Page 44

“You’re right, Henri,” Colin said, rising and stretching.

“You’ve need of rest after our journey. Let us be about the business of bedding down for the night.

Come with me and we’ll see to the horses.

” He looked at Jason and Sir Etienne. “See to yourselves and keep your mouths shut. I’d like decent bed and board for a day or two here. ”

Without waiting for their responses, he left the common chamber and walked out into the wet.

Rain didn’t trouble him. They surely had enough of it at Blackmour, and he was well accustomed to training in it all through the year.

But Henri, well, who knew where the girl was truly from?

Perhaps she didn’t have much rain where she had been raised.

“Pull up your hood,” he instructed. “Keep your head dry.”

“Aye, my lord.”

In the dark, where he could scarce see her face, much less her shape, he had no trouble divining that she was a girl. Why hadn’t he noticed either by the full light of the sun? By the saints, he’d been blind!

He’d been distracted by the thought of wedding Sybil of Maignelay—that was it. And there was his intense irritation with his sire to consider as well. Surely he could be forgiven his blindness, in light of those things.

He saw that their mounts had indeed been housed as promised, stole a look or two at Henri by the light of the stable master’s candle, and couldn’t help a small bit of marveling over her intense beauty.

The saints preserve him.

“To bed,” he announced suddenly before he did something foolish, such as continue to gape at her.

“But, my lord, I’ve ... um ... I need to—”

He frowned. Letting her out of his sight was something he had little liking for, but it wasn’t as if he could shadow her every moment. Especially when she had things to see to. Womanly matters and such. She opened her mouth to elaborate, but he held up his hand quickly.

“Say no more,” he said. “You’ve needs to attend to and want privacy. I’ll wait for you outside the gathering chamber. Have you your knife at the ready?”

She gulped and nodded.

Much as he might like to, he could do no more for her than that.

Surely she could manage a trip to a bush without getting into mischief.

He walked away, wondering how she’d managed to see to her body’s needs for so long without having been detected.

He couldn’t imagine himself doing the like.

A day, perhaps, no more, then he would have been scurrying for the first handy tree and damning whoever cared to watch.

One thing he could complain of: She took her bloody time about the whole business.

Colin waited until he decided that perhaps she had either fallen into a hole or been overtaken by foul forest creatures.

He walked silently back to the stables, peered about the building, and then saw what he’d actually suspected deep in his heart.

Henri and Sir Etienne in deep conversation.

Never one to announce his presence when a goodly bit of eavesdropping might yield more information, he crept around the stables until he could hear clearly what was being whispered.

“I told you, you foolish twit,” Sir Etienne whispered harshly, “to keep him from me!”

“I’ve tried!”

“You’ll try harder, or you’ll pay the price.”

“Why don’t you stop provoking him—”

A slap echoed in the stillness of the night.

Colin was halfway around the building before the thought to move crossed his mind.

He stopped just in time, took a deep, silent breath, and then eased back into the shadows, sliding his sword back into its sheath.

He was surprised by the ferocity of the rage that swept through him.

How dare the wretch lift a hand against the girl!

Colin stood in the shadows, shaking, and fought to gain control of himself.

He could rush forward and defend Henri, aye, but to what end at this moment? Much as he might want to, he couldn’t kill Sir Etienne for a mere slap.

But he could kill him for something more serious. He could kill him did Sir Etienne find the courage to challenge him for some slight. He could also bide his time, learn what Sir Etienne held over Henri’s head, and then slay him in good conscience for that no doubt unsavoury blackmail.

He let his breath out slowly and forced his hands to unclench.

Aye, he would wait. And he would allow Henri a normal amount of freedom.

He could easily keep the girl within arm’s reach at all times, but that would make Sir Etienne suspicious and ruin any chance Colin might have of catching him about some goodly bit of mischief.

Of course, that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t be three paces away from Henri at all times, lest the girl need aid.

Aid he would happily deliver.

“You listen, woman,” Sir Etienne said calmly, as if he hadn’t struck her but a moment before, “and listen very carefully. If he touches me, you’re finished. I’ll see to that myself.”

Henri’s answer was a whimper.

“And as for our other business, when I’ve decided what it is I’ll have from you, you’ll know.”

And with that, the man turned on his heel and strode away.

Colin stared after him, then looked at the girl he’d left behind, the girl who was now quietly weeping, and found that he had absolutely nothing to say.

Other business? What other business? And what a woman Sir Etienne was, to force a girl to protect him!

Colin’s disgust for the man, which had run deep enough before, reached new lows.

And poor Henri! Not only the burden of pretending to be what she wasn’t, but the added weight of having to guard Sir Etienne.

He watched as she shook herself, straightened, and put her shoulders back. Then she turned and started back toward the inn.

Colin swiftly made his way back there and was waiting by the front stoop as she crossed the courtyard. He pushed off from the wall with a negligent move, then folded his arms and looked down at her.

“Finished?” he asked pleasantly.

Her tears were gone and she wore a decidedly determined expression on her face. “Aye,” she said firmly.

What a wench. Colin was hard-pressed not to either clap her heartily on the shoulder or haul her into his arms and give her a squeeze that might break a few things. He could scarce believe that she wasn’t blubbering, but nay, her eyes were dry.

Her cheek, however, bore the print of a hand.

Colin realized how terrible his expression must be when he saw Henri’s eyes widen with unease.

“I was,” he announced, “thinking on past battles and a few very unpleasant foes. Nothing to do with you.”

“Oh,” she said, looking vastly relieved. “I hurried as quickly as I could.”

“Of course you did.” He paused. “I think,” he said slowly, “that we should be at our training at first light. What think you?”

“Absolutely, my lord.”

By the saints, the woman had the courage of a man. “Stay by me, Henri,” he said. “I have found that there are many dangers here in France. You’ll likely want to meet them with me guarding your back, think you?”

She looked so damned grateful that it almost made his eyes sting. But it was gratitude mixed with determination, and he found that he was almost as overcome by that as he had been by anything before in his life.

By the saints, the woman was exceptional.

He paused and considered. He couldn’t be fortunate enough to find Aliénore of Solonge already wed, could he? Then again, if she’d eluded him this long, couldn’t she be persuaded to elude him a bit longer? Perhaps he could pay for putting her in a convent himself, then wed where he chose.

He pushed aside those thoughts. He would face them when he arrived at Solonge and took stock of the situation. For now, he would admire the wench standing before him and not begrudge himself pleasure of it.

“Come, Henri,” he said. “We’ll make an early start of it tomorrow, aye?”

She nodded and he could have sworn he saw a faint smile cross her face.

He slung his arm around her shoulders—her very slight, very brave shoulders—and led her into the inn.