She grinned shyly and threw a piece of bark at him. Hit in the head, he brushed at his hair while she continued to pelt him. With a good-natured scowl, he moved out of her firing range.
“Aren’t you hot in that armor?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I do not notice it. It is a part of me.”
“It looks terribly uncomfortable,” she remarked. “Why do not you remove it and go swimming? Unless, of course, you are afraid of the water like your fellow knight.”
Arik made a wry face. “We have been through this once before, I believe. I do not swim.”
She giggled, but as she relaxed, she suddenly realized how very tired she was. Swimming suddenly lost its appeal and the thick humidity seemed more cloying than ever. Strange that all of a sudden she should feel so terrible. She shifted uncomfortably, aware that she suddenly had to relieve herself badly.
“Arik, I think I shall return to the keep,” she said. “I am tired.”
He looked concerned. “Are you feeling poorly?”
“Just tired,” she repeated, not sure if Gaston had disclosed their secret to his second. Unless he mentioned it, she was not going to offer any information.
“I shall escort you,” he stood up, pulling her gently to her feet.
“No need, Arik, truly,” she insisted. “I can walk through the trees and up the road all by myself. Truly.”
He saw her jesting with him and shook his head. “Not a chance, my lady. Were you to trip and fall or should some other accident befall you, Gaston would skin me alive.”
She merely shook her head. He followed her from the tree as she passed by the lake, calling to her sisters as she went. The more she walked, the more fatigued she became until Arik was practically pulling her up the slope that led to Mt. Holyoak. He insisted strongly on carrying her, but she waved him off. In fact, she nearly had to beat him away and was glad when they passed under the razor-sharp teeth of the portcullis.
He saw her safely inside the castle before returning to the group on the lake.
*
Remington had fallenasleep, a weary sleep that was heavy. She failed to hear the warning horns on the top of the wall, or the shouts of the soldiers as they assembled hastily and rushed out of the castle. She did not know anything was amiss until Eudora woke her in a panic.
Disoriented, she blinked the sleep from her eyes and noticed the sun was nearly set. The old woman’s fear ignited a panic of her own, and Eudora could barely speak through her crying. She had to slap the old woman to her senses to understand what she was trying to tell her.
She understood two words. Attack and death?
Death! Remington bolted from the room, rushing past her empty sister’s bedchambers and taking the stairs far too quickly. Fear and apprehension gripped her like a vise as she hit the lower floor corridor that led to the bailey. Her mind was a fog of incoherent thought; she could neither form nor speak a rational idea. All she knew was that something terrible had happened, and she had to find out what it was. Who it was who had died?
The inner bailey was a hive of agitated activity. There were soldiers on horseback racing across the drawbridge and still more soldiers mobilizing into ground troops. Remington searched for a familiar face, any face among the mail and steel of the troops, and was seized with terror to see Skye and Jasmine being helped toward her by Sir Roald and another knight. She leapt from the stairs to confront them.
“What happened?” she demanded severely.
Skye was hysterical and Jasmine was close to swooning. Before Remington could ask again, Sir Roald answered her.
“An ambush at the lake, my lady,” he replied, his lips white with emotion. “Sir Arik was killed! And your sister, Rory….”
His voice trailed away and Remington knew without being told that her sister was dead. Dear God, she knew. Her head began to swim as she spun away from him, searching frantically for her sister and Arik among the sea of men.
They were on litters not 10 feet from her; she had been so busy skimming the crowd that she had failed to look to the ground. With a stifled cry, she pushed forward through the knights and men until she reached the bodies. Dizzy with anguish, she nearly pitched forward onto Arik’s still from, but strong hands steadied her from behind.
Arik had three arrows protruding out of him, one in the neck, one in the chest, and one in his thigh. Remington stood over him, not believing what she was seeing. His handsome face waspeaceful in death. Her vision began to blur; she had just been speaking with him. How could he be dead?How?
Tears fell on his armor as she knelt beside him, taking his cold hand into her own. Gaston’s friend, her friend! He was dead. Grief crept up on her like an unwelcome tide, but she fought it.
She had to remain strong, at least for the moment. Her shock was still too great to allow the grief to overtake her, and when her eyes settled on Rory’s body not three feet away, rivers of tears fell on Arik’s armor.
She was frozen for a moment, unable to do anything but crouch beside Arik and hold his lifeless hand as she stared at her dead sister. Around her, the bailey had quieted somewhat, attention moved to her as she dealt with the deaths. Respectfully, the soldiers backed off and allowed her a moment of semi-privacy.
Woodenly, she stood and staggered to a spot between the two bodies. Rory, her fire-colored hair spread gloriously, looked as if she was sleeping. She could see a huge red stain in the middle of her torso, but a discreet soldier had long removed the arrow. ’Twas one thing to see a knight with arrows piercing his body; ’twas another to see a horrible projectile jutting from a young lady’s delicate chest.
