The Cast Of A Stone Read online

  “You told me you were going to hunt rabbit for supper. Instead, you return with a wounded stranger. When I saw fear in your eyes and blood on your wrist, it shocked me, child. If anything should happen to you....” With a sigh, he shifted his gaze back to the man on the bed. “Prepare a poultice and find a needle and thread. Let's see if we can bring your mysterious knight back from death's door.”

  Chapter Three

  Rain fell in abundance from the night sky, purring like a contented cat as it landed on the thatched roof. Alex welcomed the soft sound. It functioned as a cushion for the thoughts that discomforted his mind. He lay still as stone on the rough straw pallet that served as his bed. The wounded knight had taken Alex's bed, where he struggled against the clutches of a rampant fever, mumbling incoherent words through cracked lips.

  Earlier, Alex had watched Emma push the needle into the man's torn skin, inserting twenty-three stitches neatly across the wound. It surprised him to see her aura brighten in intensity as she worked. It appeared this enigmatic stranger had reached out from his unconscious mind and touched her soul.

  Second sight was not one of Alex's skills, but he didn't need it to know that fate had shifted its path since the previous day's dawn. Where this new path would lead, he had yet to discover, but the calm waters of their existence rippled as if disturbed by the cast of a stone.

  The darkness of night wrapped around him, but his sight adjusted to the shadows with little difficulty. His ears also picked up the slightest sound, which was why he had no trouble seeing or hearing Emma as she tiptoed from her room. She stumbled over a chair, making her presence all the more obvious. He smiled at the soft curse that drifted out of the shadows.

  “Where are you going, a ghràidh?” He pushed himself onto one elbow, hearing Emma's breath snag in surprise.

  “God save me, Cùra! I thought you slept.”

  “'Tis difficult to do so when I share a house with such a restless spirit. You're concerned for your patient?”

  “Aye, I am. I want to check on him. I'm worried he might die.”

  “I've been listening to him all the while.” Alex got to his feet, arching his back into a stretch. “He still speaks from his dreams, but his breathing is less laboured than before.”

  “Still, if you have no objection, I should like to sit with him in case he awakens and has need of me.”

  “If he should awaken and I'm not at your side, you'll fetch me immediately. I'll have your word on this, child.”

  “You have it, Cùra.”

  Satisfied with her response, Alex lit a candle. “Fetch some cool water and cloths,” he bade her. “I'll watch while you tend him.”

  Absorbed in her task, Emma whispered soft words of comfort to her unconscious patient, her slender form well hidden beneath her ankle-length nightshirt and the woollen shawl draped across her shoulders. A long thick braid, the colour of dark honey, hung down her back, a few stray tendrils softening the outline of her face and neck.

  Alex bit back a sigh. Emma was no longer the little girl who would cling to his neck like a monkey, or fall asleep in his lap as he told her stories of faerie-folk and hidden treasure. A sudden twinge of possessiveness caught him by surprise. He sensed this stranger had affected her young heart.

  Alex had instilled in her a healthy respect for the human form. Emma well understood the value and fragility of her virtue, and was not ignorant of the lustful ways of men. Yet, in contrast, Alex had also explained about the pleasure of love that God had bestowed upon man and woman. Such a gift, he told her, was not meant to be squandered.

  The knight's sallow face tensed as Emma lifted the dressing from his wound. By the flicker of candle flame, Alex saw that the redness did not extend too far beyond the stitches.

  “It looks well,” he murmured. “I see no sign of infection.”

  “Yet he still has fever.”

  “Aye, but he's strong of form. With God's good grace, he'll rally.”

  “I pray for it.”

  Alex heard the longing in her voice and understood what it meant. “Emma, we know so little of him. He may not be what you believe him to be. Keep your mind open, child.”

  “But he had such honest eyes. I felt no fear in his presence.”

  “Aye, and he did you no harm, yet I'll reserve judgement until I've spoken with him myself.” Alex glanced at the small window where the crude wooden shutters were cradled by the gentle light of dawn. “Are you hungry, a ghràidh?”

  “Aye, I'm always hungry.” She grinned at him, all at once a child again.

  He grinned back at her over the candle flame, wondering if she had any idea how much he loved her. “I'll go and warm some bread. Finish here, then join me –”

  A sudden prickle ran across the back of his neck. He drew a sharp breath and blew out the candle, his heart quickening.

  “Cùra?” Emma blinked up at him. “What is it?”

  “Riders approaching. Several of them.”

  “Do you think they're searching for him?”

  “I fear so.” Alex looked at Emma, her eyes wide in the twilight, and sensed her fear. His mind searched for a solution. A ruse. They needed a ruse.

  A carved wooden box sat on a table by the window. He opened it and pulled out a small gold ring. “Put this on,” he said. “Your third finger. Aye, like a wedding band.” He reached around her and lifted her shawl over her head. “And keep your hair hidden.”

  “Why?”

  “Trust me. Stay behind me and let me speak. If you should have need to address me, do not call me cùra. As far as they're concerned, I'm your father. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, her eyes still wide. Outside, the ground rumbled with the sound of many hooves and the air rattled with the voices of men. Alex reached over and cupped his hand to her cheek.

  “Have no fear, child. I'll not let any harm come to you.” He glanced at the figure on the bed. “Or him.”

  A thick curtain of rain subdued the jingle of harness and murmur of voices. The voices ceased, and Alex felt Emma's body flinch as a fist pounded against solid oak.

  “Come with me.” He lifted a corner of her shawl up to her chin. “Hold this across your mouth as you might a mask. I would have them believe we have sickness in the house.”

  The fist pounded again, a grim sound that found its way into every dark corner. This time it had a voice attached to it.

  “Open the door in the name of the king!”

  Alex raised a brow and gave Emma a wry smile. “In the name of the king, is it?”

  He took his sword and leant it against the wall, hidden from the visitors yet well within his reach. Then he grabbed a cloth from the table and lifted the locking-bar from its wooden cradle. Blessing Emma with a wink, he opened the door with a confident tug.

  The speed of the action apparently surprised the man standing there, who cursed, took a step back, and pulled his sword. His dark brows drew together in a menacing frown over a pair of equally dark eyes as rain dripped from the ends of his long black hair.

  “We seek an escaped fugitive and would search your house and barn.” The man peered past them into the room beyond. “Stand aside that we may enter.”

  Alex's eyes raked over the group of men, five in total and all armoured. He saw no identifying banner.

  “A fugitive?” He lifted the cloth to cover his mouth. “God save us. I thought you had come to warn us of the sickness, but I fear you're too late for that. I know nothing of any fugitive. Is he dangerous? Please, good sirs, search as you will. I would not harbour such a man, intentionally or otherwise.”

  He stood aside as if to allow them access. Behind him, Emma sneezed into her shawl. The man hesitated.

  “Who is that?” he asked. “And of what sickness do you speak?”

  Alex glanced briefly at Emma before turning back to meet the man's gaze. “This is my daughter. 'Tis her husband who has been sorely afflicted these past two days.”

  “Step forward, girl,” said the man to
Emma. “I would see your face.”

  She stepped forward, the thin plaid shawl covering her mouth.

  “What is this illness?” the man asked. “Let me see this husband of yours.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” Emma coughed. “I believe he suffers from naught more than a wicked ague and a bad attack of boils. He sleeps, but you may certainly look in on him.”

  “Boils?”

  A murmur ran through the men.

  Emma nodded. “Aye. Ugly things, they are, with a nasty odour. I've never seen the like before. But he's a strong man, and will rally. Will he not, father?” She coughed again with feigned breathlessness.

  Alex put his arm around Emma's shoulders and kissed her forehead. “With God's good grace, aye.” He turned back to the men. “I beg you, gentlemen, complete your search and leave us be. We've been up most of the night and are in need of some rest.”

  The man hesitated. “We'll leave you in peace,” he said finally. “But be warned, peasant. The man we seek is wounded, dangerous and not to be trusted. Should he come to your door, show him no mercy.”

  “May I know what this man has done?” asked Alex.

  “He's a murderer and a thief.”

  “Indeed? Then I hope you catch him quickly. Is there someone I may inform should I see a wounded stranger hereabouts?”

  “Aye.” The man turned and clambered onto his horse. “You may send word to Lowland Chase. Bring us his lifeless body and you'll be rewarded.”

  Alex felt Emma tense at his side and gave her shoulder a soft squeeze. They both watched as the horses rode off into the damp grey light of dawn.

  “You did well, a ghràidh.” His lips twitched with a smile. “'Tis strange I should commend you for lying, but...boils?”

  Emma grinned. “I thought it sounded plague-like”

  He chuckled, steered her into the house, and closed the door. “You were most convincing. So, your knight is a thief and a murderer. What do you say to that?”

  “I say they lie.” Emma's tone was adamant. “He is no murderer.”

  “Then I wonder,” Alex mused, “what he has stolen.”

  Chapter Four

  The aroma of warm bread caressed the damp morning air in the house. It eased Emma's solemn mood with a touch of comfort.

  Despite her relief at fooling the men, their visit had frightened her. She stood at Stephen's bedside and watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. Questions about him still burdened her mind as she reached over and touched his hand. His skin felt cooler, yet he showed no sign of returning from the dark realm of unconsciousness.

  “He's a mystery yet to be solved.” Alex's quiet voice spoke from the doorway. “Come away, little one. There's naught else you can do for him at the moment.”

  Emma sighed and followed Alex into the kitchen. She flopped down on a chair and watched as he pulled a golden-crusted loaf of bread from the small stone oven.

  “You must be very tired,” he said, setting the bread on the table. “It's been a long night.”

  His selfless concern wrenched harshly on her weary emotions.

  “I'm sorry, Cùra.”

  A frown replaced his smile. “For what, pray?”

  “I fear my action has brought danger to you. To us.”

  “Possibly. You should have come to me first, although I'd have still brought him back here.” He pushed the bread toward her. “If you must know, I'm proud of you. Eat, then rest. I'm going out for a while.”

  “Where?”

  “Back to where you found your knight.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if he did steal something, he no longer has it with him. Perhaps he hid it close to where he fell.”

  “But how do you know what you're looking for?”

  “I'm probably looking for something that has no place in a forest.” Alex raised an eyebrow. “Do you doubt I could find such an item, if it exists?”

  Emma grinned at his indignant expression. “Nay, Cùra. I would never doubt your abilities.”

  “I'm pleased to hear it. Bar the door as soon as I leave and do not open it for anyone.” With a tilt of his head, he gestured toward the bedroom. “And be wary around him, should he awaken.”

  “I do not fear him.” She watched Alex settle his sword belt around his hips. “Danger might be his companion, but he's not dangerous himself.”

  He slid his sword into the scabbard. “Perhaps not.” He kissed the top of her head. “But be careful. I'll return soon.”

  Emma dropped the lock-bar securely into its cradle. Anxiety had subdued her appetite, but she nibbled at the warm bread and sipped some hot mint tea. Afterwards, she returned to Stephen's side, dragging a chair to the bed so she could sit and watch him.

  He rested peacefully. Emma took the time to study him, frowning at the scars of battle marking his skin. His jaw was dark with stubble, his hair dull from the fever.

  “Stephen de Montfort.” She leaned toward him. “Can you hear me?” But he did not respond.

  Emma yawned and folded her fingers around his. She dropped her head onto the bed and listened to the rain playing a gentle lullaby on the roof. Moments later, sleep dragged her into uncharted dreams.

  When she awoke, it was to the sensation of something touching her hair. With a small cry of surprise, she sat up and looked into a pair of soft hazel eyes.

  “So.” Stephen's fingertips trailed lightly across her cheek. “You were not a dream. Thank God. When I saw you in the forest, I thought you were an invention of my feverish mind.”

  “You're awake.” Emma rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “At last.”

  He smiled at her. “Aye, my little faerie, so it would seem. Where am I? Have I been ill a while?”

  “You're in my house and you have been asleep less than a day. We have taken care of you. Your wound is clean.”

  “We?”

  “My guardian and I.”

  “Then I owe you both my life. Where's this guardian of yours?”

  “He's right here.”

  Emma jumped at the sound of Alex's voice. She leapt to her feet and whirled around to see him standing in the doorway.

  “Cùra! But the door is still barred. How did you –?”

  Alex interrupted her with a raised hand. He moved to her side and scrutinized the man on the bed.

  “My name is Alexander Mathanach.” His chin lifted. “Before I welcome you to our home, there are things I would know about you. I trust you'll respect me with honest answers to my questions, since our safety has already been threatened by your presence.”

  “Cùra, please,” Emma pleaded, tugging at Alex's sleeve. “He's still weak.”

  “Threatened?” Stephen winced as he tried to sit up. “Who has threatened you?”

  Alex offered his hand to the wounded man. “That's what I would have you tell me.”

  Stephen leaned forward, his breath ragged, while Emma arranged the pillows at his back.

  “There.” Emma placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You can lie back now.”

  “My thanks.” Stephen's raspy voice was followed by an attack of coughing. He cursed, his face twisting with obvious pain. “A drink, I beg you.”

  Emma scurried from the room, returning moments later with a goblet of ale. He drank with vigour and thanked her again, this time with a smile.

  “I'm sorry you've been threatened, little faerie.” He handed her the empty goblet. “I would not want anyone to harm you.”

  “I shall not let anyone harm her,” Alex said, his eyes narrowing. “You will tell me who might wish to do so and why.”

  Stephen met Alex's gaze. “You're a Scot,” he observed. “I hear hints of the Highlands in your voice.”

  Alex ignored the statement. “Five armed men came here this morning. They sought the whereabouts of a wounded man – a thief and a murderer. Are you that man?”

  “I'm likely the man they seek, but I'm no murderer.” Stephen glanced down at his wound. “I killed two of them, but only in sel
f defence. They did this to me and struck a death blow to my horse.”

  “Aye, I found the animal's carcass, but naught else. What did you steal?”

  “There's naught else to find.” Stephen pressed a finger to his temple. “What I took from them is in here. I merely obtained information. I act in the name of the king.”

  “Indeed? How interesting. The men this morning also claimed to act in the name of the king.”

  Stephen chuckled and looked down at the goblet with a gentle shake of his head. “The bastard has balls,” he murmured.

  Alex raised a brow. “Which bastard would that be?”

  “The one who has leased Lowland Chase.”

  “You will give me his name.”

  A flash of resentment ran across Stephen's face. “You neither speak nor act like a peasant, Alexander. Why demand his name? 'Tis of no consequence to you.”

  Alex curled his lips into a thin smile. “You have yet to convince me of your worth, young knight, and there will be consequences to you if you do not answer my questions.”

  “You threaten me?” Stephen asked, his eyes wide with surprise.

  “This is my house,” Alex replied. “Do not give me cause to remove you from it.”

  Emma gasped. “Cùra! You would not do such a thing. He's wounded.”

  “Nay, don't fret, little one.” Stephen smiled at her. “I've no desire to leave your sweet attention. It matters not if I tell you my pursuer's identity. 'Tis a mercenary knight by the name of Argante. Richard Argante.”

  Emma heard the breath catch in Alex's throat and looked at him. His face had paled and a small muscle twitched in his jaw. She laid her hand on his arm.

  “Are you alright, Cùra?”

  “Christ help us,” he whispered.

  “You know him? How?” Stephen leaned forward, the sudden movement causing him to grunt in pain. “'Tis becoming clear to me you're no peasant, Alexander Mathanach. So, then, who are you?”

  “'Tis I who ask the questions,” Alex replied, “and I would know what information you have stolen from this mercenary knight.”

  Stephen shook his head “I'm sworn to secrecy.”

  Alex gave a grim smile. “Is that so? Then let me tell you, Stephen de Montfort, that apart from defenceless young virgins, Richard Argante only ever pursued one other thing with ill-met obsession. I suspect he still pursues it, which is why he's wandering around these northern hills. Am I right?”