The Quest. Lyn Stone

      Chapter Four

      Her back to the stream, Iana stood, feet braced apart, her skirts concealing Tam from whatever might emerge from the forest. Be it animal or man, she prepared herself to dash out the brains of it, should it dare approach. She sucked in a deep breath and held it as she hefted the rock in her hand.

      “Eh! Here, Woad. I thought she’d be headin’ fer th’ water.”

      The greedy-looking man from the village plowed through the brush, grinning at Iana, showing gaps where his front teeth should be. He was enormous, his stomach hanging over his belt, his legs like tree trunks. She did not recall his being so dreadfully big.

      A mere ghost of a fellow, skin and bones and stringy white hair, followed him into the small clearing.

      The large, shaggy-haired one propped his hands on his hips and wrinkled his brows, attempting to menace her, she supposed.

      “We’ll be havin’ the balance of that siller now, lass. Dinna be stingy wi’ it.”

      Iana shook her head, glaring at him.

      “If ye’ve nae more siller, then we’ll see what else ye’ll offer us fer our trouble. Got treasure under th’ skirts there, ha’ ye, lassie?”

      “You’ll have naught from me,” she declared. Where the devil was that knight? Henri might not be able to defend her, but the least he could have done was left her his knife. She weighed the rock again, balancing it, adjusting her grip. It would have to do.

      The ghostlike one crept forward even as Shaggy stepped closer, tsking at her weapon as if it were but a pinecone she held.

      Suddenly the bushes behind the two men came alive. Henri and Everand burst through, blades flashing hither and yon like rapidly struck sparks off flint.

      Howls of rage sent birds flying, small beasts scurrying. Iana almost stumbled backward over Tam. Quickly she crouched, scooped up the babe and hid behind the nearest large tree so they would not be trampled.

      Openmouthed, she watched. Lightning-quick steel sliced through worn homespun and leather as if it were butter. The two blades were everywhere at once with no pause.

      Next she knew, the two thieves stood bare as the day they were hatched, cowering, whining, hands shaking as they covered what they considered their most valuable parts. Iana trembled with laughter and relief.

      Henri, still wearing only his loincloth, teased the chest of the shaggy one with the point of his dagger. Truly, the reiver looked a proper beast, with dark hair covering his shoulders and even his back. A ghastly sight.

      “Your hide would make a warm pelt, I’d wager,” Henri observed in a menacing growl, slowly shaving a blade-width’s path across the area over the man’s heart. He then wiped the blade upon the man’s bushy beard. “But it would take years to leach out the stink.”

      “Please, sar,” Shaggy begged, “we didna mean nae harm. Let us gae and we’ll stay gone.”

      Henri turned to Everand. “What think you, my friend? Should we kill them here, or let them go, and give chase? Do you fancy the hunt?” He nodded as if greatly looking forward to the taunting, giving Everand a clue to the answer he expected, since the lad kenned only French.

      Everand bobbed his own head, wearing a look of glee, his small knife holding the ghostie’s chin as high as it would go.

      “Twenty paces lead, then. Give us a good hunt and we’ll make it a clean kill. Lie down and whimper, I shall skin you alive. Can you count?”

      “Aye,” Shaggy croaked, his eyes wide with fear. Ghostie whimpered.

      “Off you go on the count of three! One…two…three!” Henri shouted and gave a war whoop any Highlander would envy. Everand chased through the bushes behind the men, shrieking like a banshee all the while.

      Iana fell back from her kneeling position, laughing so hard her sides ached. Tam clung to her like a frightened kitten.

      Henri crouched beside them, his smile wide. “You are all right, I assume.”

      “A-aye, I am well,” she gasped, hardly able to catch her breath. “How in heaven’s name did you do that?”

      “But a game,” he said modestly. “It is better played with swords, but we made do well enough.”

      “I should say so! They’ll not slow down right soon, if ever.”

      He stood and held out his hand. The sight of his muscles shining with sweat shot a hot tingle of appreciation right down the middle of her. For an instant, she could not tear her gaze away.

      His soft chuckle warned her that he had noticed her fascination. Iana immediately shut her eyes, cursing herself for her wayward thoughts. She ignored his offer of assistance.

      When she dared to look again, he had retreated to the edge of the water and begun wading in, his back to her. With a will of their own, her eyes immediately focused upon his uncovered nether cheeks. “Och, my Lord!” she breathed in absolute awe.

      “Oui?” He looked over his left shoulder and raised one dark brow. “Qu’est-ce que c’est?”

      What is it? he asks. Iana scoffed. Lust was what it was. Pure, unadulterated lust. And she should be ashamed of herself. Not only ashamed, but terrified to be thinking what she was thinking. Not for promise of paradise should she entertain desire for any man. Such would be her undoing and that was a fact.

      “Nothing,” she replied, still a bit breathless, keeping her gaze firmly locked upon the tree beside her. “I was about to offer up a prayer.”

      “Say one for me, if you will,” he beseeched, his voice rife with amusement.

      Just before he disappeared beneath the surface, she thought she heard him say, “Best pray for colder water.”

      For the next two days, Henri did as Iana instructed most of the time, giving good reason whenever he had to object. It was obvious to him that she had traveled little in her life, for she pushed the mounts too hard and, as long as Tam’s supply of milk lasted, forgot about obtaining food for the next meal unless reminded.

      She always went alone, as she had before, into a village when they passed one. There she would somehow obtain a loaf of bread, a bit of cheese and another sack of the damned oats.

      Now and again she would halt her mare, slip off and disappear into the woods for a short while. Only answering nature’s call, he had thought at first. But she would also return with a few sprigs of plants to tuck inside her pouch. Later, when they stopped to rest, he would be required to swallow her harvest in one form or another or have the leaves crushed and pasted upon his wound. It seemed she was more than adequate in her chosen work, for he felt better each day. The fever was completely gone now and he experienced only slight twinges when he moved about too swiftly.

      Every time she touched him and each time he felt her eyes upon him, he cursed his ungallant thoughts. The more his body healed and grew freer of the pain, the more it bedeviled him with its growing insistence upon getting closer to her.

      He owed this woman his life. How could he offer her the insult of seduction? True, she was a widow, one with her honor intact. Or so she said. There were times he believed it wholeheartedly, but then there was her child to consider. How had she gotten Tam without putting aside that decency of hers at least one time in her life? He supposed she could have been taken by force, but he shoved aside that abominable thought, deciding he had much rather she had gone willingly to any man, rather than believe she had suffered that.

      Though he did sense she was wary of him, it did nothing to discourage his desire. He wanted her so badly he ached with it.

      Everand had