Part 41 (1/2)
Halfway through the ritual of Wicca, watching the elements come into her command in flashes of light and fire, wind and water, Siobhan wondered if Fionna hated the English so well, why was she calling on the power of their ancestors to help save this one?
Ian charged ahead, his stead overtaking the slight hill. He called out to his men and they widened their attack, chasing down the riders. Armor glinted in the afternoon light, and his anger raged. With his sword, he struck blow after blow, the ring of metal to metal bleak and d.a.m.ning. He whirled the steed about, bending low to catch the collar of a brigand and drag him with him. The man howled, and Ian rode, dragging him.
He strained to keep his grip, shouting for his men to give chase, and yet he refused to release his prisoner. Va.s.sals surrounded him as he slid from the saddle, his sword poised at the brigand's throat.
”Your name?” Receiving no response, he repeated in English, yet the man stared back with blank eyes. ”Your lord!” Ian drew back to strike.
The man did not flinch, his eyes barren, and Ian cursed, lowering his arm, sheathing his sword and calling for bindings. He lashed the man about the throat, then tied the end of the lead to his saddle. Two more attackers were caught, brought to him and refusing to speak. He would take the evidence to PenDragon and, before all, demand he secede his power for this treachery.
Raymond drifted in and out of consciousness, feeling his strength build as the pain receded. He did not know how many days had pa.s.sed since he was attacked, but his first thought was of Siobhan.
”She rests and you must,” a voice called in the darkness.
”I am ... fine.”
”Then get up, go to her, wield your sword for her.” Raymond tried to do just that, but his strength vanished after a feeble attempt to slip his legs over the side of the bed.
He sagged into the bedding, licking his dry lips. ”Who are you?”
”Fionna.”
”The cat or the squirrel?”
”Sometimes.” Amus.e.m.e.nt p.r.i.c.ked her voice.
He squinted into the dark. ”Siobhan? Please tell me she is unharmed.”
The faint shadow of a hand swept to the right and Raymond inched up to see over the foot of the bed. Seeing her asleep and curled on her side near the fire, he sank into the furs, for a moment, thoughtful, then flung the covers back.
”You haven't the strength for that.”
He arched a brow. ”Is that worry I hear, la.s.s?”
”I could give a fig if you died, English, but she does, and for that I will see you healed.”
Her venom made his lips curl in self-reproach. He could not expect all to accept them as the dairy maids had. ”My thanks, then.” A pause and then, ”Come into the light.”
”I am content here.”
”Stubborn female.”
”Bloodthirsty Englishman.”
His brows shot up and he watched as her figure s.h.i.+fted in the shadows, a hand appearing in the dark, offering a cup.
”Drink.”
He accepted without question, draining the bitter liquid and making a sour face before handing it back. ”Well, at least I know you cannot cook.”
She laughed, a soft burst of color in his mind.
”My sword.”
”Beside you.” Raymond saw the blade, the tip in the dirt floor, the hilt within his reach. It made him smile. He looked to the shadows. ”Why do you not show yourself?”
”I want no memory of me in your English mind.”
”Too late. I saw you naked.”
She gasped and he could feel her outrage, as if the room suddenly heated. He could not resist baiting her. ”'Twas a delicious sight, la.s.s. You've the sweetest behind I've-”
”Hush, rogue,” she snapped. ”Your charm will not work on me.”
He tisked softly, the sound slurred, and in the far corner of the cottage beyond the light Fionna smiled, counting the minutes till the draught pulled him back to sleep. 'Twas unnerving enough with the man here, let alone awake and trying to seduce her.
Satisfied his slumber was deep and harmless, she left the sleeping pair to gather fresh herbs and wood.
Sensing he was finally alone with Siobhan, Raymond slid his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. His head spun dizzily and he waited for it to pa.s.s, then reached for his clothes, mended, washed and folded on a nearby chair. He was glad he still wore his braies, for dressing was painful and difficult, pulling on his boots a test of willpower against the stabbing pain. Suitably clothed, he stood slowly, using his sword like a cane and moving to Siobhan. Kneeling, he nudged her gently and she stirred, her lashes sweeping up. When she opened her mouth to speak, he hushed her.
”Dress warmly and quickly. We must leave.”
She scrambled upright, scooting back a bit. ”I promised Gaelan to remain.”
”I know, my lady, but I must speak with my lord and I cannot leave you here unprotected.”
Siobhan gazed up at him, frowning. ”You are not well enough to ride, sir knight.”
Raymond knew that. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, kneeling beside her took most of his strength. ”Come. Now.” He stood, his eyesight blurry, and he blinked to clear it.
”I must tell Fionna-”
”Nay!” he hissed through clenched teeth, his face crimped in pain.
Siobhan climbed to her feet. ”I trust her.”
”I do not. Please, do not argue, my lady. Or I will use force.” Gaelan would never forgive him if he left her behind, yet his lord needed to know what he'd discovered.
She grabbed her cloak, sweeping it over her shoulders. ”You could not force a fly. And Fionna was right. You are stupid to attempt this.”
He only smiled. ”Then have pity and help me.”