Page 9

Lionheart called a halt at the crest of a rocky hill, his gaze traversing the barren land as their horses drank from a bubbling spring. He had seen naught to indicate the presence of the Black Wolf or his army, and that puzzled him.

Lionheart had begun to believe that Llewellyn had fled and was no longer a threat. Lionheart was not yet ready to return to the keep, however. Two days was not nearly long enough to be away from Vanora. His obsession for her still raged. He was beginning to fear that distance was not the answer. Naught would assuage his lust for the passionate vixen he had wed save having her in his bed and making love to her until he was too exhausted to move, much less think.

'Twas Giles who spied the knight riding the path below them and pointed him out. Excitement thrummed through Lionheart when he saw the knight's gold-trimmed white tabard. The mysterious White Knight! His fists clenched and he shook with the need to have the knave at the end of his sword.

Were it not for the White Knight, Llewellyn would not have gotten away and he would not be saddled with a wife. He would not have met Vanora, much less wed her.

"Shall we give chase?" Giles asked, jolting Lionheart from his reverie.

"Stay here with the men," Lionheart ordered. "The knave is mine. He has given me much grief, and I intend to put an end to it."

His face set in hard lines, Lionheart mounted his steed and rode off. He trailed the knight for a time, keeping well behind so as not to be seen. Lionheart thought the knight too sure of himself, too cocky. The man seemed oblivious to danger, as if it did not exist for him. Did he go to Llewellyn? Lionheart decided to follow and find out.

* * *

Vanora rode blissfully toward Draymere at a comfortable trot, hoping to find Cragdon's knights safely ensconced in Daffid's keep. She needed to warn them to stay put lest Lionheart's patrol find them.

The day was fine, albeit a little on the cool side. Winter would arrive before she knew it, and she recounted all the chores that must be done before cold weather arrived. Her distraction was such that she did not realize she was being followed until she felt the skin crawl on the back of her neck and sensed a menacing presence.

Whirling in the saddle, she saw naught but the forest and its shifting shadows. Just when she was beginning to think that her imagination was playing tricks on her, she saw him.

Lionheart!

Why had she not seen him before? How long had he been following her? Setting her spurs to her palfrey, she raced through the forest and burst into a wide valley that lay between towering mountains. Aware that she could not lead Lionheart to Draymere, she abruptly changed direction, heading for the foothills. She had a better chance of losing Lionheart on rough terrain than on open ground.

Darting a glance over her shoulder, Vanora was dismayed to see Lionheart quickly closing the distance between them. The mountains offered the only means of escape, but she feared she could not reach them in time. Her next option, the one she had hoped to avoid, was to stand and fight.

Wheeling about, sword in one hand and shield in the other, she waited for Lionheart. He reached her in a cloud of dust and skidded to a halt, his horse prancing in a circle around her. Though his visor was lowered, she would know him anywhere. His powerful warrior's body was as familiar to her as her own. Neither chain mail nor chausses could disguise the strength of his limbs or the width of his shoulders.

"So we meet again," Lionheart growled. He drew his sword and positioned his shield. "Prepare to meet your maker, knave."

Guiding her horse with her knees, Vanora shot forward to meet her foe. She needed the advantage of surprise if she was to survive. She knew Lionheart was stronger than she was and far better at warfare, but she hoped to acquit herself well. If she could unhorse him, she might be able to elude him.

They met in a harsh clash of metal against metal. Vanora ducked beneath the slashing thrust of his sword, using her shield to deflect the brunt of his punishing blow. She brought her own sword down, only to meet his shield. Her horse reared, its front hooves slashing at Lionheart's steed. The steed retaliated, crashing against her smaller palfrey, nearly unseating her.

"Surrender, sir knight, and mayhap I will spare your life," Lionheart roared over her palfrey's scream.

Panic rode Vanora. She feared Lionheart's wrath if he learned her identity. She shook her head and launched another attack. Lionheart met her, remorseless in his fury. She deflected his blow but took the next. The flat of his sword sent her sprawling to the ground. Leaping from his saddle, he stood over her. The diabolical gleam in his eyes, clearly visible through his visor, pinned her to the dirt.

"Remove your helm," Lionheart ordered. "I want to look upon your face before I skewer you."

Her hands were shaking as she raised them to her head. Just as she started to lift her visor, an arrow sang through the air, piercing through a weak link in Lionheart's mail. Clutching the arrow, he staggered and began a slow spiral to the ground.

Crying out in dismay, Vanora searched the hillsides for the archer but saw no one. Rising unsteadily, she knelt beside Lionheart despite the danger of becoming the next target.

The slow rise and fall of Lionheart's chest assured her that he still lived, but the blood pouring from his wound frightened her. She knew what had to be done. Grasping the shaft of the arrow and exerting all her strength, she pulled the barb from his flesh and tossed it aside. She heard Lionheart groan, but no other sound escaped his lips, though she knew the pain must be unbearable. She ripped off a section of his tabard with her knife and searched beneath his mail and hauberk for the wound. When she found it, she made a pad of the cloth and pressed it hard against the lacerated flesh.

He stared up at her through pain-glazed eyes. "You had best kill me while you can, for you will not get another chance."

Vanora recoiled, his words reminding her how much he hated the White Knight. Refusing to speak lest he recognize her voice, she shook her head.

The blood seeping from Lionheart's wound slowed beneath the pressure of Vanora's hand as she contemplated her options. She could not leave Lionheart to bleed to death, nor could she lift him on his horse without help. She pondered the dilemma long and hard but was saved from making a decision when several horsemen rode down from the hills and surrounded her.

Vanora recognized Sir Ren and Cragdon's warriors immediately. Sir Ren dismounted and knelt beside her.

" 'Twas a lucky shot," he said. "I could not let him hurt you. Come away now; 'tis not safe here. His men cannot be far behind."

Gaining her feet, she pulled Ren aside where Lionheart could not hear them. "I cannot leave him to die."

"You have no choice. You know the consequences."

She did indeed. "He will bleed to death."

Sir Ren stared at her with dawning perception. "I am sorry, my lady, but 'tis for the best."

Vanora glanced back at Lionheart, indecision weighing heavily upon her. If Lionheart died, it would be her fault. "I cannot."

"Hark! Riders approach," he warned.

A cloud of dust appeared in the distance. "Lionheart's men," Vanora said, relieved that help was on the way.

"We must leave," Ren urged, "lest we become prisoners again."

"I cannot leave him," Vanora repeated. She could care for him better than any of his men.

"You are not thinking clearly, my lady," Ren argued. "Your life is in danger as long as he lives."

Vanora inhaled sharply. "What are you going to do?"

"Kill him. 'Tis no more than he planned for you."

"Nay! You will not! Hear me well, Sir Ren. Lionheart will not die by your hand, is that clear?"

"You are too tenderhearted, my lady. Let me slay him for the good of Wales."

"Nay! Help him to mount and return him to his men."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure."

Vanora returned her gaze to Lionheart. Though he could not hear their conversation, his silver eyes

glittered with malice, and no little amount of pain. A shudder passed through her. Knowing that she was the object of his hatred nearly undid her. She took a step toward him but was forcibly restrained by Ren.

Ren snapped a curt order and two warriors went to Lionheart and lifted him upon his steed.

"Be careful!" Vanora cried, struggling to escape Ren's relentless grip. "Release me. I must go to him."

Grasping her about the waist, Ren literally tossed her upon her palfrey. Another knight grasped her reins and galloped off with her horse in tow.

With breaking heart, Vanora knew Lionheart would never forgive her should he learn the identity of the knight he had vowed to slay.

* * *

His teeth clenched against the pain, Lionheart watched as the White Knight galloped off. Seen from a distance, the knight had appeared a formidable one, but upon closer inspection, he looked to be a mere lad.

Sweat beaded his forehead. Had not Ren's arrow felled him, he would have slain his opponent. He should feel no guilt for that, he told himself, for the knight had earned his fate, but he could not shake the feeling that he would have been very sorry had he slain the lad. Dimly he wondered why the knight had seemed so reluctant to leave.

Still conscious but quickly fading, Lionheart expected Sir Ren to finish what the arrow had failed to do. He closed his eyes and prepared to meet his maker as two burly knights approached and bent over him. But to his surprise, they lifted him and placed him upon his steed. Clinging to the beast with hands and knees, he concentrated on staying upright as Ren sent the horse off with a slap and a shout.

'Twas then Lionheart became aware of horsemen headed in his direction. More enemy? Shaking his head to clear the haze from his eyes, he recognized Sir Giles and Alan leading the throng. Relief spiraled through him, and he straightened his shoulders as renewed strength surged through him.

By sheer will, Lionheart remained upright in the saddle as Giles thundered up to him and grasped his trailing reins.

"You are wounded!" Giles cried, paling when he saw Lionheart's blood-drenched tabard. "Is that the work of the White Knight?"

"Nay, I had the bastard beneath my blade. The arrow came from one of his compatriots," Lionheart gasped. "I understand him not. He let me live when he could have slain me as I lay helpless on the ground."

The rest of the patrol caught up with Giles, their concern apparent when they saw Lionheart's pale face and bloodstained tabard.

"What are you doing here?" Lionheart asked. "Did I not tell you to wait for me near the stream?"

Giles made an impatient gesture. "Blame me, not the men, Lionheart. After you rode off, I feared you were riding into danger. I tried to ignore the premonition, but the longer you were gone, the stronger it became. I did what I thought was necessary." He gazed toward the hills. "The enemy is getting away."

"Let them go. We will never find them in that rough terrain."

"Can you dismount by yourself? I would see to your wound."

" 'Tis naught," Lionheart said, discounting his loss of blood with a wave of his hand. "Mair can tend me when we return to Cragdon."

What he meant but did not say was that 'twas Vanora's healing hand he wanted upon his fevered brow. Strangely, the need to reach his wife was the driving force that had kept him upright in the saddle. Mayhap he was dying, for he could not imagine himself expressing that sentiment unless his time on earth was limited.

Giles regarded him solemnly. "Are you strong enough to ride to Cragdon? Mayhap we should seek help at a nearer keep."

"Nay," Lionheart replied. "No one hereabouts would welcome us. Take me to Cragdon. Tie me to the saddle if I show signs of losing consciousness."

"Where are we going?" Vanora asked when Ren called a halt to rest the horses, They had ridden fast and furiously until they were sure no one followed.

"Since Llewellyn abandoned his army, we have been staying at the holding your father awarded me for my years of faithful service. The keep is in need of repair but it suffices. We feared to leave the area lest you had need of us."

"Llewellyn abandoned you? What makes you say that?"

" 'Tis true, my lady. His army has scattered and he has disappeared. 'Tis rumored he went to England to seek peace with King Henry."

"Nay! Never say 'tis true!"

"I fear so."

Vanora could not believe the Black Wolf of Snowdon had abandoned Wales. What was to become of his people? What was to become of Cragdon?

"Will you accompany me to my keep, Lady Vanora? 'Tis not as grand as Cragdon but 'tis remote and safe."

"Nay, Sir Ren, I cannot. I must return to Cragdon and my people. The only reason I left was to warn you that Lionheart has broadened his search for Llewellyn and his army."

"I will accompany you."

"Thank you, but nay. Tis best I ride alone. Lionheart will be traveling at a slow pace because of his wound, and I intend to be on hand when he arrives at Cragdon."

"Cut through the forest; 'tis closer," Sir Ren advised. "Now that you know where to find us, send word if you have need of us. You are not safe at Cragdon. I fear for your life if Lionheart learns who you are. Your father placed you in my charge, and I swore to protect you." He hung his head. "I am doing a poor job of it."

"No one could have foreseen what happened," Vanora said. "My fondest wish is to see you and all those knights who have not pledged their service elsewhere returned to Cragdon."

"Godspeed, my lady. Those faithful to your father remain faithful to you."

Driven by the need to see to Lionheart's wound, Vanora raced back to Cragdon. Dusk was swift approaching when she reached the village. She stabled her palfrey, Baron, in the stall behind the blacksmith's shop and slipped through the encroaching darkness to the river. Following along the riverbank, she found the hidden passage and entered the tunnel. The door behind the altar sprang open at her touch, and she ducked through.

Naught but shadows lingered in the dimly lit chamber as she struggled out of her chain mail and stowed it away. Then she donned her gown and hurried across the courtyard.

She had just reached the staircase when the patrol rode through the gate. Her heart leapt into her mouth when she saw Lionheart weaving back and forth and realized that he had been tied to the saddle to keep him upright. Uttering a cry of dismay, she raced to his side.

"Untie him! Quickly!" She touched his leg, and he stared down at her. "Fetch Mair," she ordered Alan, who had dismounted and hovered nearby. His brow creased with worry, he hurried off.

Giles and Sir Osgood lifted Lionheart from the saddle and would have carried him into the keep had Lionheart not insisted upon walking. With a man on either side to lend support, Lionheart managed to stagger halfway up the stairs before his legs gave way beneath him.

"Do not let him fall!" Vanora cried, rushing to lend a hand. "Take him to the solar."

"The wound is naught but a scratch," Lionheart gasped through bloodless lips. "I have suffered worse in my lifetime."

Both Mair and Father Caddoc were waiting for them in the solar. While Lionheart was being carried to the bed and stripped of his mail and chausses, Father Caddoc pulled Vanora aside. "Is this your doing, child?"

"Nay, Father, 'twas Sir Ren. He wounded Lionheart to save my life. Lionheart ran me to ground a halfday's journey from Cragdon. We clashed swords, and I lost."

Father Caddoc crossed himself.

"I acquitted myself well, Father, but my strength gave out beneath Lionheart's fierce attack."

"You were wrong to leave the keep. Where was Lionheart's patrol while you were engaging in swordplay?"

"I know not, though they arrived not long afterward. I did not want to leave him, Father, but Sir Ren insisted. Once we were sure we were not being followed, I sent Sir Ren on his way and returned to Cragdon. I wanted to be on hand when Lionheart arrived. Excuse me, I must go to my husband."

"I will stay in case I am needed to give last rites."

Blood drained from Vanora's face. "Last rites will not be needed. Lionheart most certainly will not die." Turning abruptly, she fled to Lionheart's bedside.

Mair had already begun probing the wound. His expression wary, Lionheart watched her. "Be careful, woman, I do not intend to die by your hand."

"Mair is a healer; she will not harm you," Vanora said in an effort to calm him.

Lionheart's pain-glazed eyes lifted to Vanora, the glimmer of a smile turning up the corner of his mouth. "It gladdens my heart to hear you say that."

"You have lost a great deal of blood, Sir Lionheart," Mair said after finishing her probing. "But it could have been worse. Who pulled out the arrow and stanched the flow of blood?"

" 'Twas him," Lionheart said, his voice lowered to a thin whisper. "The White Knight. I had him at the end of my blade. Know you his name, Mair?"

Mair ducked her head, her eyes veiled. "Nay, I know no such knight. 'Twas a good thing he did, however. He may have saved your life."

"Were it not for him, I would still be hale and hearty. 'Tis yet another grievance I hold against the young fool. He is younger than I imagined, and skilled beyond his years."

"Do not talk, Lionheart," Vanora advised. "Conserve your strength."

"Luck was with you," Mair said. "The arrow pierced the flesh beneath your arm but was stopped from doing further damage by your ribs, though they may be cracked. I will bind them after I stitch your wound."

"Make haste," Lionheart said. "Lying abed is a waste of time."

Mair rolled her eyes. "Your wound may not be fatal, but 'tis a painful one. You will not feel like riding or wielding a sword for at least a fortnight." Lionheart gritted his teeth. "Do what is necessary, woman, and let me decide what I can or cannot do."

Mair carefully cleansed the wound, then threaded a needle with fine silk. "Father Caddoc, hold his arm still," she ordered.

"Nay," Lionheart said. "Vanora shall serve as nurse. Send the priest on his way. He is not needed here. I shall not die this night."

Father Caddoc looked to Vanora for direction, and when she nodded, he left the chamber. "Proceed, Mair. Do your worst; I am ready." Vanora gripped his arm and held it away from his body, exposing the wound to Mair's needle. Vanora's efforts were unnecessary, however. Lionheart did not so much as flinch as Mair's needle pierced his flesh.

Vanora marveled at Lionheart's strength. His flesh beneath her hands was warm, his muscles solid. His face was somewhat pale, but his eyes divulged no weakness.

He was a man who carefully guarded his heart. Could she reach it? Did she want to? The answer escaped her. Of one thing she was certain: She did not wish for Lionheart's death.

Lionheart studied Vanora's face as she held his arm steady. She winced each time the needle pierced his flesh, as if the pain were hers. Did she feel something for him? Did he even care? The answer surprised him. He cared.

" 'Tis done," Mair said as she knotted the thread and broke it off. "Vanora can apply the healing salve and bind your ribs."

"Ask Cook to prepare a rich beef broth," Vanora ordered.

Lionheart tried not to flinch as Vanora bandaged his wound and bound his ribs with strips of cloth. Though light-headed from loss of blood, he did not intend to lie abed. He would not rest easy until the White Knight had been captured and his identity revealed. No matter where the knight and his cohorts were hiding, he intended to run them to ground.

Lionheart had heard naught from Edward and wondered what was happening in England. Had Simon de Montfort prevailed over King Henry? Had Henry signed the Provisions of Oxford that provided for a council of barons to advise the king? Was Edward still wavering between de Montfort and his father?

Lionheart's thoughts skittered when Vanora rose to leave.

"Wait, I would have a word with you, wife."

Vanora halted, regarding him warily. "You really should rest."

"I will, after we have spoken. I think you know more than you pretend about the White Knight. Give me his name and tell me where he is hiding."

"I know naught," Vanora replied.

"So you said. Did you know 'twas Sir Ren, your own captain of the guard, who came to the White Knight's aid when I had the knave beneath my sword."

"You call him the White Knight?"

"Aye, 'tis the name I gave him, for I know no other. He is younger than I expected, and not as brawny as he looked from afar, but deadly nonetheless. I want him, Vanora. I will not rest until my sword tastes his blood, this I vow."

His silver eyes bored into her. "Tell me what I want to know. Were it not for the White Knight, I would not be lying in this bed."

Stunned by the fierceness of Lionheart's words, Vanora fled from the chamber. His vendetta against the White Knight frightened her. For her own well-being, she had best retire her knight persona. Lionheart was too close to discovering the truth.

Both Mair and Father Caddoc were waiting for her when she returned to the hall.

"Is he sleeping?" Mair asked.

"Nay, he will be out of bed before he heals properly. Inflexible man," she muttered.

"Tell us what happened," the priest urged.

"Lionheart had me beneath his sword. Were not Sir Ren's aim so true, I would be dead," Vanora said, shuddering. "Thank God he was nearby when Lionheart caught me alone."

"You should not have left the keep while Lionheart and his patrol were abroad," Mair scolded.

"Had Lionheart slain you, he would have been devastated when he learned he had killed his own wife," Father Caddoc chided.

"Mayhap," Vanora replied uncertainly. "His vendetta against me is frightening. 'Tis as if his purpose in life is slaying the one he has named the White Knight."

"Nevertheless, you must not ride again as a knight, child. If you value your life, you must take steps to protect it. I have prayed mightily on this and am convinced the Lord will not let us down. The English may not leave Wales in our lifetime, but I am confident we shall persevere. Lionheart is not a bad man, and I believe he cares for you as much as a man like him can care for a woman."

If Lionheart truly cared for her, Vanora thought, she would be content.

"Forget my problems for a while," she said. "How fares Daffid?"

"I spoke with his guard just this morn," Father Caddoc replied. "Daffid is not suffering. He is being fed and allowed to bathe. I suspect boredom is his worst enemy right now."

"Do you still have strong feelings for Daffid?" Mair asked.

"Nay. I have no feelings for him but compassion for his plight."

"Come to the chapel with me, Vanora," Father Caddoc urged. "We will pray together for our country's survival."

Though Vanora would rather pray for her own deliverance from a certain Englishman, she went willingly enough with the priest. She had almost reached the door when she heard Mair say, "Sir Lionheart! What are you doing out of bed?"

Spinning on her heel, Vanora was shocked to see Lionheart staggering into the hall. Uttering a cry of dismay, she rushed to his side.

"Are you mad!" she gasped. "You should be in bed."

He attempted an unconvincing smile. "Do not coddle me. Where is Sir Giles?"

"I am here, Lionheart," Giles said, rising from one of the trestle tables set up for the evening meal. "Have you need of me?"

Lionheart lowered himself onto the nearest bench. "Aye. I want you to take a patrol out at dawn and continue the search for the White Knight and his cohorts. I will join you if I am able—"

"You shall not," Vanora said.

He ignored her. "I want the White Knight more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. He is nearby; I can feel it in my bones. Bring him to me, Giles, and I shall present his head to Edward on a platter."

Sir Giles snapped a salute and strode off. Lionheart felt Vanora's stillness and glanced up at her. Her face had gone as white as the White Knight's tabard.