Page 42

Ali couldn’t breathe. The moment Colin drew his sword again she would be finished. Sir Etienne would blurt out her sorry tale as he parried—of that she was certain.

Colin pursed his lips. “Not this time. But watch your words, sir knight, lest you not find me so lenient again.”

Sir Etienne looked as if he had just stuffed himself full at a banquet table. The expression of satisfaction was almost more than Ali could bear. Would that Colin would teach her enough that she might slay this fool and spare them all the misery of any more of his company.

“A decision well made,” Sir Etienne said. “Especially since ’tis Henri who should suffer for the insult.”

Colin pointedly ignored him. “Draw you here in the dirt a map I can follow.”

Ali lay back down uneasily. Colin obviously hadn’t believed Sir Etienne’s lies, which meant he was better at spotting a liar than she was.

The saints only knew why he hadn’t seen through her subterfuge sooner.

Perhaps ’twas as Jason said: As long as she held a sword in her hands, he wouldn’t look closer than that.

She vowed to hold her sword in her hands as often as possible from then on.

If nothing else, it would keep Colin’s attentions focused elsewhere.

To be sure, it would improve her skill and she very much suspected that such skill would be her only means of obtaining her freedom.

At the very least, she could protect herself against Sir Etienne and that was nothing to dismiss.

Because until she managed that, she would be protecting him against Colin.

She closed her eyes and let talk of roads and inns and places to avoid wash over her.

She had best take what rest she could have, when she could have it.

The road before her had taken on a decidedly sinister turn—and that more than just the fact that if they continued south, they would eventually have to head east.

To Solonge.

Back to Marie’s lair.

So Colin could begin his search for his errant bride.

Ali struggled to peer into the future, just to see how the sorry tale might possibly play out.

A pity she had none of Berengaria’s sight.

It would have aided her immensely to know if she should just pull forth her blade right now and fall upon it, or if she should wait for Marie or Sir Etienne to end her life for her.

She entertained such black thoughts until dawn was breaking against the shadows of the little glade where they’d made their camp.

And during that long night, she decided nothing useful, except to accept the fact that she very well might lose her life at Marie’s hands some time in the next fortnight.

Perhaps it would behoove her to make peace with God.

Or perhaps she should just awaken Colin and tell him who she was. He could kill her right then and it would be done with. Then she could return as a ghost and haunt Sir Etienne for the rest of his days.

And the possibility of that was enough to bring her up to her elbow, the truth on her lips. She reached over to shake Colin’s foot, then froze.

Sir Etienne stood above him with his sword at Colin’s throat.

Ali didn’t have to hear him speak to know exactly what he was thinking.

See how easy it would be?

But before she could either nod or weep, there was a ring of steel and Colin was quite magically on his feet with his own sword at Sir Etienne’s throat.

Sir Etienne’s blade was, amazingly enough, no longer in his hand.

“You should be more careful where you allow your blade to linger,” Colin said coldly.

Sir Etienne bowed deeply. “My apologies, lord. I am perhaps overtired and careless.”

Ali couldn’t swallow. She certainly couldn’t speak. All she could do was stare into Sir Etienne’s angry eyes and wonder if this might be the time in which he actually made good on his threat and blurted out her name.

She was saved from that by Colin putting up his sword.

“Finish your watch,” he said briskly. “We’ll rest until you return, then be on our way.”

Sir Etienne bowed again, an ingratiating bow that spoke more of mockery than deference, then melted back into the shadows.

Ali watched as Colin sat down and threw a handful of twigs onto the fire to bring it back to life. She felt as if she should say something, but she couldn’t. She half feared that if she said anything at all, it would turn into a confession and then where would she be?

Dead.

After all, Colin wasn’t above carrying a corpse back to Harrowden. He’d said so himself.

“How do you fare?” he asked suddenly, looking at her from under his eyebrows. “Feeling better?”

She blinked in surprise at the concern. “Well, aye,” she said, feeling rather unbalanced. There she’d been imagining how easily he would kill her, yet he was asking if she was well? Would she ever understand the man? “Thank you,” she added.

“We’ll stop early so we can train for a bit this afternoon.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

He nodded, then poked at the fire in silence.

Ali watched him and realized, with a start, that while he could never be called handsome, he had a certain look about him that wasn’t overly unpleasant.

And the man certainly could defend himself, even when half asleep. Sybil certainly could have done worse.

Such as being wed to a would-be priest who likely couldn’t tell one end of a sword from the other.

Ali rubbed her hand over her eyes and tried to clear them of the sight of Colin leaning over the fire, his face set in grimly serious lines, his sword by his side.

Was it possible that she was actually finding him less than terrifying?

Or had too much sea travel finally rid her of what few wits she possessed?

Or was she actually valuing the fact that her betrothed was the fiercest man she had ever seen? And not completely unpleasant to look at? And, on occasion, showed what a more foolish maid might have called kindness?

A movement startled her and she looked over Colin’s head to see Sir Etienne lurking at the edge of the trees.

And she read the message in his eyes clearly enough.

Tell him and you’ll both die.

She looked back at Colin. He had turned his head just the slightest bit toward Sir Etienne, so she was fairly certain he knew who lurked at the edge of the firelight.

But he showed no sign of distress or nervousness.

That reassured her somewhat, but not completely.

The man couldn’t stay awake and alert continually.

There would come a time when Sir Etienne could have Colin at his mercy. And that she couldn’t allow.

She wondered what Colin would say if she told him that what she did was partly to protect him.

Likely give her that look she’d seen before, the one that said he couldn’t quite believe that anyone could be so ridiculously foolish. Him, the powerful and invincible Colin of Berkhamshire, in need of aid? Ha!

Yet aid he would need and it fell to her to give it to him, even if he never knew she did.

She suddenly found herself cursing the hours that remained between dawn and the time Colin would teach her more swordplay.

The more she learned, the more quickly she learned it, the easier it would be to see to Sir Etienne herself, and then he would have nothing more to hold over any of them.

Not Colin’s life. Not hers. But perhaps his own.

Aye, Sir Etienne would not like what Colin made her into.

If she only could obtain enough time to let Colin manage it.

Colin rose suddenly and she felt a wave of unease sweep over her.

By the saints, would the man never cease to startle her?

She concentrated on breathing in a normal fashion, as if it were an everyday occurrence to have a man standing over her quite suddenly, looking for all the world like an avenging god.

Why, the man could slay her merely by stepping on her!

But what fell on her was not his heavy boot, but rather a heavy blanket.

“Thought you might be chilled,” Colin said gruffly, then turned and returned immediately to his place, taking his sword and beginning to sharpen it with great diligence.

Ali fought the urge to gape at him in amazement. Had he just given her a blanket, had he just stretched his black soul to do something nice for her, or was she caught in some inescapable web of foul imaginings?

So many conflicting thoughts swirled about in her head, she began to feel as queasy as she had on the ship.

Colin and his sudden kindness, Sir Etienne and his wickedness, Marie and her sharp knife, she herself and her confusion about what she should do.

It was enough to make her want to pull Colin’s very warm blanket up over her ears and sleep until everything sorted itself out.

She was sure of nothing except that, despite her better judgment, she was beginning to trust the Butcher of Berkhamshire.

The saints only knew where that would lead.