There, Sir Elias. The signal.”

Beneath a near full moon dimmed by clouds, Elias saw the same as Brother Christian—a vertical slash of light followed by a horizontal. The sign of the cross.

He looked behind at the figures patrolling the docks past which he and his squire had escorted their charges undetected—thus far. The day was so new, more it could be said the night was in labor than it had given birth. As they continued along the shore toward the point, on the other side of which the skiff awaited them, the darkest shadows to which the party of eight kept could prove kept by others. Much depended on the determination of the one pursuing Brother Christian.

Once more, Elias questioned the bargain struck with the faceless man. What great lord had he offended? What price would Elias and his companions pay were they intercepted?

“They await us,” Brother Christian prompted, the shifting of his shoulders causing the pack strapped to his back to rustle.

The packs of the others were secured as tightly and effort made to quiet the chain mail of Elias and Theo. A long-sleeved tunic was worn not only beneath the armor but over it, the fit of the outermost one so snug it compressed the links and muffled their ring in the absence of great movement. But were greater movement required, whether to run or meet at swords, the extra tunic would be restrictive—until the seams gave.

Elias returned his regard to Brother Christian, and moonlight revealed just enough of his features beneath the hood to confirm he was beyond two score aged. “Patience,” he said. “Do we hurry this, all we have gained will be lost.”

He felt argument rise between them, but the man sighed. “You are right. For this I engaged you.”

Hoping he would not once more prove unworthy of his Wulfen training, Elias said only loud enough for all seven to hear, “I shall advance ahead to uproot sentries patrolling the shore. After a count of one hundred, Theo shall lead you, keeping to the sand and shadows, speaking no word, and listening for my warning should I happen on any who might detain us.”

“Oui, my lord,” his squire said. “Your warning?”

“Two trills as of a gull, you halt and do not proceed until you hear one. Do I sound three, we are pursued and you are to make all haste for the point. If the patrol are ahead, you shall join me in subduing them, Theo. If they come from behind, you are to fall back to protect the rear, and I will aid you there.”

Lord, should they come for us, he silently prayed, not from both sides.

He turned to Brother Christian. “If my squire and I must draw swords, continue to the boat and see Honore and Cynuit aboard. God willing, we will be close behind, but delay your departure only as long as you have time to put out to sea. Should it prove necessary to leave Theo and me, all I ask is you deliver the woman and boy to the nearest abbey when you reach France and provide enough coin for all they require lest I am unable to join them.”

“As God is my witness, it will be done, Sir Elias.”

“Non,” Honore rasped where she stood on the other side of his squire. “I will not leave without you.”

He stepped near. “Of no benefit are we to Hart if Theo and I must not only defend our persons but yours. Await me in Boulogne, and if I do not appear within a sennight, you will have funds enough to buy passage back to England.”

“But Hart—”

“Seek Everard Wulfrith’s aid. He knows the tale and will do all he can to restore the lad to you.”

After a long moment, she set a hand atop his on her shoulder. “God be with you, Sir Knight.”

He did not think. He felt, just as he should not have done past the middling of night when her anguish moved him to pull her against him. Though that with which he was beset was impending loss of a depth he should not feel for her, he turned his hand up into hers. “God be with you, Lady,” he afforded her a title that in that moment seemed as good a fit for her as many a noblewoman.

Hearing the sharp breath she drew behind the gorget, he released her and returned to Theo. “A hundred count,” he said and began moving across the sand.

Calling on every sense sharpened in the darkened cellar of Wulfen Castle during his training, Elias looked, listened, smelled, touched, tasted—and sought to engage the sense he believed were it not of the Lord speaking into one’s soul was of His angels drawing near to give warning.

He was halfway to the point when a shift among the shadows surrounding a cluster of boulders made him pause.

He glanced behind, confirmed those who followed remained unseen and unheard, then narrowed his eyes at where he had caught movement. All was still, but there was a scent on the air not of the sea or its affect on sand, rocks, and vegetation struggling to thrive along the coast. This was of a very unclean body, and as he breathed deeper, he tasted it.

Hoping it was no more than two bodies wafting so great an odor, Elias turned his face across his shoulder, cupped a hand over a side of his mouth, and trilled twice.

There was no evidence he was heard, but he assured himself the seven did as instructed and awaited the single trill to resume their advance.

Elias strained his senses beyond the tumble of the sea and the foul odor evidencing danger. At last, another shift among the shadows, then a low grunt and the barely perceptible sound of one relieving himself. One of those at the boulders was more vulnerable than moments before.

Staying low, Elias ran and veered to the left to come around the backside. And there before him were two he must render incapable of rousing others, one adjusting his chausses, the other leaning against a boulder.

The first snapped his head up, a moment later went down with a soft grunt. It was the crack of the dagger’s hilt against his brow that brought his companion around.

Determined he would not mortally wound one who but did his duty, Elias lunged and drove himself into the man’s right side to disable his sword arm. But the soldier was of the minority whose left hand dominated, as revealed when moonlight streaked a long blade destined for Elias’s back.

There was only time in which to act on instincts whose raw edges had been trimmed and smoothed as much as possible at Wulfen Castle. Elias sprang to the side, heard the tearing of a shoulder seam, and as momentum and shifting sand caused his opponent to stumble, aimed his hilt at the back of the man’s skull. It relieved him of consciousness, but not before the man shouted, “To arms!”