To Tame A Warrior's Heart

She smiled at the question she’d heard countless times before. “Short of death, nothing.”

“Your brother should take you into battle with him—he could use your tongue as a weapon. I’d wager ’twould serve as well as a sword.” Talbot shook his head. “You could cleave a man in two. ’Tis no wonder you’re not wed.”

Catrin seethed with frustration. “If I had my knife—”

“’Twould serve you naught. You cannot even hold a knife, let alone use it. Besides, you couldn’t harm me—” he cast a look of distrust at Idris “—even if you weren’t wounded.”

“I’ll show you what I can do once I’m well,” she growled. He’d be surprised if he knew just what she was capable of. A wave of cold passed through her, making her shudder. Not that she’d ever tell…

“That will give you reason to recover, I’ve no doubt.” His smile faded. “Enough of this. Do you recognize this place or not?”

She glanced around once more. The area looked familiar. It reminded her of a place where she and Ian had waited out a violent summer storm years before. “I believe there’s a rock cairn up ahead, at the top of this rise. The cave in the hillside should do for shelter. ’Twas a shrine long ago, a place sacred to the Old Ones. No harm will come to us there.”

She regretted her last comment when she caught Talbot’s piercing look, but he said nothing as he eased her back down onto the mare and took up the reins. After one last, lingering glance at the sky, he gathered up his meager pile of sticks and continued along the trail.

Once more Catrin cursed her impetuous tongue. Talbot had told her without words that they’d lingered to bicker too long. She still couldn’t be sure she knew where they were, but, please God, let her be right!

Now that she was no longer distracted by Talbot’s barbs, her injuries reclaimed her attention. Flames seemed to radiate from the arrowheads, sending waves of heat to flow over her entire body, leaving a pulsing pain in their wake.

She snuggled against Idris’s coarse coat and took comfort from the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. If they did not starve to death, at least her faithful companion might survive once Talbot saw to his injuries. Though she lacked the energy to lift her hand, she twined her fingers into the dog’s fur. Idris whined in response. He was more than a pet, he was companion, guardian, confidant—the loyal repository of all her hopes and fears.

There were some things Catrin could never share with anyone, not even Gillian or Ian. The shameful secrets from her past would distress them, and for naught. She could not change what she had done—would not, even if she could. But neither would she endanger those she loved by stirring up things better left alone.

Yet her actions today had endangered other innocent souls, caused the deaths of several people. Had her past taught her nothing? Uncharacteristic tears ran down her cheeks to soak into Idris’s curly hide. Her mere presence posed a threat to anyone near her.

Even Talbot, aggravating as he’d been in the past, didn’t deserve to be saddled with her now.

She could change—nay, would change—if she survived this latest coil. ’Twas more likely she’d die and burn in hell for her sins. At the very least, God in his vengeance would want her to suffer, a swift, clean death could not possibly be punishment enough.

It mattered naught.

’Twas no more than she deserved.

Chapter Four (#ulink_eb3c2863-e4ae-5b2b-86eb-5ece2341fbf2)

The bandits met on the trail in late afternoon. Their leader, Ralph, sat atop the knight’s stallion, a fine embroidered tunic pulled over his filthy, ragged shirt and leggings. The remaining garments in the knight’s pack tempted him mightily. Soft, bright-colored wools and silks, of a quality he’d never seen even in those far-off years when he’d been a tailor’s apprentice.

But the take belonged to them all, and though nominally the leader of this ever shrinking band of outlaws, Ralph knew he couldn’t bedeck himself in the finery unless he wanted a revolt on his hands. And he’d no intention of losing his neck over a shirt and a pair of hose.

“’Tis a fine day, lads, a fine day indeed,” he said, the three remaining fingers of his right hand caressing the jeweled sword laid across his lap. What a pity he couldn’t wield the weapon, but ’twas too big for his maimed grip. Ah, well, no use crying over what he couldn’t change. “We’ve ne’er taken such a prize as this.”

“Aye, ’tis fine for you, Ralph,” Ned piped up, shifting his gaunt frame atop an equally scrawny palfrey. “Look at all you’ve got.”

“What are you worried about?” Ralph asked. “Everyone’ll get his share, same as always. ’Tis good pickings, the best we’ve seen in a long time. And now there’s fewer of us, there’s more to go around. Once we collect the rest of it, we’ll go see his high-and-mighty lordship and get paid what’s owed us.” Tugging on the reins and kicking mightily at the stallion’s ribs with his soft-soled shoes, Ralph urged the horse into motion and led the way to the clearing.

Confusion reigned as they burst into the meadow. Not one of them had ever handled a mount with any spirit—indeed, some could scarce ride at all, a fact that had already cost the lives of two of their band. Fortunately the horses, foam-flecked and blown, had passed from rebellion to exhaustion. Even so, Ralph and his men had learned to be more cautious now.

“Quiet,” Ralph bellowed. “Come, let’s be about our business and be on our way. I’m frozen to the marrow.”

Ned hopped down from the saddle and ran across the clearing. “By Christ’s balls, they’re gone,” he cried as he darted from one spot to another. “Look, you, the knight and the wench both. The bastard took the hauberk, too.” He bent to examine two of their fallen comrades who lay in a pool of blood. “Even the damned dog is gone,” he said, his squeaky voice rising higher still.

He stopped beside the dead guards, nudging one body with his foot, then kicking it. “Nothin’. We already took what they had.” He turned to the others, standing silent now in the middle of the clearing. “Weren’t much, neither. But I wanted that hauberk.”

“Would’ve been too big fer ye anyway, Ned. Got no more meat on ye than a chicken,” Alf said. He staggered about as though carrying a great weight on his shoulders. “Can’t ye just see it, lads?” Everyone laughed but Ned. “You wouldn’t’ve been able to move.”

“Someone else took them while we were gone. Robbed us, they did,” Ned said. He turned to Ralph. “How’re we goin’ to get paid without the wench?”

Ralph ignored Ned’s whining and walked around the meadow, stooping every so often to examine the ground. “Someone rode out—one horse,” he told them. “’Twas that rack o’ bones you ’ad, Ned, what looked like you. I’d recognize that track anywhere. No one took ’em.” He shook his head, laughing at Ned’s ire. Likely no one but himself would see the humor in robbing a thief. “Mayhap that knight carted the woman and dog away to bury them. I hear tell the nobles are odd that way, always doin’ things the way the priests tell ’em.”

Ned looked up at the darkening sky. “Ye mean we have ta go after him? We can’t track him in the dark,” he added. “I don’t want ta tangle wi’ him again, not over a bloody corpse. Took all of us ta nab him before, and there ain’t so many of us now.”

The others greeted Ned’s words with a chorus of agreement. Ralph shook his head and grabbed Ned by the front of his tunic. “What are you, a mouse? He’s naught but a man, same as us.” He tossed Ned to the soggy turf and eyed the others. “If I say you go after him, you will. D’ye understand?” He gave the nearest man a shove. “But it so happens we won’t. We weren’t hired to kill him, so there’s no sense bothering with him. He can’t get far anyway—his head’s likely cracked like an egg.”

He pulled a fine dagger from his belt and began cleaning his nails with it. “Besides, the wench was dead. We all saw her.” The men nodded. “So we tell his lordship she’s dead. He couldn’t expect us to stroll into his keep with her body, now, could he?”

“What if he don’t believe us?”

Ralph shrugged. “We tell him to come see for hisself. Of course, it ain’t like to be a pretty sight once the wolves get to her, eh, lads?” He snorted. “He won’t bestir himself. Wants to keep his hands clean—’tis why he hired us. Can’t have it said he murdered his kin, after all.”

“But what if he wants proof, Ralph?”

“Christ, Ned, can’t you do anything but complain? Keep it up and we’ll be splitting your share, as well,” he warned. He turned to the overburdened packhorse hitched to the stallion’s saddle and began removing bundles. “Anyone find the lady’s baggage?”

“There’s some clothes in the big pack on the bottom, and that small wooden box is full of dry leaves and smelly potions.” Alf pulled the packs from the horse and opened them. “This be enough?”

Ralph pawed through the garments, frowning as his rough hands snagged the finely woven silks. “Aye, take out a couple gowns—not the best ones, mind you—they’ll fetch a good price in Chester. No sense wasting it all on his lordship. He’ll have to take our word for it the wench is dead, or come see for himself. And he won’t.” He stuffed the remaining clothes back into the pack and laced it tight against the damp, then hoisted it onto the horse.

He stretched, grimacing at the pain burning in his joints. “I’m getting too old for chasing through the wood in the cold and wet. Mayhap after today’s work we can retire. We could live like kings on the jewels from this sword alone.”

Spying the wooden box on the ground, he picked it up and opened it. “Pah—what a stench!” he gasped. Worse than a midden in the summer sun. Why a noble lady would cart such as this around, he didn’t know. He dug through the contents, then dumped everything out and examined the inlaid lid. “’Tis a pretty piece—it might fetch something if we can get rid of the smell.”

He tossed it to Ned. “Put it with the rest. Then you, John and Alf take the good horses and head for Chester. We don’t want his lordship to steal our hard-earned booty—and he would, the scum. ‘Sides, there’s no good way to explain how we come by it, short of the truth. I’d just as soon not hang. I’ve learned my lesson ’bout thieving,” he said, holding up his hands. “Don’t get caught at it.”

The others laughed, but he could sense their fear. “Have a care,” he warned. “Them horses’re more than you’re used to. We don’t want to lose them. The rest of us’ll go get our pay, then meet you in Chester.”

Ned snatched up the reins and stood scowling. “What’s to keep you from makin’ off with our money?”

Ralph shoved him to the ground and kicked him in the ribs. “Don’t be a fool.” He nudged him again. “What you’re taking with you is likely worth a hundred times more than what that little prick is payin’ us.”

Casting a last, longing look at the stallion, Ralph went instead to one of the poorer horses and mounted up. “We’ll see you in Chester,” he said, waiting until the three rode away before heading southeast for a confrontation with his bloody lordship.

The last rays of the setting sun broke through the clouds as Nicholas and the mare topped the hill. He hoped the sudden burst of light was a sign their luck was about to change. God knew they needed fortune to smile upon them; he had much to do, and next to nothing with which to do it.

A cairn stood before a stone-framed opening in the hill tall enough to admit a man. Moss-shrouded dirt, lightly studded with bushes, covered the crown of the hill, and a spring—the origin of the stream—spilled from the ground near the entrance. It looked like something from the land of fairy, the stone portal shimmering through the mist. Though not a fanciful man, Nicholas hoped they’d find some magic here, if such a thing existed.

He dropped the wood he’d gathered near the cave, then tied the mare to a sturdy bush before turning to Catrin. When he drew the hood away from her face he spied the tear tracks on her cheek. His fingers crept out of their own volition to smooth the marks away. She’d made no sound—even in her current state, she’d too much pride to let him hear her cry.

Pride he understood, being overburdened with it himself. How else had she found the strength to lash out at him? Any other woman would have remained in a swoon since the attack, or at the least complained of the pain. Though he wouldn’t have thought less of her had she reacted thus, he was grateful she had not