Chapter Four

 

They waited for what seemed an eternity. Then suddenly the sound of running feet could be heard over the stamping hooves and labored breathing of the horses. The crossbar grated and the hinges of the iron gates groaned as they swung inward, revealing nothing at first but a black rectangle of darkness.

A moment later, a woman rushed into the torchlight, accompanied by a man with silver curls, his left arm in a sling.

Luke knew the woman’s identity by her resemblance to Merry. Apparently, she’d already prepared for bed, as her long roan-colored hair was loose, falling about her shoulders and down her back as she ran. Except for the lines of worry that etched her face, she might have been Merry’s sister.

“Mother!” whispered the pixie-like lady who sat so stiffly in front of him.

“Merry!” cried the woman, tears evident in her wide-set eyes, so like her daughter’s.

Luke dismounted. Mindful of propriety, he lifted Merry from the saddle and put her on her feet, helping her to limp forward.

“Oh, Merry!” the woman cried again, throwing her arms about her offspring, enveloping her completely in what seemed to be a welcoming embrace. Then her words reached his ears: “My dear daughter, you should not have come here.”

Luke saw his young charge stiffen at the warning. His gaze then slid to the man who’d accompanied Merry’s mother. The scarred warrior bore no resemblance to Merry. His face was a map of war wounds, including a scar by his mouth that gave him a perpetual smile. The Slayer’s seneschal, Luke guessed, hailing him.

“Lord Luke d’Aubigny,” he introduced himself.

The man nodded. “I remember you from Dunstable and would know you anyway by your herald,” he added gesturing to the flag of the Phoenix. He bowed diffidently. “I’m Roger de Saintonge, husband of this lady and vassal to the Lord of the Manor at Helmesley.”

“Christian de la Croix,” Luke said, offering him a rueful smile. “I remember him well but not you, sir, I’m sorry to admit.”

Sir Roger nodded as though that were a common circumstance. “You are welcome here,” he said. “Please, come inside.”

Merry’s mother spoke up. “What of those who know of the reward?” she asked in a frightened voice.

Luke turned to her. “Reward?”

Merry’s mother released her daughter long enough to sketch him a curtsy. “I am Lady Jeanette,” she introduced herself. “You must be he who helped my daughter to leave the priory. I thank you with all my heart, but it isn’t safe for her here.”

“How have you heard of this already?” Luke demanded amazed that news of Merry’s flight from the priory could have reached their ears.

The woman held Merry’s hands, squeezing them together and then raising one to her own heart. Her teary eyes took in her daughter’s face again as if amazed that she was standing in front of her. It was Sir Roger who answered.

“A messenger arrived but an hour hence, enjoining us to look for Merry’s return.” He offered a harried glance to his wife’s middle daughter. “I presume she has got herself into trouble, as the man said the Church has issued a reward for her return.”

Merry bit her lip, speechless.

Luke, however, suffered no such affliction. “The prioress meant to burn your daughter for a heretic,” he said to Jeanette, who gasped and covered her mouth with her free hand. To Sir Roger, he added, “There was no sanctioned ecclesiastical trial! Moreover, the punishment was clearly out of the Church’s purview. Surely, you won’t refuse sanctuary to a daughter of this house.” He couldn’t help the cold tone that had crept into his voice.

Lady Jeanette spoke up in a voice choked with emotion. “’Tis not that we don’t want her here,” she assured him, including her silent daughter in her desperate gaze. “’Tis only that I fear for her life. The reward mentioned was large enough to make near any man try to snatch her. And we’ve such a small stronghold!”

Sir Roger put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “My wife has seen the defenses of this keep breached before,” he softly explained.

Merry had yet to say anything, and her stricken look cut Luke to the quick. He recalled his foolish promise to make her smile again. He’d fallen far short of that mark.

“Where is Katherine?” Merry asked, startling him with her sudden question.

“Your sister dwells in York where she attends your cousin Emma,” her mother answered.

Merry seemed to shrink in stature. “She’s not here, then” she said quietly, looking down at the ground as if the last drop of life had been leeched from her.

“What shall we do?” Lady Jeanette whispered, turning to her husband.

“We shall let them in, of course,” Sir Roger answered. “D’Aubigny and I will decide the best course of action. Come.” He took his wife’s hand in his one good one and tipped his head, gesturing for Luke and Merry to follow. “Your men are also welcome,” he added, “though our garrison is small.”

Luke nodded. Yet when Merry’s mother tried to take her hand and usher her along, Luke intervened.

“Her feet were injured at the priory,” he explained. With a rush of tenderness he refused to analyze, he lifted Merry off her feet, feeling no resistance in her slender body as he placed her on the saddle. Taking up the reins, he walked his mount through the gates of Heathersgill.

Two emotions warred within him. The first was concern for Merry’s fate and the mention of a reward for her capture. The second was sheer frustration. He had gone out of his way to return the lady to her home, leaving himself less time to complete his final mission.

Yet he was faced with doubt that Merry’s family would even take her off his hands. What would he do with her then? At his current pace, his grandfather would die ere he ever made it home to Arundel.

Luke wiped his face with a weary hand. Under lids that grated across his eyeballs every time he blinked, he returned the steady gaze of the man seated on the other side of a round low table that held two goblets of half-drunk wine. Sir Roger’s brown eyes were not without sympathy.

They sat, only the two of them, in a small solar situated off the great hall. After a quick repast of smoked ham, bread, and trout in parsley sauce in the company of Merry’s family, Sir Roger had drawn Luke away, urging him to sample his best spiced wine. Eager to get the evening over with, Luke had willingly agreed.

Yet he wished he hadn’t. Sir Roger felt obliged to relate the tragic history of Merry’s life in excruciating detail. Luke had learned that her childhood had been cut short by the siege of a brutal Scot, a savage named Ferguson who slew her father and forced her mother into wedlock. Lady Jeanette, not surprisingly, had lapsed into a state of temporary madness, and Merry seemed to do so as well. She became like a wild animal, Sir Roger explained, wearing rags, keeping herself in filth, and heaping curses on any who confronted her, men especially.

“There was a woman who lived in the hills,” added the knight, “a cunning woman with knowledge of healing. She was the only one who could tame Merry. Sarah made her an apprentice to her art.” Sir Roger sighed. “I’ve been told that the arrangement became more of a curse than a blessing when Merry tried several times to poison Ferguson, thereby planting the seeds of her later reputation.”

The knight picked up the wine goblet. “Eventually, the Scot was laid low by my wife, Jeanette.”

Luke knew his eyes had widened in wonder at the idea of the gentle lady—such a gracious hostess throughout the supper—murdering anyone.

“Aye,” Sir Roger added with a sharp nod. “She stabbed him in the neck whilst he did battle with my overlord.”

“The Slayer,” Luke murmured, reaching for another sip of wine.

Sir Roger winced. “Do not ever let him hear you call him such,” he said, “or his lovely wife, Lady Clarisse, older sister to your Merry.”

His Merry! Luke nearly choked as the wine caught in his throat. Instantly, an image of them tangled together in lovemaking taunted his brain. He banished it with haste.

“Merry might have mended as her mother did,” the older knight continued, “but her fate was linked to Sarah’s, and when babes began to die here and roundabout, both of them were blamed for the scourge. My wife removed Merry to Mount Grace, thus saving her from trial, but Sarah was not so fortunate. She was tried for murder and hanged.”

“Tried as a witch?” Luke asked.

“Aye,” Sir Roger clarified. “Though my wife swore she was nonesuch. The only devil around here was Ferguson, and he certainly did his demonic work, terrifying this family. It was hoped that Merry would rediscover her peace of mind at the priory,” he reflected, splaying his fingers. “Apparently, she hasn’t. The Church has named her a heretic. A reward of forty pence has been offered for her return.”

“Good God,” Luke exclaimed. Nearly three ounces of silver for Merry! People would be jumping out of the trees and shrubs to try and take her.

“Moreover, the peasants bear her little love. ’Tis only a matter of time before she is betrayed,” Sir Roger finished.

Concern and resentment twisted through Luke. He disliked the manner in which he was being drawn into a dilemma that was none of his concern.

“She is your kin,” he heard himself say, “even if only by marriage. Take her to Helmsley where her brother-in-law can guard her. I doubt there is anyone willing to wrest her from the Sl . . . I mean, from Sir Christian,” he added, recalling the intimidating aspect of that warrior.

Sir Roger let out another ponderous sigh. “Aye, you’re right. And I would do so this very night if I could. However, most of my men-at-arms have already gone to Helmsley to serve my overlord. They do so for a fortnight every other month. We would be a pitiful small company against the Church’s spies and the many reward hunters. Then there is this cursed arm of mine—I was thrown from a horse while trying to break him. It pains me not at present, but it is my sword arm and thus prevents me from wielding a weapon. There is one other obstacle.”

Of course there was, Luke thought unkindly. Still he listened as Sir Roger leaned forward, pitching his voice to a level of confidence. “I dare not leave my wife alone at night. Lady Jeanette suffers horrible nightmares from which she cannot awaken. Nor is she able to leave the keep without similar attacks. ’Tis a consequence of her enduring so much at the hands of that devil.”

Luke struggled to keep his scorn from showing. Surely, a servant could be called upon to guard the mistress from her dreams. He briefly closed his eyes and gave in to the urge to press his fingers to his temples.

“What do you suggest?” he asked, summoning the last dredges of his diplomatic skill. Opening his eyes, he skewered the knight with a look. “Shall we claim the reward ourselves and turn the girl in?” He knew his tone dripped with sarcasm, but he lacked the resources to smooth it.

Sir Roger blanched, his perpetual smile taking on a sudden downward turn.

“Nay,” he protested, clearly appalled that Luke would jest thusly. “My lady adores her daughter. She would do anything to protect her.”

Save escort her to Helmsley herself, Luke forbore to point out, or allow her husband to do so. He downed the last sip of his wine, ready to take his ease in a comfortable bed. “What is it you want from me?” he demanded.

Sir Roger cast him an uneasy look. “I ask that you take Merry under your protection to Sir Christian’s keep,” came the predictable answer. “Certes, she is most safe under the royal banner, whereas I can only offer her meager protection.”

“Helmsley,” Luke ground out, with clear articulation, “lies south and east does it not? I go north and west to Iversly.” It was as polite a refusal as he could muster. “On the king’s command,” he reminded the older man.

Sir Roger shrugged. “Then I must admit that only three men-at-arms remain,” he said, confessing a shocking state of vulnerability. “I will not leave my wife to escort her daughter. Nor can I protect Merry if she remains. There are too many who would sooner enjoy the reward money than her company.”

The slight to Merry did not go unnoticed. Luke felt a spark of indignation on her behalf.

“Who will defend her,” he retorted, “if not her own family?”

Sir Roger looked away, acknowledging the question with proper shame. “My liege lord will protect her,” he promised, “when she is safely within his walls. You must take her with you wherever it is that you go—or no doubt, you are sentencing her to die. Perhaps, when you have finished with the king’s business, then you can take my stepdaughter to Helmsley.”

It was further insult to Merry, not only that her stepfather would not give her his full protection under his own roof, but also that he would send her away with an army of men—unchaperoned, like so much chattel.

Silence fell over the cozy chamber, interrupted only by the soft crackle from the brazier. Luke sat back, his gaze drifting over the simple furnishings, the serviceable tapestry, the clean rushes on the floor. He tried to understand what had happened in this tidy little stronghold to throw a family into turmoil. How had the middle child become so estranged that even her kin wished to wash their hands of her?

A sudden vision assailed him, reminding him that he’d once been in similar straights—an outcast among his mother’s people, the son of a crusader who’d gotten a Saracen woman with child. If not for the Norman grandfather who’d searched for Luke and found him, he would likely be living in Jerusalem still, stealing for a living. Or more likely, long since slain as a thief. In those hard times, his grandfather had been the only person to stretch out a welcoming hand. What a difference that kindness had made—taking him from street urchin to commander of forces for the King of England!

Knowing the transformation one person could make in the life of another, Luke realized he couldn’t turn his back, no matter the inconvenience. Merry was little different from the orphans he’d plucked from various villages throughout Europe since enjoying his own change in fortune. He would help her as he had helped them, thus keeping alive the spirit of hope his grandfather had inspired in him.

His grandfather, who at that moment, lay dying.

He raised his eyes to the man seated across from him. Sir Roger’s allegiance was to his overlord to whom he’d sent the better part of his army. His next concern was for his wife whose frailty he protected. ’Twas not weakness he displayed, after all, but faithfulness to duty. And duty, no matter how tormenting, was something Luke understood.

“Is Sir Christian presently at war?” he asked out of curiosity.

The knight shook his head. “He needed hands to rebuild Glenmyre, another of his strongholds.”

“Ah.” Luke felt beaten. Every muscle in his body ached with fatigue, so that he wanted nothing more than a pallet on which to lie. If, in order to gain a bed, it took his oath to escort Lady Merry to Helmsley, so be it

He thumped his palm on the table, causing Sir Roger to startle, his slinged arm flexing as though reaching for a sword.

“I’ll take her to Helmsley,” Luke growled, before pushing back his chair. He stood up abruptly, not caring if his actions were rude. This man had asked too much of him already and given him not a word of thanks for rescuing his stepdaughter.

Come to think of it, Merry hadn’t thanked him either.

Yet as Sir Roger led the way to the door, he did finally mutter a word of gratitude. Luke frowned as it seemed the man had shown appreciation only once he knew Merry would be off his hands by morning. Luke found himself wondering whether the Slayer would be equally reluctant to take the condemned heretic under his protection.

 

Sleep eluded him.

Staring at the canopy of the comfortable bed he’d been given, Luke fumed in silence. His body lay immobile, exhausted, yet his mind churned with resentment. Already, he was pressed for time, and against all belief, he would be delayed several more days. He had risked much to save the lady from the stake and still he was obliged to go farther out of his way on her behalf. Meanwhile, his ailing grandfather looked daily for his return.

He rolled to his side and punched up his pillow. A ribbon of moonlight slipped along the crack of his bed curtains, telling him the shutters at the window must have come ajar. Perhaps he would sleep better with the light blocked out.

Flinging back the linens, he shuffled toward the window, rushes crackling under his feet. Sure enough, one of the shutters had swung open. As he pushed it closed, a chilly gust blew across his chest, rousing him to full awareness. Pausing, and out of sheer habit, he scanned the walls and the rooftops below. Nothing amiss. He was about to latch the shutters when a movement close to the keep caught his eye.

Wedging one shoulder through the window slit, Luke peered down. His chamber, situated on the third level of the keep, offered a bird’s eye view of the stone walls below him. Something white was being lowered out the window directly beneath his. A rope, he guessed, watching its descent. Nay, it was a sheet.

Intrigued, he watched until it stopped, merely a few feet above the ground. Obviously, someone intended to leave the keep through the window. Recalling the reward for Merry’s capture, Luke’s pulse immediately accelerated. He stepped back from the window long enough to jam his feet into his boots and snatch up his sword.

Returning to the window, he wondered whether he should wait and watch, or hasten down the steps and confront her abductor. Confront, he decided, worried over Merry’s current condition. For certes, her assailant would have had to bind her tightly and gag her or knock her over the head to ensure her silence. Elsewise, how could anyone convey a wriggling woman down a length of knotted sheets?

Just as he was about to charge out of his room, a vision of two shapely legs, clad in boy’s braies, came out of the window below him. The sweetly shaped bottom that followed was unmistakable. A thousand possibilities sifted through his mind as Merry’s head and shoulders appeared with a bundle of sorts fastened around her neck and dangling beneath her left arm.

As she inched onto the length of improvised rope, it dawned on Luke that no villain was forcing Merry out the window. She was leaving voluntarily, in the most daring and foolhardy fashion possible.

With belated horror, he thought of the knots that might slip and the fabric that might tear. Merry hung two stories above the cobbled yard, sheets twitching below her like the tail of a cat. And thinking of a cat, he was certain he heard a muffled yowl coming from within her bundle.

On the point of calling out her name, he caught himself. Nay, he shouldn’t startle her at this juncture. Abandoning his room, he sped down a pitch-black hallway, slowing only to negotiate the steps that twisted to the lower levels. He would go to Merry’s chamber and pull the sheet up himself.

Locating her chamber, he grabbed for the latchstring and gave the door a shove, but it wouldn’t budge. She had secured it from the inside.

He would have to intercept her outside. Sharp fear raked his spine. What if she fell before he got there? Would he find her below with broken bones? Or worse—a cracked skull?

The image tormented him, making him reckless on the tower stairs, so that he nearly broke his own neck before bursting out of the keep.

Looking around, he caught his breath. God’s eye! He was on the wrong side of the building.

Sprinting to his left, Luke rounded the building and drew up short. To his dismay, the sheet dangled and drifted like a slender ghost, but there was no sign of Merry. His gaze scanned the yard. It was empty.

In the few seconds that he’d spent racing down the steps, she had either climbed back up or shimmied down and slipped into the night. He would wager it was the latter. Yet he could see no sign of her. Which way to pursue her?

Making his way across the courtyard, his breath seemingly loud in the silence, for the first time, he asked himself where the lady might be going. She’d told him once that she foraged for herbs by moonlight, but surely she wasn’t expanding her stores at this tenuous time of her life.

Instinct led him toward the keep’s exit. With caution his constant companion, he kept to the shadows, sensing danger in this midnight outing. Gooseflesh rippled across his bare chest, making him wish he’d paused to don a tunic, or at least his linen shirt.

In his gut, he knew Merry was running away. She hadn’t been happy to return to Heathersgill in the first place, and surely her mother’s wary welcome, not to mention her stepfather’s wish to have her removed quickly, had been a bitter disappointment.

Remembering her stricken look earlier, Luke took a sudden breath. Aye, she was running away, the daft fool! Where in God’s name did she think she could hide and be safe?

He ducked through the shadows of the inner bailey’s gate, not surprised to find it slightly ajar. He quickened his stride, intending to intercept her before she got too far. Abruptly, he halted.

Why should he go after her? For her sake, he was being asked to go to Helmsley. What if the Slayer were to reject her when they arrived? What would he do with Merry then?

Perhaps she had somewhere better to go. Perhaps she knew of a safer place outside the walls.

His wishful thoughts disintegrated in the face of reason. They were isolated in the Cleveland Hills with nary a neighbor for leagues in any direction. If she tried to live as a recluse, she would suffer from cold and starvation, subject to relentless hunts by those seeking the reward. And he had no doubt that eventually she would be caught.

An even more dreadful thought froze his blood: Mayhap she would take her own life before that. After all, she had expressed the wish to die.

Starting to move again, he was nearly at the main gate when the sound of voices had him ducking behind a wagon. Of the two wrangling tones, Merry’s belligerent words reached him clearly.

“Stand back, Edgar. I mean to leave.”

The gatekeeper responded with rough-timbered vehemence. “That’s right, yer leavin’. It were yer fault, witch, that I lost me only son. He died along wi’ the rest of ’em.”

“I didn’t kill your son.” This time Merry’s voice was pitched on a note of regret. “Sarah and I did our best to save the babes. ’Twas a sickness that took them.”

“Ye lie. I remember when ye put a curse on me—”

“That was for betraying my father!” Her pitch rose as sharply as it had fallen. “You bowed to Ferguson to save your miserable head. You betrayed my family—”

“And you took mine! I’ll turn you over to the Church and ne’er regret it.”

Deciding it was time to intervene, Luke rose from the shadows and reached the two in time to see Edgar grab Merry’s arm. Her cat leaped from the bundle in her arms with a yowl of alarm.

“Release her,” Luke commanded, bearing down on them. Too late, he spied the shiny reflection of a short blade in the gatekeeper’s hand.

“Stand back,” the gatekeeper growled, “or I’ll spill her bowels o’er the ground.” He pressed the knife to Merry’s midsection.

Reconsidering his approach, Luke protested, “We’ll get no coin for her dead, good man!”

“What?” Edgar sputtered.

“Aye, I’m after the reward, same as you.”

The gatekeeper glowered suspiciously. “But ye were the one what brought her here.”

“True,” Luke conceded. “I thought her family would pay to see her safely home, but they’ll not give me a penny for all my trouble.” He lowered his sword. “I’d as like give her over to the Church. At least they’ll pay.”

He heard Merry’s indrawn breath and knew a moment’s regret for this subterfuge that frightened her.

“Mayhap you and I might come to an understanding,” he proposed, keeping a sharp eye on Edgar’s expression.

“What do you mean?”

“If you disappear with the daughter of this house,” Luke reasoned, “your master will know you took her. You won’t be able to return. When I leave tomorrow, I’ll take her. I can hide her in a pack so none will be the wiser. I’ll give you thirty pence now and profit only ten.”

The gatekeeper screwed up his face. “Have you thirty pence with you?” he asked mistrustfully.

“In my chamber. I’ll fetch it straightaway. Come,” Luke urged, “you’ve nothing to lose. Cry foul on me tomorrow if I don’t pay you what I promise.”

“Cur!” Merry gritted suddenly. “I thought you were different!” She fought Edgar’s hold, unmindful of the blade gouging her belly.

Luke struggled to maintain a careless expression. “Lady,” he pretended to mock her, “I’m a mercenary by trade. You should know that I only work for coin—whether from the king or elsewise—and your family has offered me none.” He hoped she would recognize this as an outright lie, yet her face reflected only outrage.

He turned back to the gatekeeper. “Come, have we a deal? Thirty pence for you and ten for me.”

Edgar’s face twitched with greed. “Deal,” he said. “Go and get your coins. I’ll hold the witch till then.”

“If you prefer,” Luke shrugged. He put his sword in his left hand and extended the right one, as if ready for a deal-closing grasp. “I thank you for catching her,” he added with a congenial smile. “She nearly got away from me.”

Edgar fell into his trap. Dropping his weapon a notch, he reached for Luke’s handshake only to give a yelp as Luke yanked him away from Merry and slung him in an arc. Hitting the wall with a bone-jarring crunch, Edgar lost hold of his knife, which flew from his grasp and clattered to the flagstones.

“Hold this,” Luke requested, putting the hilt of his sword into Merry’s frozen hands. He pivoted just in time to meet the gatekeeper’s charge.

With a roar, Edgar barreled into Luke, sending both of them crashing to the opposite wall. Luke raised his arms above the man’s bearlike grip and brought them down hard, pounding Edgar to his knees. An upper cut to the jaw sent the gatekeeper reeling backward, where he slumped into a dead faint.

In the aftermath of the struggle, Luke paused to rub his aching knuckles. Then he squared his shoulders, feeling briefly for any cracked ribs and turned. To his consternation, he found himself staring at the point of his own weapon.

Merry held the sword before her, needing both hands to keep it aloft. The point of it was aimed squarely at Luke’s chin.

“There’s no need for that” he said.

She trembled so badly that moonlight danced on the tip of the blade. “I should kill you now,” she answered through her teeth.

He found her tense demeanor even more alarming. This was the Merry who wished she’d died upon the stake. This was the Merry who would’ve skewered herself with his sword if he hadn’t stopped her.

“What would that serve?” he inquired.

“’Twould rid the world of another war-loving brute,” she replied.

“Ah,” he said. “Well, kill me if you must. Yet there will be no one left to take you to Helmsley.”

The point of the broadsword wavered. “You said you were turning me in.”

He sighed. “You do not trust me even now, lady? Yet you know I am no mercenary.” He looked down at her from his tall vantage. “This night, I promised Sir Roger I would take you to Helmsley, and tomorrow, I will take you there.”

“I don’t want to go to Helmsley!” she wailed, lowering the sword until its point rested on the cobblestones. “I don’t wish to go anywhere but up into the hills to be left alone!”

His gaze fell to the bundle still secured beneath her arm. “You have what you need, then?” he inquired, dispassionately. “A heavy coat? Food enough to see you through the snows; a flint for starting fires, presuming you find wood. A bow and arrows for hunting, a sharp knife, a pot Let’s see, what have I forgotten?”

It was obvious that the bundle Merry carried held next to nothing, perhaps some food and a skin of wine. A hint of doubt creased her forehead.

At that moment, Kit melted out of the shadows and began winding himself around Luke’s feet.

“Ah, yes, the cat. You must have a cat,” he finished, dryly, stooping to pick up the stunned animal who remained rigid as he closed the distance between them and thrust it into her arms. At the same time, he smoothly exchanged Kit for his sword.

Brushing her slim, cold hands in the exchange, he was reminded how pleasant she’d felt between his thighs during the hours of riding. An impulse to grab her close and not let go seized him.

Ignoring it, he waved her toward the gate. “Go, then. Edgar isn’t going to stop you now.”

“What about you?” came her tremulous question.

“What about me?”

“Won’t you stop me?”

Strangely, it sounded more like a plea than anything else.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Nay, why would I? This will save me from having to go out of my way to Helmsley.” He felt rather cruel for pointing out that fact though it was blatantly true.

“Of course,” she said, and he watched her visage transform into a defiant, determined mask. “I thank you for removing Edgar from my path.”

As she took a step backward, he saw her wince. His gaze fell to the boots she wore, obviously donned to protect her burned soles. How far did she think she would get in such a sorry state? Uncertainty pinched him anew. Should he stop her?

Then reason re-asserted itself. He truly had no time to convey her to the Slayer’s castle, not when each passing day might make a difference in seeing his grandfather alive.

“I have to go before they find me missing.” She turned away and strode with an odd limping gait toward the outer bailey.

Without moving, Luke watched Merry put the cat down, apparently trusting it would stay close, and then begin to struggle with the heavy iron crossbar. At last, he went to help her, sliding the bar sideways and pulling the gate open himself.

She slipped through the opening without a sound, the cat at her feet.

Standing at the entrance, Luke watched her shape transform into a shadow as she descended the steep cart road. Instantly, he knew he wouldn’t sleep the remainder of the night, not while thinking of her stumbling about on the steep peak. Raking a hand through his hair, for the second time in a few minutes, he nearly stopped her by force. Wolves, no doubt, prowled the hills that she’d mentioned, and worse yet, rogues and thieves. And bounty hunters.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather live at Helmsley?” he called before he could hold his tongue.

The dark shadowy form paused. “No, Lord Luke, I would rather not,” she called back.

Yet still, he dreaded to hear of some ill fortune befalling her.

“Merry,” he called again, making her halt once more. He wished he could see her eyes or her mouth. “What of your other sister and your cousin in York?”

She hesitated then spoke again. “I know nothing of this cousin—my mother’s people, I believe. And my sister is but a child. Nay, I would not bring my troubles to her doorstep.”

Stubborn woman. Yet apparently she thought living in the the wilds was preferable to living with strangers in York or under the Slayer’s roof.

“If you change your mind,” he said, realizing that he hoped she would, “meet me along the cart road at dawn.” As far as he knew, it was the only way off the peak.

He thought he saw her nod. However, without response, she turned away and melted into the inky blackness.

Luke stared at the spot where she’d stood, struck by the guilt-ridden notion that he’d let her walk to her untimely death or, at best, a lifetime of persecution. From what he knew of her, she did not deserve either.

Cursing himself, he knew he’d been thinking selfishly, caring more about the nuisance of being delayed than of her life. His grandfather would be disappointed—of that, Luke was certain. Running a few yards into the dark, he called to her.

“Merry!” The wild, irregular hillside stood deserted. “Merry,” he yelled again. “Come back.”

Whether she heard him or not, he couldn’t tell. His own voice was all that returned, a mocking echo for having encouraged her.

Insects chirped in the tall grass. He stood many long moments, disgusted with himself.

Damnation. Yet she couldn’t have gone far. He would retrieve her still. Then the coy moon ducked behind a cloud, leaving the hills draped in preternatural darkness. Recalling the fate of the packhorse, he backed up to the gate again. The air outside the walls seemed sharply cold against his skin.

He was not equipped to chase after her, bare-chested and without a torch. In any case, she knew the terrain far better than he and could hide from him easily. Perhaps the fates were deciding for him. He walked slowly back toward the keep. Best to pretend ignorance of the entire matter of her disappearance and return to his bed. At dawn, he would be on his way, delayed no longer. If Merry’s family suffered for not knowing where the lady was, the fault lay with them for failing to look after her, he reasoned.

Entering the outer bailey, Luke fastened the gate, then changed his mind and left the crossbar unlatched should she return. Stepping over the still-unconscious Edgar, Luke retraced his steps but his progress seemed slow. He had always thought himself a man of integrity, but the bitter taste of self-disgust taunted him that he was nothing of the kind.

With leaden feet, he rounded the building, keeping his gaze averted, so as not to see the hanging sheets when he crossed the inner courtyard.

Once more in his room, he sat heavily upon the bed and kicked off his boots. Through the open window, the fickle moon came out of hiding then disappeared again. It seemed a symbol of Merry and the uncertainty that she would pass the night unharmed.

With a groan of exhaustion, he collapsed back onto the mattress, almost immediately lapsing into dreams filled with horrifying visions of Merry slipping down the hillside onto the rocks below. Several times, he awakened in sweat, jumping up to stalk to the window and look down at her makeshift rope, sick at heart to see it dangling still.

This is my penance, he reflected, for until this night, he’d never broken a vow.