Suzanne Barclay - Knight's Rebellion

Nor could he be without a healer till the wounded recovered. None of the other women in camp had her skill. Much as he hated to need anyone, he needed the nun.

“We’re here, Sister.” Henry halted the wagon.

Alys shifted on her numb knees. The forest through which they’d traveled most of the night still surrounded them on three sides. Ahead lay a ridge of jagged mountain peaks. Set out against the gray sky of early dawn, they seemed to growl at the heavens like the teeth of some great, defiant monster. What a bleak, fitting place for an outlaw band, yet she saw no tents or lean-tos. “Surely you do not live in the open.”

He chuckled, revealing broken teeth set in a face as craggy as the mountains. “Nay. Camp is up there wi’ the crows.”

Alys tipped her head back and looked where he pointed. “All I see are stone and sky.”

“Aye. ‘Tis what’s made it nigh impossible for Ranulf the Cruel to find us. There’s caves up there, the entrance hidden well back among the rocks. The trail’s narrow, tricky as hell…er, if ye’ll pardon my speech, Sister…and well guarded. Even if Ranulf did find it, he’d not drag us out in a hundred years.”

Alys groaned faintly. She’d hoped Gowain’s camp would be in the forest, so that she might slip away into the trees and escape. Once trapped in the mountain, how would she ever get out?

Her throat constricted as the enormity of her situation truly sank in. She was the prisoner of a vicious outlaw, protected only by her habit and his necessity. Had Stork not assumed she was a nun, had they not needed her to keep the men alive, she’d be dead, or worse….

What would happen if they discovered she wasn’t a nun?

Alys clasped her arms around her shivering body and struggled to stay calm. There had to be a way out. She’d keep her wits calm and her eyes open for a chance to steal a horse and ride off. Better to be lost in the woods than to be the prisoner of such as these. Mayhap she could find her way to Eastham and Ranulf.

Ranulf, of course.

Alys nearly laughed aloud in relief. Ranulf had wanted to wed her. Surely he would not leave her to the outlaws’ mercy. He’d either send trackers to follow them to this hideout, or ride to Ransford for her family. Once it was known she’d been taken prisoner, they’d come to rescue her. If her father couldn’t sit a horse, he’d send for her uncles, Ruarke and Alexander, and her cousin Jamie, hero of the wars against the French.

“I thought you were anxious to see the wounded cared for,” growled the object of her thoughts. Gowain had dismounted and stood beside the wagon, eyes glaring a challenge from deep within the dark sockets of his helmet. Behind him, his crew of thieves busily transferred the stolen goods from the wagons to packhorses. They worked briskly and efficiently, doubtless with the skill of long practice.

“Come, I will take you up with me,” Gowain said, holding out his mailed hand.

“I prefer the wagon, thank you,” she said coldly.

“The wagons are going to a farm nearby, where…”

“From which you doubtless stole them.”

“What I steal, I generally keep. The wagons are mine. The farmer stores them and the horses for me betweentimes.”

“Between raids. What of the wounded? Do they walk?”

“Nay. We’ll carry them up on litters. ‘Tis a long hike, and I but thought you’d be weary after your long night.” He shrugged, as though the matter were unimportant. “Suit yourself, but don’t fall behind.”

Pride kept Alys from calling him back. She rued it during the long walk up the mountain. Her low riding boots were soft-soled, and the stones bit through the leather. Blisters sprang up on her heels and toes; her muscles, cramped and bruised from jolting about all night, screamed with every step. It took all her will and concentration to keep moving. Soon even the men carrying the wounded had outdistanced her.

“Hoping to fall back and escape?” demanded a familiar voice.

Alys spun, and would have fallen if Gowain’s hard hand hadn’t reached out and grabbed her arm. Though three layers of wool clothes separated her from his touch, the contact sent a sizzle across her skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. It was not his anger or annoyance. What was this strange sensation?

He felt it, too. His nostrils flared, and his eyes widened, then narrowed. “What the hell?” he whispered. His gaze moved over her. Some emotion she couldn’t name flared his eyes so that the green burned bright. “Dieu, surely I am cursed,” he spat, dropping her arm and severing the connection.

Alys exhaled sharply. What had happened? She hadn’t felt his emotions, not exactly. This was like nothing she’d experienced before. “What…Where is your horse?” she asked lamely.

“Why do you wish to know?”

“I…I do not care where he is.” She tossed her head, fractious and confused. “You had offered me a ride, yet—”

“I felt the urge to stretch my legs.” He executed a bow that would have done a courtier proud, if not for the cynical twist of his mouth. “After you…Sister.”

Alys picked up her skirts, took a step and winced.

“Have you hurt yourself?”

“My boots are soft and not made for walking.”

“Like their owner, no doubt.” Before she guessed what he was about, he knelt and tugged at the hem of her skirt.

“Nay.” Alys tried to jerk free, but he held her fast.

“Show me your foot.”

“Nay.” She wore woolen hose, but it might not protect her from his touch.

“Your modesty is ill placed. Stick out your foot.”

“I do not want you to touch me.”

His expression hardened. “I have yet to stoop to ravishing nuns,” he snapped. “I am trying to help.”

“A first, I am sure.”

Gowain stood in a swift, lithe movement. “I’ve no time to bandy words with a spoiled nun. We must be inside the caves, and quickly, lest we’re spotted.” He swept her off her feet.

“Oh!” Alys waited to be rushed by his emotions, but felt only the sinewy strength of his arms around her back and under her knees, the thunder of his heart against her ribs. Yet, beyond those ordinary things, she sensed power held in check, feelings blanketed by rigid control. The realization that he was able to hide from her was more frightening. “Put me down! How dare you!”

He tightened his grip on her. “Stop wriggling, or we’ll both fall down the side of the mountain.”

Alys glanced over his shoulder at the treetops, far, far below them and stopped struggling, but the feeling of being surrounded by some terrible force persisted. She’d seen a tree once, struck by lighting. It had simply exploded from the inside out and burst into flames. Now she understood why.

“Relax. I won’t drop you.” His breath fanned her forehead, warm and soft.

“I…I am not used to being handled so.” Was that her voice? She sounded breathless and faint.

“You are the first nun I’ve carried, also. ‘Tis a bit… disconcerting. Aye, that must be it,” he added, so low she barely heard the words.

“It, what?” Talking eased her, gave her something else to concentrate on besides him and the feelings he concealed.

“Nothing.” He climbed steadily despite her weight. “How old were you when you felt the calling to be a nun?”

“Thirteen,” she said without thinking, for that was when her life had changed…and not for the better.

“Ah. I am told females do irrational things at that time.”

“Irrational! What is irrational about taking the veil?”

“Nothing, if you are suited to it. Which you are not.”

“You are an expert in such matters?”

“I know women,” he said with a contempt that grated.