Chapter 12
Following a hasty, cold breakfast, the men all struck the camp, again following Rafe’s instructions for how to do so.
“Next time,” he said, “you’ll only get half as much time to do it. In an army, you’d all fail.”
“Everyone starts somewhere,” Simon retorted cheerfully. “At least we’re getting experience. Though I hope we don’t have to camp again soon. I think I slept on a rock.”
“Trust me, that’s not the worst thing that will happen to you,” Rafe said.
As he spoke, he caught sight of Angelet a little ways away. She gave him a subtle smile, and he had to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. Lord, that woman grew more alluring every time he saw her.
“Nun,” he reminded himself.
He directed the packing up of the cortège, finally understanding how a sergeant felt. The other men were learning, and by the end of the journey, they would be considerably more seasoned at this sort of thing.
They continued north along the road, the men still in a good mood. They laughed and exchanged jokes about the betting of the previous night. Laurence was down several coins, and demanded a rematch at the next opportunity.
Rafe listened to the banter, but didn’t join in. The sensation of being watched was still with him, an almost palpable creep along his spine. He looked behind him, seeing nothing unusual.
An hour passed with no hint of danger greater than a fox dashing across the road. Rafe rode up to Angelet’s carriage. “Need a break, my lady?” he asked. “It’s about time.”
“That would be appreciated,” she replied, with a look toward Bethany, who agreed heartily.
Rafe signaled the men that the cortège would stop briefly. “Stretch out. But stay close. We’ll be moving soon!”
After it slowed to a halt, he opened the door of Angelet’s carriage. He helped Bethany step down, then offered a hand to Angelet.
At that moment, Simon gave a shout of warning. Rafe looked to see a number of men rushing toward them from the direction they’d come.
“Damn it,” he swore. There was nothing friendly in the mood of the approaching group. Fifteen men? Twenty? This was going to be bad.
“What is it?” Angelet asked.
“Get back. And stay down!” Rafe pushed Angelet back into the carriage, and wheeled about. Hell, he knew something wasn’t right all day, yet he disregarded all the warnings.
The approaching group split into two, some mounted, some on foot. One second later, all turned to chaos. Simon and Marcus rushed toward the largest group of attackers with swords drawn. Angelet had, thank God, withdrawn into the interior of her carriage. The maid Bethany, however, was still outside of it, shrieking and pointing seemingly at random.
“Bethany!” he shouted.
She paid no heed.
Rafe rushed up and grabbed her by the shoulder. She squealed in surprise and whipped a knife upward.
He blocked it by instinct, striking her arm. The knife fell to the ground.
“Oh, God!” Her eyes widened. “I thought you were one of…never mind.”
“Pick up the knife. Get into the carriage with Lady Angelet. It will be safer. Go.”
He turned away, hoping she’d follow his instructions.
Rafe couldn’t spare the women another glance for the moment, because a big man with a missing eye was charging directly at him, wielding a short, wide sword. The man used it like a scythe, making huge swings to clear his path. Anyone who could rush away did.
By contrast, Rafe stood his ground, despite the natural fear that always flooded through him before a battle. He’d been in this position many times, probably more than any other man in the fray. He flexed his sword arm, taking a deep breath.
When Rafe fought, he felt a sense of calm come over him, despite the madness and the desperation in so much of what happened. He was himself when he was on a battlefield. He understood exactly what was required of him, and he knew just how to move. He knew what to look for when it came to exploiting his opponents’ weaknesses. He spun, struck, and parried almost on instinct, relying on his reflexes and his intense training to protect him.
This fight was no different.
Rafe stepped forward to engage the man just at the right moment to put the other off his timing. Rafe blocked several wild swings with small, precise shifts of his position. No need to waste energy. He kept his gaze locked on his opponent, already seeing patterns, guessing the man’s next moves.
His opportunity came a second later. His opponent hacked with his blade and overbalanced. Rafe grabbed the other’s arm, and swung his own sword upward in a deadly, controlled movement.
The tip of the sword hit just above the man’s breastplate, sinking into the exposed flesh. Rafe was in no mood to be merciful, so he twisted the blade, hard.
The man’s eyes widened and he gurgled something as his body jerked violently on the end of the sword. Rafe pulled his sword free, and the man crumpled to the ground.
Rafe whirled around, looking for the next fight.
The next fight was easy to find, since the whole scene was now swarming with assailants. Rafe jumped at the nearest one, dispatching him after only a few moments. It was not a fair fight. Rafe was just too skilled at hand-to-hand combat.
Rafe knocked the man’s dagger out of his hand, then kicked it away. “If you want to live, lie flat on your belly.” What Rafe desperately needed was information.
Instead of obeying, the man sprang like a cat toward Rafe, as if he intended to take him down. But Rafe was ready and slashed the man’s chest with his sword, going for a killing stroke.
The man fell in mid leap, crumpling into a pile of loose limbs and dirty clothing. Rafe leaned down to yank the man’s shoulder, turning him over slightly.
A blank-faced stare greeted him, with no hint of who or what this man was. A quick perusal of the corpse showed that he was dressed much like any common man in the area—sturdy but heavily patched hose, and a tunic in a faded green color, along with a newer capuchin with a darker green dye. The dagger was plain but well cared-for, the edge viciously sharp. Rafe leaned over to pick it up.
He glanced up again, taking in the skirmish. Simon and Laurence were fighting back to back as they confronted a group of assailants. They appeared to be doing well, in the sense that they were still alive, but Rafe didn’t wait any longer.
He charged toward the group, smashing into the ring of attackers and breaking their formation with a few well-chosen swings of his sword. One man clutched his bleeding arm, falling to his knees. Another fell dead.
“Everyone halt!” a new voice yelled. “Or I’ll spill this one’s blood all over the road.”
Rafe looked to the sound. A huge man held Bethany up. The petite woman was actually dangling in the air.
She whimpered, but was otherwise still.
“There’s treasure in one of these carts,” the big man went on. “And I want it. Show me where it is, or I’ll slit her throat.”
No one spoke for a moment. The attackers were waiting to hear where the chest was. The defenders were all staring at Rafe, waiting for him to make the fateful decision of whether to save Bethany’s life and give up the gold, or refuse the offer.
Why was this his choice? Rafe groaned inwardly. This was exactly why he avoided command. Fighting was one thing, but giving orders always led to a situation like this, where lives lay in his extremely fallible hands.
Rafe had a duty to protect both the money and Angelet. But allowing Bethany to die would be unconscionable.
He took a breath, prepared to order his men to stand down.
Then a clear voice broke the silence. “Let her go. I’ll show you where the chest is.”
Angelet stepped from the carriage, astonishing in her gown and the moonstone necklace and her silvery-blonde hair falling loose around her shoulders. How had she managed it? In that moment, she could have claimed fey ancestry and Rafe would have believed it.
The big man seemed to forget everything when he saw her, and unceremoniously dropped Bethany to the ground, where she lay groaning in pain.
“You’re the lady,” the big man said, as if he’d never seen a lady before.
“I’m Angelet d’Hiver, and I will give you the chest. But you must not harm anyone else.”
The big man glanced around the clearing, obviously judging his odds. Then he nodded. “Where’s the chest?”
Angelet pointed to the food wagon. “That cart. It’s hidden under the straw at the front. You’ll need two or three men to carry it.”
The big man grinned and ordered a few of his underlings to uncover the chest. He stayed near Angelet, his axe at the ready.
Rafe narrowed his eyes, sensing exactly what was going on in the other’s thoughts. The man wasn’t going to let Angelet go free. He would use her as a hostage as soon as he had the chest. Rafe started to shift his position, to be ready to rush over to Angelet. If only she’d stayed hidden!
Meanwhile, two of the attackers had uncovered the chest, and with shouts of triumph, they began to wrestle it out of the cart.
Several of the attackers began to grin, pleased with the imminent payday.
Rafe shook his head. So much for making a fresh start. No one would hire them for another job like this. Apparently, Simon had come to the same conclusion, watching in chagrin as the chest was hauled up to be taken away.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Simon muttered. Without warning, the younger man whipped a small dagger through the air at one of the men carrying the chest. Simon’s aim was true, and the blade sank into the man’s hamstring.
He howled with pain, and his whole body jerked. He didn’t just lose his grip on the chest. He flung his arm upward, driven by a sudden rush of energy in reaction to the pain. The chest half flew out of his hands.
The other handler lost control as the weight all shifted to him. He cried out, jumping away before the heavy chest could fall and crush his feet.
A fraction of a second later, the chest was loose, spinning oddly. It hovered in the air for a breathless moment.
Everyone watched, mesmerized.
Then the chest fell, hit the rocky ground, and cracked open with a sound of splintering wood. Time seemed to slow as they all waited for the inevitable scattering of gold and silver on the earth. Then it would be chaos as all the men looked out for themselves and scrambled to take what they could.
The chest rotated once more, one corner hitting the ground. The lid separated from the chest, and the contents spilled out. Rafe heard the shout of one of the soldiers.
But there was no glint of metal. Only strange dull pebbles flew through the air. Then Rafe gasped, realizing that was exactly what they were. Ordinary pebbles, stones scooped up from the dirt.
They had been guarding worthless rocks. There wasn’t an ounce of gold in the chest.