Like thunder rolling.
“What is your name, lass?” he asked.
She paused. “Annaleigh.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. “I told you not to help me, Annaleigh,” he muttered. “But you were gracious to do so. I cannot repay you for this.”
Annaleigh was surprised that he thanked her. She was certain he would tell her how angry he was that she’d ignored his wishes. “Ye can the next time ye see battle against the Scots,” she said. “Mayhap ye’ll remember a Scotswoman who showed ye mercy. Mayhap ye’ll show some of the same.”
“Doubtful,” he mumbled. “But I thank you, anyway.”
“Will ye tell me yer name?”
“War.”
“Yernameis War?”
He drew in a long, slow breath. “Ironic, is it not?” he muttered. “But that is my given name.”
“Heavens,” she said, more to herself. “Did yer parents hate ye, then?”
She said it before she even thought about what she was saying, which was a bad habit with her. But to her surprise, the knight snorted softly. “You will be astonished to know that they loved me very much,” he said. “My full name is Warwick. But I have gone by War my entire life.”
“’Twas a prophesy, yer name.”
“Are you a mystic, then?”
“Nay,” she said softly. “I canna divine the future. Sometimes I wish I could.”
“As do I, Annaleigh. As do I.”
There was something wistful in his tone. Perhaps even regretful. There were volumes of unspoken words in that short comment, perhaps referring to a life that had been hard earned and hard fought, a man with impeccable skills and breeding, now possibly to be cut short.
All because of her.
The guilt returned. Annaleigh came around the front of him, looking at him as he lay on the cold, damp earth. The way he was laying certainly couldn’t have been comfortable. His head in particular was on wet earth, mud in his hair and on the side of his face. Setting her basket down, she went around the back of him again and knelt by his head. Pulling off the shawl that was tied around her shoulders, a piece of soft lamb’s wool that she’d embroidered herself, she balled it up and gently lifted his head, slipping it underneath so he had something comfortable to rest his head on.
“There,” she murmured. “I canna do any more for ye, War, but mayhap that will help a little.”
He closed his eyes, feeling the softness and warmth against his cold and dirty cheek. “Once again, I am grateful for your kindness,” he muttered. “You did not have to.”
“I know. And that is why I did it.”
“I shall not forget it.”
Annaleigh was prevented from answering because she could hear men’s voices in the distance. Scot voices. They were coming closer. She knew enough about warfare to know that if they came into the thicket and found the English knight, they would kill him and, somehow, she didn’t want that to happen. Perhaps because she’d tried to help him, perhaps because she had caused all of this, she wasn’t certain her reasons.
All she knew was that she had to make sure they didn’t find him.
Grasping her basket, she trudged up the banks of the thicket, out into the meadow that was warming under the new morning sun. Immediately, she could see a group of Scotsmen, mostly looking at the dead around them, but when they saw her coming out of the trees, they shouted.
“Annie!” It was her brother, Robbie. “Where’d ye come from?”
Annaleigh gestured to the trees behind her. “Back there,” she said. “Ma told me tae look for wounded.”
She held up her basket, showing them that she was carrying bandages and such to tend to the Scots injured, and the men started heading in her direction.
“Did ye find any in there?” Robbie asked.
