Chapter 19
At Black Raven’s camp, dawn had not quite broken, but a frill of grey had seeped into the eastern sky. A small lantern lit the inside of the tent. Diggens, busy setting out the earl’s shaving gear, looked up as Lanval ducked inside the pavilion.
“Edward,” said Sir Lanval, “Um, I’m afraid we have a bit of a problem.” Embarrassment had colored his neck a lurid red.
Edward turned to look at him. He almost laughed seeing this, his most even-tempered knight, succumbed to blushes. What he felt instead was annoyance. He did not hesitate to name the source of the trouble. The knight’s disquiet had Lily’s name all over it.
He glared at the fair-haired man. “What,” he sneered, “does she want now? Another pretty parley?”
“No, she’s missing. Her aunt woke to find her gone. Her maid has collapsed, and no one has set eyes on the lady.”
The disbelief on Edward’s face would have been comical if his fury hadn’t been so dark. His jaw had turned into granite.
“When?” he bit out.
Lanval’s handsome face grew somber. “We don’t know. Er… anytime after the supper hour when her aunt retired.”
Edward snorted in disgust. “How did she get away without being seen, Lanval?”
“Distraction. I’m afraid I did not anticipate her…
er… ingenuity.” He handed Edward the painting of the nymph.
“’Twas hung upon a bush nearby, when I went to see what it might be…
I found it. Attached to this,” said Lanval and pulled out the long ribbon.
“Clearly, she manipulated it from inside the tent to attract my attention.”
“Clever,” said Edward, throwing down the vellum square. Fury rode him. He did not think his anger could ratchet up higher.
“Do we have any indication where she went?”
“Yes, my lord,” said the chastened man.
“Heavens be praised. Well?” he said, throwing up his arms.
“We do know her direction. She… er… took a horse from the corral and made her way into Salliswoods. We found a scrap of her clothing caught in the trees.”
“A horse?” he bellowed, strapping his sword around his waist. “You could have mentioned that first,” he said unreasonably. “What?” His head jerked as Lanval lost his color altogether.
“I’m afraid she’s taken Windfar.”
“The devil you say,” he hissed, unable to contain his ire further.
Windfar had been favoring a leg and Edward hadn’t ridden him for a few days to rest him up.
Wherever he went, he kept the horse close.
Theirs was a special bond. Now, the urge to strangle Lily almost choked him.
Not to mention the sick feeling he had imagining her atop his war-trained destrier’s powerful back.
There was no way she could manage the horse.
He could only hope the horse managed her.
He lifted the tent flap and glared at his elite guard mounted and ready in front of his pavilion. Tense as bowstrings, as well they might, he thought acerbically.
For a moment, he stood there, calculating the possibilities. He gazed at the woods to his left then swiveled to the hills shrouded in early mist. A crimson ball of a sun wobbled through the white veils of morning, teasing him with thoughts of his home. They were still several days away.
“Lanval,” he snapped, “You will escort Lady Celestria and the maids to Ravensworth immediately. Take two outriders. You know what to do when you get there. I will send word when I can. This shouldn’t take too long. We will be riding hard behind you.”
“The rest of you,” he shouted with a sweep of his arm, “with me. Jessop, stay close,” he added, thinking how fortuitous it was he had unfinished business with his tracker. By rights, Jessop should be back at Landon.
The moment he was mounted, they were away.
Lily’s tracks led up into the woods. Her direction clear as day. That was all well and good, but what bothered Edward was the timing. She had an indefinite start.
“She’s moving at speed where she can, my lord,” said Jessop, stooping low. “Canter here along this game trail.” The tracks were easy to follow. The ground softened by recent rains spoke loudly. “But see, here she goes along the same path again.”
Edward almost laughed. Lily, true to form, had spent the night going round in ever-widening circles. Completely directionless. The woman had no idea how to walk a straight line.
The tracker confirmed this. “Here and here, see? She’s crossed her own path several times more,” he pointed to where fresh prints overlaid older ones, the earth still dark with moisture beneath. “She’s going in circles.”
Edward dismounted, his jaw tight. “How long has she been lost?”
“Likely two hours. Mayhap more time wasted doubling back.”
They mounted and continued, Jessop low in the saddle again. Soon they came upon the place where she’d left the wood only to come back further up. Jessop dismounted. His weathered fingers hovering above the ground that revealed itself to him.
“Here she rested not long ago, Windfar with her. Here, you see, a wider step, reaching for the halter, I reckon.”
He stood and walked a few paces, then paused, his brow furrowing and he pointed to where there were three deep gouges in the wet ground. “Ah! and here’s trouble, m’lord. See here, something spooked Windfar, he bolted. See the stride widens… He smelt danger before the lady did.”
Signaling to the others not to follow, Jessop continued on a little way. He stopped entirely and turned back to Edward, his face hard, his crinkled eyes narrow with distaste.
“But here’s worse trouble, m’lord,” he said.
“We’ve company.” He pointed to the grassy imprint of a heel, barely to be seen.
A little further there were more, and further still, a confusion of boot prints tramping over the lady’s path, now clear to see.
“Here, they followed her. See, these are her small prints with the larger on top.”
“How many?”
“Four, uh, no five, I reckon.”
“Any of them mounted?”
The old man shook his head. “On foot. Here they pick up her trail. See how they spread out here, fanning through the undergrowth? They’re tracking her same as us.
” He lifted his head and gazed north where the thickets formed a close-knit cavern of spindly green laced with shadows. “Not far, I deem. We need quiet now.”
Edward nodded at the man. He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled three times.
Faint and far, the sound carried through the morning fog that curled about the roots of the trees. The men waited, their horses shifting uneasily in the hush that followed. Nothing moved but the pale mist. The wood held its breath. Even the scurrying in the underbrush grew silent.
Then—from a distance, almost imagined—came the drumming of hooves. Steady. Sure. Smooth as a heartbeat.
Windfar. Answering the call of his master.
In but minutes, he sailed into the clearing—riderless. From the men there came a soughing to match the sorrowing trees.
The horse’s night-shaded coat gleamed with health, his head proud and straight, the plume of his tail tossing as he came on. Not a mark on him.
Edward alone remained utterly silent. Briefly, he ran his hand over the back of his horse’s neck. His gold-licked eyes turned black, the only indication of a great passion that took up space in the dark corners of Edward Rowley’s heart. The place where he allowed himself to feel.
There had only been a faint hope, after all, that she would be on Windfar’s back.
Nodding to Diggens to take up Windfar’s halter, Edward vaulted onto the sorrel.
“We ride,” he said. “Jessop, with me. The rest, spread out. I want her found. Now!”
A grey rain began to fall again.
* * *
A momentary greyness descended on the wood.
The light grew. The rain stopped. The wind picked up.
Branches took up the tune and began to quiver and moan.
Lily opened her eyes slowly. She sat up gingerly holding her head.
It ached. She tried to get up, but her knees felt wobbly, and it took an effort to rise.
Of her attackers and rescuers, there was not a sign. Not even the dead ruffian to attest to her terror. All around her the wood lay empty and silent. Or was it?
Lily stood stock still and listened. Had she imagined it? Had she caught the sound of hoofbeats?
Her heart labored in her breast. She looked wildly about. Her first instinct told her to flee, but her legs wouldn’t work. Besides, she had no idea what direction to take and the ache in her head made it difficult to think.
For a moment, she wondered if her sight had been affected. Even as she looked, a ring of horsemen appeared. They rose up out of the still and silent forest like great looming ghosts wreathed in trailing fog.
Lily’s eyes fell upon their leader. Taller than the rest, wide-shouldered, stone-silent, she knew him at once. Edward Rowley, the Earl of Ravensworth.
From where she stood, she could see he was not well pleased. Even so, she could not deny the flood of relief she felt, even though she was under no illusion about her reception.
He dismounted. It seemed some kind of signal had been given for the instant the earl stepped onto the grass, the circle of mounted men turned abruptly and rode back into the trees. All save Diggens, who remained with the horses on the edge of the clearing.
Lily saw again a sort of masculine silent dance that she could watch but not join. Her affianced husband’s anger, on the other hand, she read as plain as day.
Fury radiated from every steely plane and chiseled angle of his face and his posture. He came to stand within a hair’s breadth of her; contempt sparked his appraisal. From her scuffed boots to the top of her hair.
For a heartbeat, she wondered if the scrupulous courtesy he liked to display in front of others would crack.
Their eyes locked. The question, unspoken, hovered there.
There was a flicker of something behind his anger, she could see. It seemed he fought with himself. To her astonishment, it was he who looked away first.
Lily released her pent-up breath. Emboldened, she straightened her spine. “Please, you have no right to condemn without hearing—” she began defensively.
He interrupted her. “I have every right,” he sneered. “Given me by King and Church. You would do well to remember it.”
The air grew white hot. Lily fought to gain enough breath.
“How can I forget when you glory in reminding me?”
The earl scowled. “You test me, even now?” he asked incredulously.
She gave a small shake of her head, too worn to begin arguing.
“Who helped you?” he snapped at her. “Where are your accomplices?”
Bewildered, she shook her head again. This time, a spasm of pain made her blink. “I have none.” Her cheeks caught alight. So torn was she between shame at her failings and shock at his innuendo that she did not know how to begin trying to explain to him.
He was her father’s enemy. At that moment, she resorted to the truth. “I had to try, do you see? I am sorry.”
“Sorry?” he snapped, “You don’t know the meaning of sorry, my lady.
But you will know it. I promise.” He took her arm, encircling it with one, huge hand.
Lily attempted to shrug him off, but he would not relinquish his hold.
For a moment, she thought he might embrace her.
Offer her succor as he had done after the Percy altercation.
He did not. His grip held fast. She felt herself go soft in submission.
A small sob caught in her throat, but she hid it from him. Her whole heart filled with desire for the seduction of his velvet mouth, the tender sweetness of his touch. She longed to sink into his arms and be comforted.
More fool you. He will crush you, she thought despairingly. But he did not. The moment she went limp, he deliberately bent his head the better to capture her eyes, without releasing her arm. It was as well, for she did not know if she could remain on her feet.
“You will listen to me and listen well. I am in haste. I cannot spare more time with this game of subversion. You, mam’selle, are not going to give me another moment of trouble.
You will do what I tell you when I tell you.
You will not give me arguments; in fact, you will not say anything until you are spoken to.
Do you have that clear?” he said in an awful voice.
Lily looked at him with wide eyes. She said nothing. She had no voice to say anything. All her explanations were stillborn beneath his domination.
“Do you have that clear?” he repeated. “Answer me,” he snapped.
Lily nodded, not trusting herself to speak for fear of crying. She did not want him to have that satisfaction.
She should have known better. The tick in his temple pulsed. “I said answer.”
“Clear.”
He looked at her as if he couldn’t believe her insubordination.
“Clear, my Lord,” he parroted, and without waiting for her to repeat it, stalked to his horse, dragging her with him.
He lifted her up onto the saddle. Then, taking the reins wordlessly from Diggens, he mounted behind her, settled her almost in his lap, and his iron-banded arms held her tight against him.
She almost succumbed to the promise of protection, but she felt his rage too keenly. She made a small mewling objection to his touch. His arms tightened in response and earned her an even more intimate embrace.
“Not a sound,” he warned, his breath flowing down her neck in a mocking caress.
Satisfied by her acquiescence, he touched the sides of his mount, and the horse took off into the trees.
When she looked back a few minutes later, all his men had appeared from out the shroud of the woods and already formed a phalanx around him. All around them the woods whispered of conspiracies and doubts.