Chapter 2
A Lass In The Stable
The men surged forward, swords flashing. Of course, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to come forward one at a time. Blades met with an echoing clash, and the captain moved between them, fast as lightning. He had always been a good swordsman, but now he was an exceptional one, almost superhuman.
The shock that had rooted Senga’s feet to the earth seemed to fade a little, and she finally was able to move.
She had no sword, of course, nothing but a little knife that hung from her belt. It was really only good for hacking away at plants and roots, but it was certainly a blade, so she took it out anyway, waiting for a break in the fight.
Apparently, Tobey and his men were so secure that they’d be able to bear Senga away that they had all chosen to focus on fighting him.
Gritting her teeth, Senga lunged forward, knife at the ready, and flung herself onto the back of the nearest man. She’d never stabbed somebody before—at least, not outside of a medical setting—but apparently tonight would not be the first time.
The man bucked her off him with embarrassing ease. Placing one shovel-sized hand on her shoulder, he shoved, sending her hurtling backwards. Senga went flying, rolling over the grass and tangling up in her own skirts.
She glanced up in time to see Noah thrust his sword directly through the neck of the man who’d shoved her.
It was such a smooth movement. The captain's face never twitched. He never even blinked, even when the choking, dying man slid off his blade in a smear of blood and lay, spasming and wheezing, until he finally breathed his last and lay still, as dark and dead as the shadows around them.
The reality of death, Senga had found, was very different from what the poems and stories claimed.
The battle continued, with Tobey and his remaining men fighting harder than before. Perhaps they’d suddenly realized that the Grahame Captain was more of a threat than they’d expected.
I cannae just lie here, she thought, and scanned the ground around her for a weapon. She wasn’t going to get far with a knife, but with a decent-sized stone… Aha!
Senga snatched up a perfectly shaped stone, pulled back her arm, and let it fly.
It was a good throw. The stone struck Tobey right on his balding pate. He staggered backwards, disoriented, and clapped a hand to his bleeding scalp. The other Murray man glanced at him, distracted, and that gave the captain the opportunity he needed.
His blade flashed out like a long and silvery fish, slicing the man’s head from his shoulders. Head and body dropped with a thump to the ground and lay still.
Silence fell over the clearing. Tobey lowered a shaking, blood-smeared hand. He glanced between where Senga stood, shaking, and where the captain waited with his bloody sword. Then he took a step backwards, and Senga knew that he was going to flee.
She was right.
Tobey spun around and began to run, heading towards the darkness of the trees. No doubt he’d have a horse hidden there. The captain pulled a knife from his belt and aimed. It struck Senga with a sickening rush that he was going to throw it.
“No!” she cried, throwing herself at him and grabbing his arm. “Don’t! Ye cannot kill a man as he runs away! It’s dishonorable!”
Her movement had brought her too close to him. He smelled of horses and sweet grass, a heady scent that made her knees want to buckle.
How is it that he still smells the same after all these years?
His forearm tensed under her grip, and he unceremoniously pulled away, the knife still gripped in his hand. It was too late to catch Tobey, who’d disappeared into the trees. It was just the two of them left.
Senga stared up at him. He stared back.
She found herself longing to lift her hand and trace the curve of the scar on his cheek with her fingertip.
This can’t be real, Senga thought numbly. Perhaps I’m asleep. Maybe I’m dead. He’s not here.
“Noah,” she said at last voice catching.
Now might be the moment when his face creased in confusion. “Who’s Noah?” he’d ask, revealing that perhaps he wasn’t Noah at all, but somebody who looked almost identical.
That would be more palatable than the reality. Or perhaps he was the real Noah, with a nasty blow to the head that had robbed him of his memories, robbing him of her. She’d heard of that happening before.
He only stared down at her, face blank.
“We should return to the Keep at once, Senga,” he said flatly, after a full minute of silence had passed.
Senga sucked in a breath, taking a step back.
“So it is ye,” she whispered.
Noah abruptly turned aside. “Ye have a horse, I see. I have mine, too. Let’s go.”
Is that it? After all these years, all he can say to me is “let’s go”? He must be mad.
“Have ye nothing to say to me?” Senga cried, her voice echoing in the still night. “Did ye not think I was dead?”
Noah paused, back turned. For a long moment, he made no move, either to turn around or to walk away. Then at long last, he spoke. His voice seemed harsher than Senga remembered. And the scar on his cheek—where had that come from?
“Nay,” he said at last. “I knew ye were alive. Now, we must leave. There’s no time for words.”
He knew I was alive? He knew I was alive and never tried to find me?
“Have ye no explanation? No reason why—”
“Lady Grahame learned that ye had gone out alone tonight,” Noah interrupted, glancing over his shoulder.
“She sent me to fetch ye as soon as I came back from patrol. It’s dangerous out here, which I think ye have already discovered.
We must go back to the Keep straight away. There’s no time to lose on chatter.”
He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he strode off into the shadows, where Senga noticed the bulky shape of a horse. She stood where she was, jaw slack, eyes wide, as the man she had once loved walked away from her, not even bothering to explain why he’d abandoned her.
None of it made sense. None of it.
Don’t think of him now. He’s clearly not the boy ye knew. He’s a stranger. Answers will come later, surely. The boy ye knew would never have abandoned ye.
He did. Remember that.
It was fear of being left alone in the woods that made Senga turn and hurry back to her own horse, climbing onto Bluebell’s back and spurring her forward. A single thought remained in her mind, turning round and round and round.
Perhaps he never loved me at all.
There was no hammering on the Keep gates required to get them admitted back inside. The gates were thrown open as they approached and slammed shut behind them.
Senga had been struggling to keep up with Noah all the way home, and he didn’t wait for her once they clattered into the courtyard. He had already dismounted and begun to limp awkwardly away by the time she reined in Bluebell.
“Wait!” Senga cried, tangling her legs up in her skirts as she tried to dismount. “Noah, wait! Ye are hurt.”
He paused, visibly trying to straighten up his torso. Senga scurried after him, heart pounding. She wasn’t entirely sure what she hoped to gain from this, only that her instincts as a healer had prompted her to speak.
“I would guess at cracked ribs and bruising,” Senga said aloud, when he didn’t turn to face her. “And I can see a long gash along the outside of yer upper arm. I guess ye were out for days unattended. Let me see to it.”
He shook his head tightly, face turned away. “Nay.”
“Ye cannot say nay. I am one of the St. Deborah healers, and—”
“Others need yer help more than me,” Noah interrupted, his voice hard and sour. “Leave me be. Go to find Lady Grahame, she has been asking for ye.”
Without waiting for a response, he walked away, his long-legged stride carrying him away from her. Senga stood there, motionless, watching the familiar hunch of his shoulders disappear into the gloom.
I spent years of my life waiting for ye in that convent, she thought suddenly, anger rising in her throat like sour bile. All those years, and I need not have wasted my time. Ye were never coming for me, were ye?
Choking back a sob, Senga spun on her heel and walked away towards the shadowy walls of the Keep. Defeated, she went on to find Lade Grahame.
Senga heard Freya’s voice when she was still several rooms away from the Great Hall.
Sure enough, when she poked her head in through the door, Freya stood there in her scowling, red-haired glory, wearing some expensive-looking green gown that dragged on the floor behind her.
She was facing Sister Abigail, who looked equally displeased, hands on her black-robed hips.
“I have told ye, Lady Grahame,” Sister Abigail snapped, “Senga is not here. She has gone out to fetch—”
“She ought not to have been allowed to go out at all. The dangers—”
“Do not fret about the dangers, Freya,” Senga commented, stepping out into the Hall. “I’m here. I’m safe, and I have the shadesflax.”
She didn’t have the strength to tell them about her attack. No doubt Noah would tell them anyway. Sister Abigail offered her a quick smile of relief and took the shadesflax from her grubby, cold-numbed hands, scurrying away.
“Take the rest of the night off, Senga,” Sister Abigail called over her shoulder.
Senga passed a hand over her forehead. “I cannot. There’s too much work to be done.”
“Ye need rest. Take it, or else I’ll let the Abbess know in the next parchment.”
Well, there was no arguing with that. Senga allowed Freya to guide her out of the Great Hall and into the hallway outside, where sturdy wooden benches were placed at intervals, pushed up against the cold stone walls.
She sat down heavily on one bench, and Freya sat beside her.
“Who is he?” Senga bit out before Freya could even speak.
Freya blinked, frowning. “Who?”
“That man ye sent to fetch me. The Captain… Noah.”
“It sounds as though ye already know who he is. Well, he’s our Captain of the Guard. Brendan has known him for years. He’s about the same age as ye, I think. Why?”
Senga let out a ragged, incredulous laugh. “He’s been here, then? At Keep Grahame? For years?”