I wanted. Even a destrier like Drake. But I saw Brevis, and he was small. Like me. Small but fierce, as my da says,” he amended with pride.
He gave a sheepish shrug. “I’ve no’ had many friends, but I’ve always had Brevis. ”
Greer drew in a deep breath, but it did nothing to assuage the pain of her culpability. “I dinna know he was so dear to ye.”
“And ye? Why did ye do it?” he asked, brushing aside her remark as if he had never been wounded.
Bravado. So very like a lad around this age.
So very like Mac.
“Why did ye steal from us?” Bean asked again.
Before she could answer, the crunch of footsteps in the hardpacked dirt came from behind her and Drake’s voice filled her silence. “I’d like to know as well.”
She straightened and regarded Drake in his finery, his strong body well-fed. The unfairness of her lot in life came rushing back to her. It wasn’t his fault he’d had it all so easy, but she could not stop her reaction from blazing in her cheeks.