"No. The women."
"Hmm." Gavin shook his head. "Ye'd have more luck askin' me where me men are."
Blake hesitated, then decided to play along, "All right, where are your men?"
"Followin' the women."
He stood there for a moment, his face blank, his mind slow to process this news. Then his gaze shot instinctively to where the horses should have been tied. He wasn't sure what he had expected to see. All of the horses were gone, but for one. It seemed a good guess that the one remaining horse was the Scot's mount.
"Damn!" he cursed volubly. "Damn and double damn! They've flown again."
"What?" Rolfe interjected weakly and stood to join him. "They could not if they were as sick as we are. Did they not eat the stew?"
"Nay, they cooked it," Blake spat out. "At least one of them did."
"But Sister Helen cooked," Bishop Wickham protested, forcing himself to a seated position. "No bride of God would poison me."
"Seonaid must have convinced her to put something in the stew. She probably told her it would just make us sleep," he reasoned, then shook his head with disbelief. "Damn, the wench would rather kill me than marry me."
The very idea so shocked him, he could hardly believe it. A sudden burst of laughter from the Scot drew Blake from his thoughts.
"It was supposed to make ye all sleep, but the nun was unsure which weed would cause it. She was most distressed that she had blundered so and caused such discomfort, horrified even at the idea she might be responsible fer yer deaths."
Blake had started to relax when the man added, "Seonaid soothed her by pointin' out that should ye all die, ye'd be out o' yer misery."
The Scot burst out laughing at the horrified expressions on their faces.
Blake recovered enough to scowl at him, then strode to the man's horse. He had just laid his hand on the mount's tether when Gavin caught up and stopped him. "Horse thievin' is frowned on here in Scotland."
"I have to go after Seonaid," Blake said grimly.
"Ye'll find her faster with me to lead the way. Ye'd no recognize the trail me men will leave without me."
"Why?" Rolfe asked with bewilderment as he joined them. "Why would you lead us to her? Why did you not just stop her from leaving?"
"The Dunbar didna send me to stop her."
"Then why the hell did he send you?" Blake asked irritably.
"To keep ye from gettin' lost ... or killed," Gavin reminded him in a tone filled with amusement.
Before Blake could react to the slight, Rolfe intervened, saying, "I suppose we had best hie after them."
"Hie after them?" Blake scowled. "On one horse?"
"Well, obviously we shall have to round up the others. They will not have gone far. Look, there is one there. Is not that your mount?"
Following his pointing finger, Blake saw Rolfe was right. His mount stood not ten feet away, munching on grass. He had owned the animal for several years, and it was a faithful beast. Leaving the others, he walked to fetch the stallion, his mind working over the problem. He had half a mind to let the wench go. Why chase after her? She would just run again.
On the other hand, he would like to see the wench again. Very much so. He would like to catch up to her, drag her off her mount, pull her over his knee, and ...
Blake stopped his thoughts on a sigh. He felt sick and weary and thought he might be lucky to stay on his horse long enough to catch up to the woman, let alone pull her off her mount. But the idea of doing so was a lovely thing to contemplate. Pushing his fantasies aside, he forced himself to straighten his posture and stride manfully toward his mount as he ordered, "The rest of you follow as soon as you round up the other horses. I shall give chase."
"On your own?" Rolfe and Little George spoke the query at the same time, but in vastly differing tones. Rolfe sounded dubious, as if he thought Blake couldn't manage the task on his own. Little George sounded disapproving, as if he thought Blake shouldn't do it. The bishop and the damned Scot, Gavin, were holding their tongues, but the laughter in the Scot's eyes suggested he was sure Blake wouldn't manage the task.
Always having been a contrary sort, Blake took their reactions as a challenge. He mounted his beast, then forced one of his wicked smiles to his pale face as he turned to salute them. "Happy hunting."
"And to you; you shall need it," Blake thought he heard Lord Rolfe respond. He didn't pause to answer the comment as he was having difficulty staying mounted. After his bout in the bushes, his legs were as weak and trembling as a woman's, as were his arms. His whole body ached and trembled and his stomach muscles were the worst. He had to consider the irony of it all. He had survived countless battles yet been laid low by a rabbit. And a Scottish witch.
It was well past dawn before Seonaid deemed it safe for them to stop. She wouldn't have paused then except for the horses. The mounts had enjoyed little rest, riding a full day, then a full night with naught but a couple of hours' break in between. Worried about them--and Helen, who was just as exhausted, but too stubborn to allow Seonaid or Aeldra to take her up before them on their mounts--Seonaid had waited only until they had reached the relative safety of Comen's croft before stopping.
Comen was a friend to her brother. His home was always open to them on their travels, and this time proved no exception. Comen's wife offered up the only bed in the small hut, but they had chosen to sleep in the barn instead. Twice the size of the hut, it was filled with hay and most likely just as comfortable, if not more so. Besides, Seonaid felt it best to stay close to the horses in case the men caught them up. It was a very real possibility. If they still lived.
Seonaid scowled at the thought and turned on her side in the pile of hay she had made for herself. Aeldra and Helen were sleeping soundly, but Seonaid hadn't yet been able to find that happy state. She needed sleep but felt tense and wound up inside. It had been a tiresome task to ride through the night. Seonaid had constantly had to strain her eyes in an effort to judge the ground they crossed in the moonlight. It wouldn't have done to have another horse lamed on top of everything else.
Then there had been the tension of listening and watching for attack. It wasn't until they were well away that Seonaid had realized they hadn't found and retrieved their weapons before riding off. The three women were traveling unarmed. It was then Seonaid had realized just how rattled she had b
een by the men's reactions to the stew. She really hadn't wished them ill. Perhaps the Sherwell deserved it, but Lord Rolfe. ... well, he was trying to force her to marry Sherwell, but the bishop certainly did not deserve to be made so ill. Even if he planned to perform the ceremony binding her to the damned Sassenach.
Irritated by her own thoughts, Seonaid rolled onto her back, then froze in shock. There was a man standing over her. Lord Blake. She hadn't heard him approach. Even the horses hadn't made a sound of warning--he must have crept up on them like a ghost. Actually, she realized, he rather resembled a ghost, haggard and drawn and pale to the point of being almost gray-faced. Blake looked exhausted and definitely wasn't happy.
Seonaid instinctively reached for the sword lying on the ground next to her, only to recall that they had fled unarmed. She had no sword.
"You would be clever not to try anything at this moment."
Seonaid opened her mouth to give a witty reply, but he forestalled her, growling, "You would be clever to keep your mouth shut too, else you may move me to doing something we would both regret."
Seonaid decided it might be in her best interests to do absolutely nothing, so she lay there still and silent, watching him watch her. She didn't even move when the tension suddenly slid out of him and he moved to lie down beside her. She did turn onto her side away from him then, but got no further before he caught her around the waist and dragged her back against him. He arranged her so they lay spoon style, then fixed her firmly in place by casting one leg over both of hers.
That was a little too much togetherness for Seonaid. She opened her mouth and took in a breath to speak, but Blake's arm tightened around her waist and he growled by her ear, "Shut up, Seonaid. I am not very pleased with you at the moment. If you know what is good for you, you shall be quiet and let us both sleep."
Seonaid shut her mouth. They both lay silent and still and she soon became aware of his relaxing behind her, his muscles easing. She stared at the streams of sunlight slipping through the small cracks between the barn slats and listened as Blake's breathing slowed to a deep, steady sound. There were tiny dust motes moving through the streams of sunlight and she tried to concentrate on that rather than the way his breath softly stirred the hair on top of her head, or how his hand had shifted as he relaxed so it was now curled just below her breast. Every time she breathed in and her chest expanded, it felt as if he were almost cupping it.