smiled down at her as if she offered him a caress. “Not much fever,” Iana said, making clear her reason for touching him. “Go and lie down over there on the banks. Have your lad fetch you a drink. The bark is in this pouch.” She handed him the small bag containing the willow cuttings. He grimaced as he took it, then grinned at her.
She set off through the thinly treed forest in the direction of the smoke. Once out of sight of the knight and squire, she knelt upon the ground and removed the silver chain from the pouch at her waist. With her small blade, a large stone and a great deal of effort, she separated another link of the chain. Concealing the remainder of her treasure, she carried the link in her hand.
The villagers viewed even her with suspicion. She could only imagine how they would have greeted Henri and Everand. Only when she pled for their mercy did they reluctantly fill a sack with coarse bread, a bit of cheese and more oats. Her tale of being recently widowed and left with nothing but a sickly child stirred little sympathy. Only when she surrendered the silver did they agree to give her a skin filled with goat’s milk.
When one of the elders eyed her greedily, she made up a tale of how she had found the silver link among her husband’s things and had saved it until she became desperate.
Once she had their offerings, Iana hurried off into the woods in the opposite direction of where Henri and the squire waited. Walking hurriedly and stopping on occasion to see whether she was followed, Iana circled around the village.
“Success?” the squire asked as she approached.
“Aye,” she told him, holding up the heavy cache of food and skin of milk. “They proved generous.”
“Do not tell me,” Henri warned, making a comical face. “More oats?”
She laughed, but mirth died when she noticed what he was wearing. Rather, not wearing. “Where are your clothes, sir? You’ll catch your death!”
He drew Iana’s small, woolen blanket closer around his body. “They are clean and drying upon yon bush,” he said, inclining his head toward the swiftly running stream. “Free of salt and sweat, as am I, thanks be to God.”
She struggled not to look upon the solid muscles of his shoulders, chest and legs. Never had she seen a man quite so well made.
The squire’s hair was as wet as his master’s. So were his chausses and shirt, though he still wore his.
“Fools, the both of you!” she fussed, stalking over to plop down beside the inviting water. “Do not blame me if you sicken and die.”
“This is high summer and the weather is warm enough,” Henri argued, “and for the first time in near a se’ennight, I feel cool.”
“And what of your wound?” she demanded.
“I removed the wrapping. There is no bleeding and your stitches seem well set. See for yourself.” He opened the blanket to show her.
Iana hastily averted her eyes, but not before she saw that he was still wearing a loincloth to cover his private parts. A wicked spear of disappointment pricked her. For shame, she castigated herself, to be so curious about the body of a man she barely knew. Even had they become the best of friends, she had no cause to think about that part of him.
“Cover yourself until I have time to repair what you have doubtless undone,” she snapped. Treating him as she would a wayward child seemed the best defense against the attraction she felt toward him.
She ignored Everand’s snickering as he relieved her of the food and drink, and the three of them went to sit near the water to eat.
Iana released Tam from her back, rolling her weary shoulders and sighing with relief. Henri gently scooped up the child and set her in his blanket-wrapped lap. “Have you hunger, chérie?” he asked. “Shall I feed you?”
“I will do it,” Iana argued.
Henri looked up at her, apparently concerned. “No, I think not. You need to rest yourself. How are you to look after us if you fall ill of exhaustion?”
He turned to the boy. “Ev, make a small fire and prepare the fish.”
“Fish!” she exclaimed. “How did you get—”
“Tickled them,” he answered. “If one remains very still, it is a simple thing to do.”
She shook her head even as she hurriedly snatched away the flint from Everand. “I do not wish to hear any tall tales. And I’ve told you we cannot have a fire.”
He took the implements from her hand and gave them back to his squire. When his large fingers brushed hers, she froze in place, too stunned by their effect upon her to protest.
“Now rest yourself or bathe or sulk, whatever you wish to do,” he said firmly, “but we shall have a fire and proper food. I have decided.”
The sudden spell broken, Iana glared at him. Imperious idiot. Overbearing oaf. Foolish frog. Though she said naught aloud, she willed him to read the insults in her eyes.
He ignored her, switching his attention to the sack of food. “Now what shall we feed our wee fairy? Sops of milk, eh? Does that sound tasty?” he crooned to the babe.
Little Tam looked up at him, wide-eyed. The only moves she made were to tilt her head and raise a hesitant hand to touch his chest. The child seemed spellbound by the huge knight. Small wonder, Iana thought. If she were not so canny about the true nature of men, she might be enthralled herself.
But he was only a man, even more imperious than the usual male. She had no reason to hate this one, and in fact did not. However, she had excellent cause to deny the prickle of fascination he roused in her. And if she were wise, she would quickly regain the role of leader in this expedition. Otherwise, she might find herself trailing along in his wake, doing his bidding just like his squire.
Son, she reminded herself. He had recognized the lad, which was more than most men did when they had sired one out of wedlock. Waiting this long to do so counted against him in her estimation. Everand was half-grown already. Of course, the delay might have been wise if the mother had wed another who mistook Everand for his own. And Henri had said something about the lad being orphaned once already. For now, Iana would give Henri the benefit of the doubt.
She watched the boy arrange the fish upon skewers and lay them across the stones he’d stacked around the small blaze. How long had it been since she had eaten a meal prepared by someone else? Well over a month, she figured.
As much as she hated the admission, Iana did not enjoy fending for herself. Her brother had been right about how difficult that would prove for her. She’d had to learn how, and it had not been an easy thing. After spending her entire life being waited upon, she found little joy in the menial tasks of cleaning, washing and cooking. Still, she much preferred that to being owned by a man who had the power of life and death over her. Duncan might have provided maids aplenty to keep her hands soft and her back straight, but he had nearly killed her twice.
With hardly any thought to what she was doing, Iana prepared a cup of milk and tore out a soft portion of the bread. Dipping bite-sized pieces of it into the milk, she offered them to Tam. The bairn sat in the knight’s lap, leaning forward to take the food.
“Eats like a baby bird, does she not?” Sir Henri said with a muted chuckle. “I wonder when she will attempt to fly.”
Iana smiled at the baby. “When she is ready. With help, she will stand for a few moments now. And she did creep over to where you were sitting last eve. That is much more than she would do a few days past.”
She reached out and took Tam from him and stood the babe upon her feet, carefully supporting her shaky stance. After a moment, Tam’s spindly legs gave way. Iana held her close and praised her.
“What is wrong with her?” Sir Henri asked in a quiet voice.
“I do not know,” Iana answered honestly. She thought it must be lack of proper food and the fact that Tam had