“My wife feels the first pains.”
“Ah! She could linger here, if you so desire.”
“I might do as much but she will not.” Ramsay dropped his voice to a whisper, even as Hugues raced about the space, ensuring all was prepared for their departure. “She wishes to be with her mother.”
“Ah,” the smith had time to say before Evangeline revealed herself. She waddled toward the door, puffing and holding her false belly with both hands, striving to make her determination clear in her expression.
“We must leave immediately, husband. We must reach my mother’s abode within hours or I fear ’twill be too late.”
Ramsay was solicitous then, taking her elbow to aid her. “But my love, you might rest here, without a ride. We could journey to your mother after the babe arrives.”
Evangeline interrupted him with a wail of anguish. “I should never have believed you! I should never have left my mother’s home! I should never have listened to your counsel that there was time aplenty. My child will be born far from any familiar kindliness and I may be lost myself without my mother’s aid.” She seized his sleeve, hauling him closer and dropped her voice to a growl. “And I will blame you, Didier. I will ensure that you pay dearly for your betrayal of me and your unborn child if you do not ensure that my mother’s hands are the first my child feels upon his skin.”
Ramsay looked suitably shocked by this pledge, or perhaps ’twas that she had chosen such a name for him.
“My mother warned me of your glib words and your charm,” she muttered, making a steady course toward Basilisk, Anna on one side and Ramsay on the other.
“Do you not think a cart might be a wiser choice?” the smith dared to suggest but Evangeline snarled at him.
“A cart? Do you think I am a sow being dragged to market? And what a slow pace a cart will make when I can ride with speed instead.”
“But the babe…” the smith said.
“Is a stalwart child, I know it well. His lineage is mine own, and we, we of Wooler village are of robust stock, to be sure.”
“Wooler village?” The smith’s brows rose in surprise and relief. “Why, you might make Wooler before midday. ’Tis not so very distant on the northern road.”
“Praise be,” Ramsay declared, then lifted Evangeline to her saddle. She struggled against her smile as he feigned difficulty in hefting her so high, all for the benefit of the watchful smith. “You see, all will be well, my dear.”
“It had best be, husband, or your future will be grim.”
Ramsay spun to the smith who was opening the door for them. “I shall accompany you to the gates, for I know the keeper. He will unlock them immediately at my request, I am certain, once he sees the urgency of the matter.”
“I thank you!” Ramsay said, apparently with heartfelt relief. Evangeline saw him press another of the silver pennies into the smith’s palm. “I cannot express my gratitude for your aid.”
“Those of our trade must defend each other,” the smith said, even as the coin vanished from view. He turned to Evangeline with an encouraging smile. “Come, mistress, we will shortly see you on your way to your mother’s home and all will be well. I will ask my wife to pray for you this day, to be sure.”
They were away from the smith’s stable then, even as the shadows clung to the alleys of the village. Evangeline heard a shout from the south gates but dared not even glance that way.
Nay, for she recognized the voice that made imperious command for entry.
Rufus himself had come for her.
She said a prayer herself, moaning a little as she strove to prompt the smith to a quicker pace. They could not depart from this village soon enough.
* * *
’Twas no good.
Rufus was too close and Ramsay knew he could not be evaded for long. Even if they rode out the north gates, Rufus would be fast behind them. They could not evade him beyond mid-morning—and perhaps not even that long.
But what alternative had they, other than disguise and flight? The gatekeeper opened the locked portal at the smith’s encouragement—and the surrender of another silver penny—but Ramsay’s heart sank at the sight before them. The road was unobstructed as nigh far as he could see: even the small cluster of trees that might grant shelter was a goodly distance away. They could not make it without being spotted by the pursuing party. Ramsay could see a curl of smoke rising from the next village. Tilled fields radiated from this settlement, their crops no higher than his knees in this season.
They were doomed.
Nay. Ramsay would not believe it. How many times had the tide changed in a tourney when he expected certain failure? He would not despair, not yet.
He inclined his head to the gatekeeper and thanked the smith once again as he led their small party through the gates. “Come, wife!” he said to Evangeline, interrupting her complaints. “Your mother surely awaits us!”
