Roger held her at arms’ length. “You are too forward and no, I will not kiss you again. You must tell me where you belong.”
“I belong with you but—” She stopped as a blast from a stag’s horn sounded. Her eyes changed to wild, frightened. “I must go. My husband calls. He must not find you. Here!”
Before he could speak, she’d taken her little dagger from her side
and crudely cut the largest amethyst from the front of her dress. An ugly, irreparable hole was left in the expensive velvet.
“Take this,” she offered urgently.
Roger’s back stiffened. “I do not take tribute from women.”
The horn sounded again and Christiana’s fright increased. “I must go!” She stood on tiptoe, quickly kissed his tightened lips. “I have a beautiful body,” she said, “and lovely soft hair. I will show you sometime.”
When the horn sounded a third time, she gathered her skirts and began to run awkwardly, her ankle bending every few steps. She’d not gone far when she turned and tossed the amethyst toward him. He made no move to catch it. “Give it to the woman who travels with you. Is she your sister or your mother?”
The last words were called over her shoulder as she disappeared from his sight.
Roger stood still, rooted into place for a very long time, his eyes staring sightlessly toward the place where she’d disappeared. His head felt strange, light, as if he’d just been through some experience that wasn’t real. Had the girl really existed or had he fallen asleep and dreamed her?
“Roger!” came Elizabeth’s voice from behind him. “We’ve been looking for you for an hour. Are you ready to travel? There are a few hours before night-fall.”
Slowly, he turned toward her.
“Roger, are you all right?”
Miles had left his wife’s side and was looking about the area. Sometimes men who’d been wounded had Roger’s look—just before they fell down. Miles saw the amethyst on the ground, but before he could touch it, Roger swept it into his hand, fingers closing tightly around it.
“Yes, I’m ready to go,” he said tersely. Before he left he gave one last look about the forest, his thumb rubbing the jewel in his hand. “Her husband!” he muttered angrily. “So much for love.” He thought about throwing the amethyst away, but he couldn’t do it.
It was Miles who was truly aware of Roger’s distant moodiness that night. Miles had snared a rabbit—illegally—and it was turning over a spit as the three of them sat around the fire. He didn’t want to worry Elizabeth, telling her there was no danger—and indeed the life of the French peasant seemed carefree compared to life at her brother’s house—but Miles was always on guard, always aware of potential danger. At night he slept lightly and he gained respect for Roger as he saw that the knight was also wary.
Elizabeth lay sleeping, her head in her husband’s lap. Roger sat apart, turning something over and over in his hand. Miles was not a person to directly ask after something that wasn’t his concern, but Roger felt the younger man’s interest.
“Women!” Roger finally said with great disgust and pocketed the amethyst. But as he stretched out on the cold forest floor, his hand sought the jewel and held it all night.
The morning dawned bright and clear and Elizabeth, as usual, was extraordinarily happy. Another day and they’d reach the French Montgomerys. Then they could go back to England and their son and, like a fairy tale, live happily ever after.
“You seem especially happy.” Miles smiled down at her. “I think you like this peasant life.”
“For a while,” she said smugly, “but don’t get the idea I’ll always wear rags. I’m an expensive woman.” She rolled her eyes at him flirtatiously.
“You will have to earn your keep,” he said arrogantly, looking her up and down.
“I do that well enough. I—”
She stopped as the clatter of many horses and many men forced them to the side of the road. It was obviously a rich group of men, their horses draped in silks, their armor painted and well tended. There were about a hundred men and baggage wagons, and in the middle was a young girl, her hands tied behind her back, her face bruised, but she held her head high.
Elizabeth shivered as she remembered all too well how it felt to be a captive, but this girl looked as if she’d been beaten.
“Chris,” Roger whispered from beside her and it was a heartfelt sound.
Miles was watching Roger intently and when Roger made a move forward, Miles caught his arm. “Not now,” Miles said quietly.
Elizabeth turned back toward the passing procession. So many men for such a small girl, she thought sadly. Her head turned with a snap. “No!” she gasped up at Miles. “You can’t possibly be considering rescuing the girl.”
Miles looked back at the knights and didn’t answer Elizabeth. When she spoke again he turned such hot eyes on her that she became silent.
The trio stood for some time after the knights went past. Elizabeth’s mind kept screaming no, no, no! Miles couldn’t risk his life for a woman he didn’t know.