The Knight's Prisoner (Medieval Discipline 1)

“How did Benton find us?”

“There are traitors among you,” she sensed and reported. “One in your camp. Others who pretend to be supporters but accept gold for information.”

“Who is he? The one in the camp?”

She tried to see, but felt nothing. She shook her head slowly. “I'm not sure.”

“Would you know if you were near him? If you touched him?”

She considered that. “Mayhap. I'm not certain.”

“Come, let's walk the camp now,” he urged.

She cast a glance at Ferrum, who gave her an encouraging nod, and followed the prince out of the tent. He walked her all through the camp, but she sensed nothing. He continued the activity for two more days without luck, until at supper the second night she brushed by a man and felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Ever observant, Ferrum saw her staring at the man's back from where he was resting outside their tent. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she nodded. Several moments later she was filled with anxiety. She may have just sent a man to his death—based on what—the way her skin prickled?

Ferrum had beckoned the prince over, and they were in deep conversation. She went and sat with them. “I may have made a mistake.”

The prince raised his eyebrows. “Why do you think so?”

“I mean—I just don't know. I don't think you should take my word on anything, really.”

“It's all right, Dani,” the prince said knowingly. “You just give me the clues. It's my duty to determine the truth of them.”

She stared at him. “Does that mean—?”

“He'll be questioned. How he answers will determine his fate—not your word.”

That gave her some relief. “Thank you, my lord.”

“For what?” he said, looking surprised.

She felt herself blush and shook her head. “For understanding,” she mumbled.

Ferrum reached up and squeezed her hand, smiling at her warmly, and she felt a little rush of pleasure.

Chapter 5

“Dani, when do you get your monthly blood?” They were in the woods, where he stood watch as she relieved herself.

A look of fear crossed her face, and he was instantly alert. Her mouth had gone tight, and the look in her eyes was almost hunted. She merely shrugged a response.

He caught her arm. “Are you with child?” he asked sharply.

She whirled to face him, the fear even greater in her face. “I can't be,” she snapped. He saw a hint of desperation in her expression. His gut clenched. Of course she wouldn't celebrate a pregnancy, especially not with him. Especially not if she were planning her escape. She pulled away from him and started walking back toward camp.

“But are you?” he asked gently, walking by her side.

She shook her head rapidly. “I'm telling you, I can't be,” she said through gritted teeth.

He stopped her, taking hold of her arms above the elbows and peering into her face. “I know it's not what you want, little flower, but I promise I will take very good care of you and our baby, if there is one.”

Her face flushed. “You don't understand, Ferrum,” she said. The cords of her neck stood out with the strain in her face. “I'm not able to have children. In London—” she stopped and heaved a sigh, her eyes rolling with frustration. “In London I used to take penny royal to keep from getting with child. But here I've had none to take.” She was wearing that desperate look again.

“What do you mean when you say you're not able to have children?” he asked slowly.

“I mean—” she gave another enormous sigh. “The first time I got pregnant I was fourteen years old. I lost it at seven months and nearly bled to death. The midwives said I shouldn't risk it again—that I might die.”

Fear coursed through his veins like ice water at her words, but he kept his face neutral. Adding to her fears would just make it worse. “Do you think you're pregnant now, Dani?” he asked her softly.

“I don't know,” she said, looking miserable. “It might just be my body doesn't know what to do without the herbs,” she shrugged. `

He nodded slowly. “We'll get you the penny royal. We'll ask at every village until we find some. All right? It will be all right.” He knew he was reassuring himself as much as her. He prayed she would be safe.

* * *

“Come, little flower. I want to go hunting this morning,” Ferrum said, rousing her. He had stopped binding her wrists but still slept with her hand held in his, and no matter how quietly or slowly she moved, he always woke when she tried to extricate herself from him. Not that she'd geared herself up to leave yet. She'd told herself she'd wait until she knew Ferrum was safe—past the danger of infection. But his wound had healed rapidly, and now, a couple of weeks later, she'd already started to forget he'd been hurt.