Knave's Honour

She pushed her way through the natural fence, pulling Keldra along behind her, then knelt on the leaf-covered ground and peered through the slender branches, making sure she could see the road and anyone who came along it.

Keldra sat beside her, covered her tear-streaked face with her hands, and wept.

As they waited for what seemed hours, Lizette tried not to let despair and dismay overtake her, even though she was haunted by the memory of Iain’s death, and racked with guilt.

If she hadn’t been so annoyed at being summoned home like a child, if she hadn’t dawdled on the road, or fallen sick and then claimed she was still unwell and so must travel slowly, they would all be safely back at Averette by now.

Perhaps Iain wasn’t dead, but only wounded. Lindall might be lying, or he could have been wrong. Maybe if they went back, she would find Iain seriously wounded, but alive.

Yet she didn’t dare return to the site of the attack, at least not yet. Not until Sir Oliver arrived and told her it was safe.

Perhaps he would also know what this Lord Wimarc might want with her. All she could think of was ransom.

She finally heard something that prompted her to inch forward, moving more branches out of the way. Relief melted her fear as Sir Oliver, scanning the trees, jogged down the road toward their hiding place, his sword in his hand.

He was alone. Where was the rest of his hunting party? Where were her men?

She pushed her way out of the thicket, followed by the weeping Keldra. “Sir Oliver!”

He came to a halt and gestured for them to join him. “Stay with me and be as quiet as you can.”

“Where’s the rest of your hunting party?”

“I’ll take you to them now.”

“What about the rest of my men?”

“Dead or dying, my lady.”

“That can’t be true!” she protested, fear rising again. “Iain’s the best soldier in England and the best commander. My men are the best garrison in England. Surely no motley crew of outlaws or mercenaries could defeat them all.”

“They were outnumbered three to one, and now the blackguards who attacked you are going to be coming after you. We’ve got to get away from here as quickly as we can.”

It seemed her choice was simple: stay and risk capture, or go with Sir Oliver.

Without another word, Lizette put her arm around Keldra to support her, and went with Sir Oliver.

CHAPTER THREE

“THANK YOU for coming to our aid,” Lizette panted some time later as she and Keldra continued down the road with Sir Oliver. It had been morning when they’d been attacked; judging by the sun, it was now past noon.

“No matter,” he brusquely replied.

No matter to him perhaps, but if he hadn’t appeared, if he hadn’t stopped Lindall. She tried not to think of what could have happened to her and Keldra then.

Sir Oliver suddenly stopped and held up his hand. At nearly the same time, a youth of about sixteen slithered down a nearby tree, a bow slung over his back and a quiver of arrows hanging at his side. Like Sir Oliver, he wore a leather tunic with no shirt beneath, woolen breeches and boots, and his hair likewise brushed shoulders that were nearly as broad as the Irish nobleman’s.

He must be one of the hunting party, a servant probably, although she had no idea why he’d be up in a tree.

“Ah, Garreth, here you are,” Sir Oliver said as the young man walked toward them, his questioning gaze sweeping over them before coming to rest on Sir Oliver.

“Lady Elizabeth, this is Garreth,” Sir Oliver said. “Garreth, this is Lady Elizabeth and her maidservant.”

“Keldra,” Lizette supplied as the young man regarded them with furrowed brow and wary eyes.

“I got separated from the rest of our party,” Sir Oliver explained. “I assume you did, too, and were up there searching for me, or one of the others. I have no idea where the rest of the hunting party’s got to, but thankfully I was able to come to this lady’s aid when her cortege was attacked, although I couldn’t do much more.”

Nodding, Garreth tugged his forelock. “A pleasure, my lady,” he replied, in an accent quite different from Sir Oliver’s. If she had to guess, she’d say he was from London, not Ireland. “And as you say, my lord, I was looking for the others. No sign of ‘em, I’m afraid. That gamekeeper’s going to have some explaining to do—and that dog boy, too,” he added with righteous indignation. “Telling me to go north and then disappearin’ with the dogs. I’d like to get my hands on him, I would, and teach him a thing or two about—”

“In good time,” Sir Oliver interrupted. “For now, we’d best get this lady and her maid to safety, to the convent.”

“The convent?” the young man repeated, although he wasn’t nearly as surprised as Lizette.

“Will your host not give us sanctuary?” Lizette asked.

“The convent would be better,” Sir Oliver said shortly, with no more explanation. “Now come.”

Lizette made no move to follow. Perhaps she’d been a fool to trust this nobleman after all. What did she really know about him except what he himself had told her?

She began to back away. “Where are you taking us?”

“To safety,” Sir Oliver impatiently answered.

“Not Wimarc?”

“Wimarc?” Garreth cried as if her suggestion wasn’t just ludicrous, but sinful.

“Apparently he’s offering a reward for this lady, but he’s not going to get her,” Sir Oliver replied.

Get her? He made her sound like a bone two dogs were fighting over.

This was not good. Not good at all.

Taking hold of Keldra’s trembling arm, she moved back more, ready to run again even if they died of exhaustion.

Sir Oliver realized what she was doing and frowned with frustration. “I’m not going to hurt you and I’m not taking you to Wimarc. I give you my word that I’ll not give you, or any woman, into his keeping, whether there’s a reward or not.”

That promise didn’t assuage her dread. “I don’t know you. I’ve never met you before, never heard your name. How can I be sure your word’s worth anything?”

His handsome features hardened to a stony mask. “Unless you want to be taken by Wimarc’s men, my lady, I don’t think you have much choice except to trust me.”

Garreth nodded as he plucked the string of his bow against his chest. “You can trust him, my lady. Finn never hurts women.”

Finn?

“Nor robs them, either, if they give him a kiss.”

God help them! “You’re the thief!” she gasped while Keldra moaned softly.