been her only companion through her years of solitude after her brother had died, would almost certainly be killed.
That made her decision easy. “What—?” Davey murmured, for he was slipping into confusion again as she helped him into the saddle and lashed his hands around the horse’s neck with the reins. Giving the beast’s hindquarters a strong whack, she watched as man and horse disappeared into the brush, still verdant in these late days of summer.
He would find his way out of the woods later. For now, he need only be hidden. As for herself, her independence would have to wait another day.
She began to run, this time back the way they had just come, in the direction of the soldiers.
It might be of helpful effect if she were to scream, she thought, trying to imagine how Hilde would do it and set about in a fair imitation of the chubby maid’s hysterics.
In a trice, they found her. De Montregnier arrived and was about to dismount when he was eclipsed by the massive Viking. Agravar swung his leg over his horse’s head, dropping to the ground by her side before the huge beast had come to a full stop.
His gaze raked her from head to toe. It was all she could do not to flinch from his searching eyes. His closeness made her feel trapped. Could he suspect she was false, she wondered, or was that merely conscience pricking her?
She drew in a shaky breath. “The man…he was taking me away when he fell into the water, on the cliff path that runs along the river.” She was hopeful her very real anxiety would help her appear convincing. “The current took him. It was horrible. I saw him only for a moment, and then he and his horse went under, never to reappear.” She shut her eyes and feigned a shiver. “I was afraid I would fall as well, so I dismounted and ran back here.”
She had seen such a place on their way, and thus knew it was a feasible tale she told. There was a pregnant moment while she waited to find out if they would find it so.
Lucien said, “We will watch for the body to wash up when the tide comes in. Let us go home. It is a long enough day without dredging a river.”
Rosamund bit her lips to keep from crying out in relief. Davey was safe, she thought. But she was as cursed as when she had started this dreadful journey.
She made no protest as a strong pair of hands enfolded her, lifting her up as if she were but a babe being borne in a father’s arms. A soft voice instructed her to put her leg here, the other there, and she found herself astride a horse. A very tall horse. Looking down, the ground seemed dizzyingly far-off. Then the saddle jerked as the one who had carried her to this lofty perch swung up beside her. She knew who it was. She remembered his scent and recognized the muscled arms with a fine feathering of fair hair upon them. They came around either side of her to take up the reins. She knew the voice as it called out the command to proceed homeward.
She was in the arms of the Viking, and she began to tremble.
It was a curious thing to have a woman in the saddle with him, Agravar thought. A curious and new thing. He had never shared a saddle like this before.
Not unpleasant, no, and yet by the time Gastonbury’s walls came into sight, his nerves hung in shreds.
There was her perfume. It was a blend he was not used to. It made him slightly light-headed. And the way her rounded bottom rested neatly against his thighs, which drove him to distraction. Her long legs dangled on one side, tucked neatly under his. Her hair tickled his nose when the wind caught it. It was soft and curly, like spun gold.
He scoffed at such poetic thoughts, then bent his head slightly and inhaled. Mayhap he was growing used to the scent of her, for the pleasant aroma did not make his head swim too much this time.
“How far is the castle?” she asked.
“Just up ahead. ’Twas lucky you were so close when the bandits struck, else we never would have reached you in time.”
There was a long pause. “Lord Lucien seemed concerned as to the welfare of my cousin. Is she ill?”
“Not ill, no. Just beside herself with worry at your delay, and will be quite upset, I’ll wager, when she learns of what occurred.”
“Are these dangerous lands?”
“They are some of the safest you will find in England, but what place is completely impervious to evil?”
“Evil abounds everywhere, sometimes even in those we trust.”
It was such a strange utterance, and so soberly spoken. “It can be true,” he agreed.
“Oh, it is true,” she said, then fell silent.
Lucien rode up to them after a while. “You do not seem the worse for your trials, Lady Rosamund. We shall offer you comfort and rest soon enough inside the walls of our keep, and therein my lady wife shall be glad to welcome you.”
Agravar felt her tense, saw her glance down and away, her only response an incomprehensible mutter he could not hear. He exchanged a look with his friend, and as Lucien was not well-known for his facility or tact with the fairer sex, he quickly kicked his destrier to move on past them.
“Has my lord and liege displeased you?” Agravar asked gently.
Her blond head shot up, almost striking him in his chin. “Nay. I…I am sorry. Did I seem unpleasant to him, do you think?”
“Rest easy, my lady. Lucien doesn’t know what insult is—his hide is too thick to feel anything less than full assault.”
“Then I have not angered him, do you think? Oh, bother. I shall try to make it up to him when next we speak.”
Agravar was disconcerted by her anxiety. Lucien’s reputation was of a formidable warrior, it was true, but there was no reason for a maid to fear him as much as she seemed to.
The mystery deepened when Gastonbury came into view—pale yellow sandstone walls spread in a swath across the meadows under a cerulean sky. Yet, at its first sight, Rosamund stiffened and Agravar would swear he heard a soft, mewling sound from her, like a soft cry of fear.
“Gastonbury,” he said softly into her ear.
“Yes,” she whispered in a rusty voice. Was this the same woman who had brandished his own weapon—albeit a maimed one—against him? How was it she was so suddenly cowed and almost unrecognizable from the defiant little virago he had met in the wood?
Stranger still was how her intriguing blend of courage and fear affected him. He found himself fighting not to tighten his grip, to draw her up against him, shield her in a way he didn’t fully understand. It was a pleasant feeling, somehow, but it was a wanting as well.
It was then he remembered why Lady Rosamund had come.
She was here for a short visit, no more, on her way to Berendsfore Manor, home of the distinguished knight, Sir Robert of Berendsfore, where she was to become the good man’s bride.
And so he said nothing, did nothing to indicate he had even noticed her strange, pained tensions as they drew nearer to his home.
Chapter Five
Once they were through the castle gates, the group bypassed the stables and headed directly to the upper ward. The comforts of the hall beckoned. The men were tired and hungry and there were servants who would see to the horses.
Rosamund was bone weary, bedraggled, caked with mud and covered in dust from riding in the open. She was heartsick. And deep down, she was terrified.
Taken out of her thoughts by the sound of her name being called, she saw a beautiful woman rushing toward her. Agravar dismounted and his large, capable hands lifted her down.
“Rosamund, welcome,” the woman said. “I am your cousin, Alayna.” Rosamund turned to her, unexpectedly finding herself in an embrace.
The momentary closeness brought a shock. Alayna was