For My Lady's Honor

He shook his head and focused his racing thoughts. Jesu, mayhap they should wait till morning to search further, when presumably the storm would have passed, the sky would brighten and they could see what in God’s name they were doing!

He dismissed the notion as soon as it formed. They could not wait so long. Glancing up at the storm-filled sky, he judged it was barely dusk now. Though it felt as if it had been an eternity, and it was nigh impossible to gauge from their surroundings, in truth he doubted much time had passed since the storm’s wrath split their world asunder. In any case, ’twas too cold and wet to leave anyone exposed to the weather for a moment longer than necessary.

They needed to get the injured men they’d left huddled beside the trail to shelter, as well.

He shifted and peered down into the gaping opening. At least they knew there was someone here, though they could not see who it was. ’Twould be best to deal with what they knew, before venturing off into the darkness again.

He bit back his frustration and breathed deep as though he were readying himself for battle. The urge to jump up and escape into the night was nigh overwhelming. ’Twas as likely he’d find answers there, lost among the destruction, as he would by muddling along here.

He scarce gave the traitorous thought life before he forced it from his mind. ’Twas only that it had been so long since he’d felt so helpless, adrift in a sea of uncertainty—and the weight of command sat heavy upon him, foreign, unfamiliar.

Thank the Lord, the cold and wet hadn’t affected his breathing. Given their ill luck to this point, he’d expect no less. However, he couldn’t help adding a prayer of gratitude for that favor to the heartfelt pleas for God’s mercy that he’d already sent heavenward.

He’d rather have an enemy to fight, by God, someone he could face over a shield, battle with a sword, a demon he could slay and be done with it.

Biting back a mocking laugh, he shoved his dripping hair back from his face and sighed.

He ought to know by now that nothing was ever that simple.

Calmer now, he considered how best to conquer this obstacle. Rafe had caught hold of her, but it seemed he was too small to keep a grip on her. Padrig swung around on the tree and began to tug at his sopping boots, working them off and tossing them aside before unbuckling his belt and knotting the leather tight about his waist.

“What’re you doing?” Rafe asked.

“I’m taller than you are,” Padrig told him. “If you or Jock grab my belt and hang on to me, mayhap I can get a good grip on her and haul her up. I doubt I can pull her straight up through the debris without her getting entangled worse, so whichever of you isn’t holding on to me had better crawl up here and do what he can to help ease her out.” He hefted himself back up onto the tree. “Meanwhile, Peter, you go and see if you can find any sign of the others.”

“Aye, milord,” Peter said before disappearing into the gloom.

Rafe and Jock had no sooner situated themselves behind Padrig and begun to ease him down into the gap when shouting cut through the rumble of thunder.

Padrig barely caught himself from tumbling into the morass when Jock and Rafe loosened their hold on him and turned to answer Peter’s frantic cries.

Padrig hauled himself up and sprawled over the rough bark as Peter came into view.

“Milord, come quick!” Peter stumbled to a stop before them. “’Tis Lady Alys, milord—I’ve found her, and she’s alive!”

Chapter Five

A man shouting close by startled Alys, setting her heart thundering faster in her chest and making her limbs tremble even harder than they had already—despite all her efforts to bring such cowardly behavior to an end.

She knew ’twas not cold alone that made her shake so badly. Fear was as much her enemy as the cold, should she give in to it.

“I’m here,” she cried, her voice sounding faint even to her own ears. Disgusted by her weakness, she gathered herself to try once more. “Hello, I’m here! Please don’t leave!”

Thunder boomed again, rendering the reply indistinct, but the muffled thud of running feet and the muted sound of additional voices soon after the din faded away gave her hope that rescue was at hand.

As she’d lain there, numb with both pain and cold, her right arm useless, it had taken nigh all her resolve to stay alert and keep calling for help…to force her body, protesting all the while, to shift as much as she could within the tightly interlaced shroud of branches enveloping her on the faint chance she might wriggle her way closer to freedom.

’Twas only by reminding herself of the valiant people whose tales she’d worked so hard to chronicle during her years at l’Eau Clair that she found the fortitude to continue fighting against the sapping lethargy that threatened to overwhelm her. Whether brought on by the icy rain, her injuries, or a combination of both, she didn’t know, for her knowledge of healing ways was sparse. But whatever the cause, she did know ’twas dangerous in these conditions to fall asleep.

Better to allow her anger free rein, to let it work to help her. How it galled her to lie here nigh helpless, waiting to be saved!

The voices grew louder, though she could scarce make out what they said. “—be back in a trice,” she heard, followed by what sounded to her straining ears like retreating footsteps.

“Nay, don’t leave!” she cried. “Please—please, come back.”

No answer met her plea; she could hear naught but the storm.

She must be patient, she reminded herself, disgusted by the feelings of panic she could not completely suppress. For all she knew, many others could be trapped as well, in circumstances far more dreadful than her own. There were people out there searching; they’d not leave her here any longer than they must.

She could endure this! Think of Lady Catrin, she told herself, wounded by bandits, with none but Lord Nicholas to help her. Remember Lady Gillian, abducted by an evil kinsman and spirited away from Lord Rannulf, from her home and all she held dear…. Did these intrepid women give up? Nay—they remained strong, did whatever necessary to help themselves.

At the least, she could wait patiently for however long she must.

And in the meantime, she’d try again to work her way out. She’d one useful arm, hadn’t she? What more could she need than that?

Despite her resolve, however, tears streamed down her face, startling her with their warmth. ’Twas such a contrast to the utter cold suffusing her from head to toe that it made her shudder more violently. Sweet Mary, how the slightest movement hurt…but she refused to give in to the pain. She’d withstood it till now, she could not let it overwhelm her.

Seeking distraction, she concentrated instead on her surroundings as she carefully worked her arm about in the narrow space enclosing her. ’Twas impossible to move anything much out of the way, but by dint of gritting her teeth against the pain and pressing her arm against the dense jumble of branches, she was able to increase the space around her.

’Twas still not much room, barely enough to shift so that her head rested higher than her feet and she could almost pull herself into a half-sitting position. Nonetheless, the simple fact that she’d made this much progress inspired her to keep at it in spite of the pain.

Alys had no idea how much time had passed, but it appeared the storm had finally begun to fade, the rumbles of thunder more distant and farther apart, the rain lessened from a pounding torrent to a soft, pattering shower.

Other sounds rose to replace the storm’s fury. Boughs creaked and snapped as they were moved about, debris crunched beneath booted feet. Voices wove through the sounds; though she could not clearly understand the words, the mere sound of them—the sense of resolve they conveyed—lent her strength, gave her faith that this ordeal would soon be over.

Lightning flashed yet again, however, followed almost at once by the deep boom of thunder and a series of sharp cracks as wood splintered. She stopped moving and held her breath for a moment to listen as the sounds faded away, lips moving rapidly in a near-silent prayer. Thankfully she heard no panicked cries of pain, nor the crash of more trees coming down close by.

The rumbling had barely ended, however, before she realized the lightning had filled her timbered prison with a brief, eerie glow so bright she was able to briefly distinguish individual branches piled overhead.

Anticipation flared higher—there had to be less debris piled atop her than before, if she could see so well!

Who would she find there, she wondered, once the rubble had been cleared away and she’d been pulled from the pile? Were there others trapped as well, or injured?

Was Marie all right? Though she could not distinguish individual voices, what she could hear sounded nothing like a woman’s higher tone.

Which could mean nothing more than that the men had already settled the maid someplace safe.

And what of Padrig? He’d been riding at the head of the column…had he been the first to fall?

Abruptly on the verge of panic, Alys caught her breath, disgusted by her weakness. What was wrong with her? By the Virgin, had she grown maudlin from lying here so long?

No more! Calling herself a fool, she closed her eyes for a moment and prayed that all their party had escaped the storm’s wrath unharmed…that she’d find within herself the will to do whatever she must.

Calmer now, her strength of will restored, she opened her eyes, clenched her teeth against the renewed pain and resumed her task. Though she tugged and pulled with all her might, one-handed, in so little space, she could make little additional headway into the thickly packed tangle of limbs along her side. Nigh growling with frustration, she shifted to lie flat on her back and thrust her left hand up into the thick mass overhead.

All of a sudden the entire mound above her shifted and disappeared, sending a torrent of cold water and debris spilling over her. Temporarily blinded, she gasped and coughed as she sought to catch her breath and clear her vision.

When a warm hand captured her own, she couldn’t help but shriek.