Chapter 10
Over the next few days, they continued along the road, the whole cortège inching northward to Angelet’s inevitable fate.
So far, they’d been fortunate to reach an inn, or in one case the home of a local lord, before dark.
The weather had been dry and mild, too, which meant that travel was safer, faster, and much less muddy than it might be.
She ought to be praying for thanks, thinking holy, sanctified thoughts, or pleading with the saints to intercede for her when it came to keeping her from sin.
Instead, she felt more and more drawn to earthly distractions. From the safety of her carriage, she often tracked Rafe’s movements, noting how perfect his body was, how well formed from years of fighting and training. What that body would look like stripped bare…
Angelet quickly looked down at the ground.
Lord, what was wrong with her? She could hardly glance at Rafe without thinking distinctly carnal thoughts.
It didn’t help at all that the man was gorgeous.
Those blue eyes were so deceptively soulful, so sad and sweet.
Then he’d smile and she knew there wasn’t anything sweet about him.
Sir Rafe lived for the moment, and he sought only pleasure. Such a man could not be trusted.
However, though Rafe was still attentive to Angelet, he hadn’t crossed any line since the night she kissed him.
Indeed, his flirtatious behavior vanished almost completely.
He didn’t seem like the man she’d kissed that first evening.
Had she dreamed the whole thing? Was it some devilish departure from her usual visions, where instead of heavenly sights, she experienced a powerful illusion of a more worldly nature?
One bright morning while the men-at-arms were loading all the supplies and readying the animals, Rafe helped her into her carriage.
All he did was offer a hand to steady her as she climbed in, but that contact was enough to make her think of the kiss once again.
In fact, every time she looked at Rafe, she thought of the kiss.
But his expression was neutral. “If you don’t mind my saying, Lady Angelet, you look a little drawn. How did you sleep?”
The truth was that Bethany tended to snore, and Angelet had a lot on her mind. But neither of those facts was appropriate for casual conversation. “No need to be concerned, Sir Rafe.”
“I am concerned. You’re my responsibility while we’re traveling.”
“I will tell you if something serious happens,” she said. “But truly, I slept well enough.”
“You’d sleep better with me,” he said, his voice low and close to her ear.
Her heart hammered and she was having trouble breathing. And why did she like how he smelled? She shouldn’t—it was a smell of the road, and oil and leather and iron, and something else. Yet, she wanted to lean right into him and breathe deep.
But then Rafe said, “Lord. Forget I said that. I meant to apologize for what I said that first night. The…offer. It was inappropriate.” He looked truly taken aback.
“I thought the inappropriateness of it was the charm,” she said, not quite hiding her disappointment.
His eyes flicked over her face. She realized that he hadn’t lost interest in her since his offer—she guessed he’d just been worried he offended her.
“I can’t read you, my lady,” he said, still watching her closely.
“I’m not a book. How do you read a woman?”
“Accept my offer and I’ll show you.”
She took a breath. “So the offer is back on the table? Didn’t you just rescind it?”
“Oh, it’s back. On the table or wherever else you’d like.” Then he was gone, off about his tasks as if he hadn’t just tried to scandalize her in broad daylight.
Oddly, she didn’t feel nearly as scandalized as she ought to. She actually felt better, since Rafe shared her memory of the kiss and his subsequent offer. And he still wanted her.
Warmth spread through her limbs. Being wanted by a man like Rafe was novel for her.
It made her feel excited rather than scared, eager rather than wary.
Foolishness, she told herself. The man was dangerous, and he didn’t even pretend his intentions toward her were honorable.
Not once had he breathed the word marriage, yet even that worked in his favor.
At least he didn’t think her stupid enough to fall for an empty promise.
She’d spent the last several years with people who considered her either mad or vacant or a holy idiot.
Now she’d finally met someone who treated her as a grown woman.
Unfortunately, she met him a fortnight before she had to foreswear contact with virtually all men.
Angelet often wondered if Satan meddled in people’s happiness directly, or if he sent subordinates to carry out the work. Why else would Angelet be tempted into sin at exactly this moment, after so many years of dull, unchallenged widowhood?
“My lady, are you going to have a fit?”
Bethany peered at her from the other seat in the carriage. The cortège was rolling along the track by now, and the maid had taken her place in the carriage without Angelet even noticing.
“What?” she asked. “No. No, I’m quite well. Why?”
“You were staring at the sky with a look like you were seeing an angel,” Bethany explained. “I half think you’ll collapse in a minute…though in your fits, you never speak.”
“I’m not about to have a fit,” Angelet said, more crossly. “Anyway, I suffered one less than a week ago.”
“So?” Bethany retorted. “Good thing that abbot is willing to take you.”
“The abbot might know of a cure,” Angelet said.
Bethany’s expression was not one of great confidence for any mortal to cure Angelet, but she just sighed meaningfully and went to work at mending something.
There was always mending to be done. This item looked like a shirt from one of the men-at-arms. Angelet took out her own needle and thread from the bag she packed. It would be a long, long day.
That night, the group once again reached an inn.
This one was more run down, and the sleeping rooms were little more than partitioned spaces, with thin walls and doors that closed only most of the way.
Angelet and Bethany got the one at the end, with a little window for light.
As usual, the chained and locked chest was carried to Angelet’s room, this time by Rafe and Dobson. They placed it near her bed.
“I’ll take first watch at the door tonight,” Dobson told Rafe. “I’m not sleepy. Tad can take first watch as well.”
Rafe nodded. “That will do. Wake Laurence and Simon when it’s time.”
“Aye, sir.”
The whole party ate the evening meal in the tavern room below. The food was better than the accommodations, and Angelet was soon yawning. She rose to her feet and gestured to Bethany. The maid dutifully followed her, after draining her glass of ale.
There were no bed frames, just narrow straw mattresses. Luckily, Angelet was so tired she doubted even a pokey straw mattress or Bethany’s snores would keep her awake tonight.
Indeed, she dropped right into sleep, though it was a dream-filled sleep in which a tiny part of her remained alert, listening to the sounds of the inn and the outdoors, weaving every noise into fractured, fantastic dreams. Angelet heard the stomping of footsteps on the stairs, and dreamed she was in a high tower like those of her visions.
She heard an owl cry, and saw a gigantic, dusky owl alight on the foot of her bed.
Bethany’s snores became the heavy breath of a sleeping dragon, which the owl would hoot at impatiently.
Lost in her dream, Angelet was certain that the owl knew something of vital importance regarding her family, and she kept asking it over and over to give her news of her parents, or her brother, or her son. But the owl merely asked, “Who?” and the cycle began anew.
Then Angelet woke up. There had been a sound—a real one.
“Who’s there?” she asked as she sat up. “Bethany?”
But Bethany was still sleeping on her pallet. A different, larger shape loomed near her bed.
“Who—” was all Angelet managed to get out before a massive hand clamped down on her mouth. She gasped for breath. Whoever was trying to silence her was doing too well. She couldn’t get any air.
Panic blossomed, and she jerked away from the figure, desperate to free herself. She bit at the hand.
“Bitch!” Her assailant pulled his hand back.
Angelet dragged in a huge breath and screamed.
Another scream echoed hers and she heard the stomp of footsteps.
But then the hand was back, pushing her head down against the pillow. Angelet struggled, this time with no success. She bit again, and nothing happened. She tried to breathe, and couldn’t. Sparks and flashes of light began to pop at the edges of her vision. Air. She needed air.
Just as she began to black out, the pressure vanished. The man attacking her wheeled backwards. She could just see another man grab him from behind.
At that point, light flared. Bethany stood in the doorway with a lit candle.
Gasping for air, Angelet sat up and slipped off the pallet to get away from the two men locked in a savage fight in the middle of the room. One was fully dressed and armed with a long dagger.
“Dobson?” Angelet gasped out loud. He’d been guarding her room, and he was one of the Dryton men-at-arms who’d served Otto for years. Angelet never would have suspected he’d go against his lord like this. Trying to kill her, and then to kill…
“No!” she choked out when she saw him raise his arm to stab his opponent, who was none other than Rafe.
Rafe must have run in immediately after hearing her scream, for he was only partially dressed, and unarmed. Dobson was going to kill him.
But just as Dobson’s arm began to arc down, the blade flashing silver, Rafe moved with stunning speed. He somehow stepped to the side, ducked out of the weapon’s path, and then struck Dobson with a sharp blow.
The guard grunted, but didn’t lose his grip on the dagger.