The Cast Of A Stone Page 5

  “Your sword, sir knight.” Emma pointed at the scabbard, which trailed through the waves.

  “My sword stays with me, my lady.” He paddled to her side, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. She gasped and dropped the fish.

  “Hmm, look what I caught.”

  She raised her chin. “Aye, and you didn't even have to use your feet.”

  “My two big feet?” His gaze shifted from the captivating green of her eyes to the softness of her lips, his body burning with desire. This unique woodland creature presented a temptation unlike any he had ever met.

  The smile she offered him faltered. “Why do you look at me that way, my lord?”

  Stephen sighed. “Because, my lady, I'm more accustomed to noble women draped in silk and lace, with jewels in their hair and gold on their fingers. So, when I saw you just now, standing knee-deep in the Irish Sea wearing naught but your shift and waving a fish at me, I found it very strange.”

  Dismay shadowed her face and she stiffened in his arms. “Oh. So I'm not...I mean, you don't –”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “Without a doubt, my little faerie, it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”

  Unable to resist any longer, Stephen bent and kissed her, groaning when she opened for him, inviting his tongue to explore and taste. Everything he knew vanished behind a veil of desire as she settled against him, warm and soft in his arms.

  Perhaps he had not found the stone, but he had found a rare treasure, nonetheless. He lifted his head, her sweetness still damp on his lips, his voice grating with passion.

  “'Tis a strong magic you possess, sweetheart.”

  They stayed there, splashing in the waves, catching fish and sharing kisses, until the sun lengthened their shadows on the sand and changed the sparkles on the sea from silver to gold.

  “It has been a perfect day.” Emma leaned into Stephen's chest with a contented sigh. “But I think it's time to go. Alex will be worrying.”

  He tugged gently on her braid and offered up a soft gibe. “Do you remember the way back?”

  Emma gave him a withering look. “Aye, I believe I do. Have no fear, sir big-feet. Your lady will see you home safe.”

  With a laugh, he released her and lifted their catch from the sand; six fine flooks, speared onto a sturdy cutting of hazel.

  “Then lead on, my lady.”

  Shadows wrapped around them as they ducked beneath the forest canopy. The murmur of waves faded into the distance, replaced by hushed whispers of wind in the leaves and sweet evening birdsong.

  They had not travelled too far before Stephen stopped to pull Emma into his arms and kiss her, relishing the taste of salt on her lips.

  “I cannot resist you,” he whispered against her ear. “'The way you move is like a graceful spirit.”

  A twinkle brightened the green of her eyes and she grinned. “But the night will not wait and neither will these fish.”

  Stephen laughed. “Aye, you have a point. I suspect Alex is imagining his sword through my gut as we speak.”

  “Darius.” Emma grabbed Stephen's hand and pulled him along the path. “This way.”

  “Darius?”

  “Aye. Darius. 'Tis the name of my cùra's sword. When I was a child, he told me stories of magical kings and mighty warriors. Darius was a king of Persia, born many years before the birth of our Lord. He had a magic sword of great power and a bewitched carpet that flew on the wind. He also had –” Emma stopped and raised her hand.

  Foreboding lifted the hair on Stephen's neck and he caressed his sword hilt. “What is it, Emma?”

  She turned to him with a finger over her lips and gestured to the left. “There are horses over there. And men.”

  They stood in frozen silence, listening to the faint jingle of harness and a hum of voices drifting through the trees.

  “They're some distance away, by the river.” Emma turned down a narrow trail to the right. “Come. We'll circle around this way.”

  Stephen cursed under his breath. He knew, without a doubt, who the men were.

  “I hope they haven't been to the house.” Too late, he voiced his thoughts, cursing again as Emma's face paled.

  “Cùra! Dear God.”

  Stephen grabbed her arm, stopping her mid-stride.

  “Nay. We must be careful.”

  She struggled against him, breathless in her panic. “But he may be hurt!”

  “I doubt it, sweetheart.” Silently berating himself for his thoughtless outburst, he cupped his hand to Emma's cheek. “Don't worry. Alexander is no fool and well able to defend himself.”

  The sound of flapping wings drew their gaze upwards. A large crow settled onto an overhead branch and cocked a blue-black head at them. It cawed once before flying off down the path.

  Stephen looked at Emma and raised an eyebrow. “Friend of yours?”

  Emma frowned and gestured with her head. “This way.”

  Dusk had already cast a grey pallor across the clearing. The house showed no signs of life, but neither did it show signs of fighting or trouble. Upon leaving the shelter of the forest, Stephen moved Emma behind him and headed toward the door. He paused for a moment, listening, then took a cautious step forward.

  A chicken ambled past, clucking quietly, and from his secret vantage in the woods, an owl hooted an early call. Stephen glanced back at Emma with a shrug and drew his sword.

  The door swung open and Alex stood on the threshold, eyeing them with a puzzled expression.

  “What in Heaven's name are you doing?” He glanced up at the darkening sky. “It's about time you two got back. I was wondering where you were.”

  Emma gave a squeal, ran to him and threw her arms around his neck.

  He returned her hug. “What on earth is wrong, child?”

  “We heard men and horses on the river trail,” she mumbled, her face buried in his shirt. “I was scared they'd been here.”

  Alex grimaced. “They haven't, but I fear someone has. Ah! Flooks. Good. I'm starving. Put your sword away, young knight, and hand me those fish. You can let go of me, a ghràidh. I'm unharmed.”

  “Argante?” Stephen sheathed his sword and followed them into the house.

  “Most likely.” Alex laid the fish on the table and pulled a knife from his belt. “Do you know how to clean these?”

  Stephen shook his head, wondering at Alex's nonchalance. “Nay. Are you not worried about Argante?”

  “Then you shall learn how to clean them and aye, I'm worried about Argante.” Alex glanced at Emma. “Very worried.”

  “What if he comes back tonight?” Stephen asked. “Should we set up a watch?”

  “He'll not do that.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Alex sighed. “Because Argante rarely acts on impulse, unless it's with some poor wench. Because you were gone today and I kept out of sight, so he cannot be certain whose house this is. And because he fears the dark, and more than that, he fears me.”

  “Argante fears you?”

  “Aye. 'Tis why I fear for Emma. She's my one weakness. Argante would happily use her to get at me.”

  Stephen's eyes narrowed as thoughts galloped relentlessly through his mind. “To get at you? Or to get at what you know about the stone?”

  Alex shrugged. “'Tis the same thing.”

  “This Argante does not frighten me.” Emma sat on a chair hugging her knees to her chin. “I do not fear him, Cùra.”

  Some ancient Gaelic curse flew out of Alex's mouth as he stuck the knife blade into the table. Emma gasped and jumped up with a small cry.

  Stephen frowned, for it felt for a moment as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet. “What the hell?”

  “You do not fear him, Emma? Let me tell you some truths, then, about this devil's servant.” Alex's eyes darkened, and he ground out his words through gritted teeth. “After that, perhaps you'll fear him as you should and also understand why you must leave here tomorrow.”


  Chapter Eight

  “Damn the Scottish pox-ridden son of a whore.”

  Argante paced the Great Hall like a caged tiger. Except for Iain, who hadn't been involved in the day's events, none of the men stayed after dinner, fearful of the fierce rage controlling their lord. Alexander Mathanach's name had lodged itself into Argante's thoughts like a poisoned splinter, which now festered with hate.

  “But if you saw no one, m' lord, why didn't you try to search inside the house?” Iain sniffed loudly and spat into the empty hearth. “You can't know for sure it's Mathanach who lives there.”

  Argante cursed, drew his sword, and swiped at a goblet on the table. The cup flew across the room and slammed against the wall. Iain winced.

  “Do not question my actions, Iain. Someone was there, and I know it was Mathanach. I could smell the bastard.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “That I do not know. There's a fresh grave at the edge of the forest. Thomas said his son-in-law was sick. Maybe that part was true, and the man died. 'Tis the girl, this supposed daughter with green eyes, who interests me.”

  “If she is...was married, then she's no virgin, m' lord.”

  Argante stopped his pacing to glare at his man-at-arms. “You idiot. I care not about her virginity. I care about her importance to Mathanach.” He dropped his gaze to the ground, his eyes blind to all but the thoughts tormenting his mind. “She can't be his daughter,” he muttered. “Alicia died within days of his return to England. Who the hell is she?” He started pacing again. “Christ. I want that girl.”

  “The men are impatient, m' lord. Send them in to get the girl and the Scot. Let's finish this and find what we came here for.”

  Argante curled a corner of his lips. “You don't know who you're dealing with. They wouldn't get within an arrow's flight of the place.”

  Iain grunted and shifted in his chair. “What is he? A one-man army? Some kind of devil?”

  “A Scottish demon, aye. I've seen things.”

  “Things?”

  “Never mind. But I guarantee he knows exactly where the stone is. God's blood, he may even have it with him. I need this girl to force his cooperation.” Argante stopped his pacing to fix Iain with a fierce stare. “You've failed me, Iain.”

  “My lord?”

  “You were gone most of the day, yet you bring back not even a whore for me. Are there no damn wenches in this county? 'Tis not like you to return empty handed.”

  “Ah! Well, in truth, the pickings are few. I wouldn't let a flea-bitten dog mount the women I saw today.” He grinned. “Or maybe I would.”

  Argante's face relaxed into a reluctant smile. “That bad? Bring Bess to my chamber again, and tell Markus I'll need a hot bath. Be sure to wake me before dawn. In the meantime, try to figure out how to get this wench away from Mathanach.”

  “Aye, m'lord.”

  * * *

  Emma said and ate little throughout the meal. Lost in misery, she fiddled with her food, avoiding eye contact with Alex. How could he insist she leave? This was her home. When at last she met his gaze, she saw only sadness in his eyes. Alex cursed and pushed his unfinished plate away.

  “I've known Argante since my youth,” he began. “He fostered for a short time with my family. Even as a lad he was a bully, picking on those weaker than him. He and I fought often. Then one night he just disappeared, taking one of my father's best horses with him. Strangely, my own horse died the next day. A twisted gut, they said, but I always suspected Argante was responsible somehow. Poison, maybe.” He smiled. “Yet a blessing emerged from that particular horror in the shape of old Bart. As for Argante, I heard talk of his evil once in a while, but didn't actually see him again until I was serving in the Holy Land.”

  Stephen gasped. “Argante went on a crusade?”

  Alex shook his head. “Not exactly. He'd heard the stone had made its way there, so he was trying to track it down. We met and had words again. Later that night, I heard screams and went to investigate. I found him standing over the naked body of an Arab girl, little more than a child. She bled to death on the sand from his tearing of her.”

  “God save us. Why did you not kill him then?” Emma asked, shivering inwardly.

  Alex sighed. “I beat him to within a hair's breadth of his life before some knights pulled me off him. It must be said that Argante was not the only one guilty of such crimes. Many women were abused by crusading knights. Indeed, most commanders turned a blind eye. Christ, some of them even participated. Thing is, the wee Arab girl was not Argante's first victim. I'd heard similar stories of his depravity while still in England.” He paused and looked down at the table. “We have other history between us, which I'll not discuss now. This is why you must leave here, Emma. He would use you to get back at me.”

  The thought of leaving sickened her stomach. “But where will we go?”

  “You will go to Malvern Priory, and you'll stay there until I deem it safe for you to return. I've decided to remain here. I wish to see what Argante does, if anything.”

  “Why don't you simply kill him and be done with it?” Stephen sighed and shook his head. “'Tis what I should have done.”

  “I can't murder him in cold blood, lad. If he gives me cause to kill, then I won't hesitate, but I don't want Emma to be that cause. You're in no condition to go up against him either. Argante is a strong and skilled fighter. Besides, he likely thinks you're dead. That gives us an edge, should we need one.”

  “Tell me, Alexander,” said Stephen, “do you know where the stone is?”

  Alex leaned forward, a smile playing on his lips. “If I do, then all the more reason to get the lass away from here.”

  Emma scowled. “But I don't want to stay with a group of boring nuns. It will be like a prison.”

  Alex raised an eyebrow. “Have you heard nothing of what I said? You will do as I tell you, child. We leave at dawn.”

  “I'm not a child.” Emma's cheeks flushed as she glared at Alex, who laughed.

  “Is that so? Then stop behaving like one. Go and pack some clothes. I'll tidy in here.”

  “I shall not leave you, and you can't make me.” Despite her verbal bravado, Emma's legs trembled when she rose to clear her dish away. Alex moved so quickly, she didn't have time to react. The dish flew from her hands as he grabbed her arms and she cried out in surprise when he gave her a shake.

  “Aye, I can make you. Now go and pack some clothes.” His voice simmered with suppressed anger. “You're leaving here in the morning, and if you resist I'll tie you to the damn horse. Do you understand?”

  Emma tore free from his grip and backed away, her heart racing.

  “Nay, I don't understand.” A sob caught in her throat. “I don't understand at all. This is my home. I belong here with you, not hiding in some convent.” She turned and fled into her room, Stephen's words following her through the door.

  “God's teeth, Alexander. Was that truly necessary?”

  “Aye, sadly it was. Let her go.”

  Emma slammed the door and sat on her bed, shivering. Alex had never shown such anger toward her, and his harsh words cut deep.

  How, though, could she not fear Argante after what she'd learned? Of course she did, but she also feared for Alex and Stephen. What if something happened to them? Angry, muffled voices drifted in from the other room and her rebellious spirit weakened. She'd seen the pain in Alex's eyes and knew he merely wanted to protect her, as he always had. To resist would only serve to hurt him more.

  Sighing, Emma lifted the lid of the wooden chest at the foot of her bed and pulled out some clothes.

  Much later, she opened her eyes to darkness, a slight ache pulsing in her temples. She sat up, wondering at the hour. Everything was quiet apart from the sound of faint snoring from beyond her door.

  Emma had no window in her room. Her ceiling was the floor of a storage area directly under the thatched roof, accessible by a ladder leading up to an open trapdoor. The storage area had a small window set
in the wall beneath the rafters. Through the day, or on nights when the moon shone full and unhindered, light trickled down through the opening in her ceiling. On this moonless night, though, Emma saw only shadows.

  Eager for some air, she climbed the ladder, eased herself into the attic, and tip-toed over to the small opening, which was covered by a patch of greased linen. She pulled it aside and looked out.

  The edge of the forest appeared as a dense barricade of twisted shapes. With the absence of a dominant moon, the stars dared to shine brighter, stretching across the night sky as if someone had cast a fistful of diamonds onto a length of indigo-blue silk. The silence of the woods remained unbroken, tempting Emma with its alluring mystery. Tears filled her eyes. How she loved this place. The thought of leaving it, not knowing when she might return, tore at her heart.

  As a child, she'd often sneak out at night to wander through the forest. It was easy enough to squeeze through the small opening, drop onto the thatched lean-to at the back of the cottage and slide to the ground. Getting back always proved to be more difficult, but she'd always managed. To her knowledge, Alex had never been aware of her night-time exploits.

  It had been a few years since, but...could she? Surely it would do no harm. Alex had said that Argante wouldn't come at night and she'd be back well before dawn.

  Moments later she felt cool bare earth beneath her feet. She glanced up at the house, a twinge of guilt twisting in her belly, but not compelling enough to change her mind. The forest beckoned with dark fingers, and she obeyed the summons, taking fearless steps into the shadows.

  She did not get far.

  Without warning, one of the shadows emerged from the undergrowth like a black demon. It slammed a rough hand across her mouth and pressed a cold steel blade against her throat.

  “Hush.” The demon had a man's voice and vile breath. “Don't fight, lass. Save it. Save it for later.”

  In the terrified depths of her mind, Emma screamed for Alex and Stephen. Her voice grated the skin at the back of her throat, unable to escape the thick barricade of calloused fingers. The brutal grip forced her teeth into her lips and a metallic ribbon of blood curled around her tongue, gagging her. An arm looped through her elbows, forcing them back, locking them in a clamp of iron-hard muscle. The knife blade trailed across her back, and she flinched in pain.