For My Lady's Honor

He caught Alys before she could fall and reached out to steady Marie on her feet.

They stood there staring at each other for but a moment before the maid took hold of Alys’s arm and nigh wrenched her free of Padrig’s hold. “Release my mistress at once, you churl!” Marie snarled.

Chapter Three

Alys jerked her arm free of her maid’s grasp and, grabbing the woman by the hand, dragged her back toward the bushes. “Marie! What are you about, to speak so to a knight?”

She turned her back to Padrig and tried to focus her attention on the maid instead. Her heart pounded and her body shook, a combination of Padrig’s recent nearness and being startled nigh out of her skin by Marie. ’Twas all she could manage to keep her voice from quavering.

The maid’s face went pale for a moment, then, glancing past Alys to Padrig, her expression firmed into a mask of determination. “A knight he may be, milady, but it gives him no right to be touching you.” She shook her head and glanced from Padrig to her mistress. “Nor to be looking at you the way he does, either.”

Whatever did Marie mean? How he looked at her…? Curiosity outweighing unease, Alys shifted so she could see Padrig, as well.

He met her gaze, his blue eyes steady, his expression impassive, but she could hardly fail to notice the faint tide of pink tingeing his neck and face. “I beg your pardon if I have offended you in any way, Lady Alys,” he said, his tone formal. He bowed and stepped back, gesturing toward the clearing and his waiting men. “If you are ready now, we must be on our way.”

Thankful he didn’t seem to expect a response to his apology—she scarce knew what she would have replied—she smoothed her skirts and nodded. “Of course. We’ll be but a moment more.” She bent to pick up her belongings, scattered on the ground around them, motioning him away when he would have helped.

Her thoughts were jumbled enough as it was; she didn’t need to add the image of Padrig handling her damp shift to the brew.

He hesitated but a moment before he nodded and strode off.

Despite her best intentions to ignore him, Alys clutched the clammy linen in her hands and watched him until he joined the others.

Padrig glanced up at the clouds thickening overhead, scudding fast across the darkening afternoon sky. He’d hoped to keep going until near nightfall, by which time they should have reached one of the villages along the way, but it appeared they’d need to find shelter sooner than that.

They’d been fortunate the past two days, for the sky had remained clear and the roads dry. Though they’d resumed their journey this morn far later than he’d planned—and the blame for that lay as much with him as with anyone—they’d made excellent time.

Lady Alys and her maid had kept up with his men, an unexpected surprise, but one he was grateful for. Perhaps she was simply eager to reach her home—or to be rid of him, he thought wryly. Whatever the reason, he was pleased with their progress. The journey to return Lady Alys to her parents should take four more days, if they could continue on as they had thus far.

Not quite a punishing pace, but close, he thought guiltily. The faster he delivered Lady Alys to her father, the sooner he’d be away from the unexpected, intense distraction she presented.

Yet his frustration with himself—with his weakness—was no reason to drive the others into the ground. He’d need to keep a close watch to be certain he wasn’t pushing too hard.

He’d dealt with distractions before, he reminded himself, and managed to do what he had to do.

Though he’d never before met a distraction quite like Lady Alys Delamare.

A powerful gust of wind buffeted him, pressing his clothes tight against his body and whipping his hair about his head. Muttering a curse, he shoved the unruly locks from his face and scanned the forest.

He could see no place to stop and take refuge from the weather here. The trees loomed close on both sides of the narrow road, the growth so thick it hemmed in the path with a nigh-impenetrable barrier. They had little choice but to stay on the road until it led them to a village, a clearing—any place where they could hole up until the storm passed.

Given the way the trees had begun to sway, he’d no desire to remain where they were. Once the downpour began in earnest, the wind and rain could very well uproot trees or send branches flying.

The air was heavy and damp, awash with a tension he could feel skittering over his skin. Even the horses seemed aware of it. His own destrier, bred for battle and chaos, took exception to a puny flock of birds bursting out of the bushes and nigh unseated him before he got the jumpy beast under control.

He peered back over his shoulder at the others. Moving apace, they were clustered together right behind him, their mounts appearing as unsettled as his own. “Come on—hurry,” he shouted as he nudged his horse to a faster speed.

The sound of Padrig’s voice startled Alys from an intensely pleasant daydream, one of many that had kept her mind’s eye focused firmly inward as she’d ridden along in Padrig’s wake.

Mostly focused inward, she admitted to herself. She could scarce blame herself for taking notice of Padrig on occasion, since he rode just in front of her.

Of course, she’d paid no attention at all to the rest of their party. Despite their proximity, they simply did not intrude upon her awareness.

Fortunately her patient mare, Arian, was used to bearing a distracted rider upon her back. ’Twas ever thus for Alys when she rode—her head would settle firmly into some tale or another, and she’d lose sight of all but the glorious world she carried hidden away within her imagination.

Her fingers itched to at least make note of the bits and pieces, the details swirling through her brain, to record them before they faded from her mind, but she was aware enough to realize now was neither the time nor place to do so.

She bit back a growl of frustration; it might be days before she’d the privacy and the opportunity to write down all that she had spinning about in her mind.

How could she sort through the tumult of thoughts, the sheer chaos setting her mind akilter, otherwise? To be so close to attaining her heart’s desire, and to find herself so easily tempted from her long-held dreams… She needed to concentrate, to refocus her attention where it needed to be.

Patience, she reminded herself. She ought to have developed a bottomless fount of that virtue by now, for she almost never had the chance to write when she wanted to…nay, when she must.

To use her tales to settle her mind.

’Twas a compulsion as strong as the need for food or sleep at times, a siren’s call she could not ignore.

In the peace of the cloister she’d be free to—

The wind whipped round her, startling her from her musings, tearing loose her veil and sending her unbound hair whirling about. She caught the gauzy fabric before it flew away and slipped it off, finally clear-headed enough to pay heed to her surroundings.

Cool air nipped at her skin, a shocking change from the earlier warm damp.

When had it become so dark? Surely ’twas not nightfall already?

They were trotting along at a rapid pace, the gait jarring, too swift for the narrow, rutted track. She hadn’t understood what Padrig had shouted earlier, but he must have been urging them on. Despite her distraction—or perhaps because of it—Arian had gone faster to keep pace with the others.

The wind gusted hard now, tearing loose leaves and small branches that battered at them, making it difficult to sit upright in the saddle. The sky grew ever darker, filled with a strange dusky half-light that sent an icy chill of foreboding down Alys’s spine and dragged her firmly into the present.

The road widened. Padrig shouted again, his words muffled, barely audible in the howling storm. However, his intent was clear when he spurred his mount to even greater speed.

Everyone did the same, until they were all thundering along the track. Alys tightened her legs and hung on, wrapping one hand in her mare’s mane and clinging to the reins with the other.

The rain began then, a cascading deluge that made it nigh impossible to see or hear. Water pooled on the hard-packed road in a matter of moments, concealing the uneven surface and forcing them to slow their headlong pace. ’Twas as though the clouds had opened wide overhead, a frigid, pounding torrent that drenched them to the skin at once.

They slowed, then halted; the horses, tense and uneasy, sidled about. Alys could hear the others, but though she knew they were close by, she could scarcely make out where they were in the murky gloom.

Arian twitched and sidestepped, demanding all her attention. The leather saddle was slick, and Alys’s clothing a sodden, heavy weight to drag her out of it. She tightened her grip on the reins and murmured soothing nonsense to the poor mare, who shifted, soaking wet and quivering, beneath her. It did no good, however, for surrounded as they were by the squalling storm, ’twas doubtful the animal could hear her—or would have cared if she could.

Lightning blazed overhead, a volley of thunder rolling over them almost at once. Alys’s mount squealed and reared up. Hooves sliding in the mud, the frightened beast flailed sideways. Alys caught a brief glimpse of Marie’s pale, terrified face beside her as their two mounts crashed into each other.

Arian, panicked beyond any hope of restraint, began a maddened dance, bucking and slipping on the muddy track. Praying aloud, Alys fought for control, but ’twas all she could do to remain in the saddle.

Lightning split the sky again, so close the flash was blinding. The thunder was a force itself, a pummeling wave that shook the ground, and sent Alys lurching sideways to cling, shaking wildly, to the slick leather seat.

Her heart pounding hard in her chest, she tried to right herself. Muttering a curse, she dragged herself upright just as, with an ear-splitting crack, a massive tree fell toward her.

“Go!” Alys shouted to Arian, slapping the reins against the mare’s neck and digging in her heels. Hooves scrambling for purchase, Arian gave a valiant leap forward, only to come crashing to the ground beneath the tree’s weighty branches.