For no doubt, Evangeline was gone. Ramsay could not discern any hint of Rufus’ party. Basilisk’s reins were trailing and caked with mud. The sun had risen an increment above the horizon, and it glinted off some token on the ground.
The ring.
’Twas the gold ring he had placed on Evangeline’s finger. Ramsay told himself to be glad that she was not struck down beside him. He tucked the ring into his purse, then realized that there was a small company of villagers watching him. The smith and the gatekeeper were amongst the party, though they looked disinclined to be of aid to him. They must have walked from the gate to investigate and now lingered some twenty paces away, watching.
He sat up, closed his eyes against the spinning of all around him, and there was a collective sigh of relief.
“Not dead then,” the smith said with satisfaction. At that, they surged forward to surround him, chattering advice. To hear so many voices at once did little good for Ramsay’s dizziness, but he learned a number of details in rapid succession.
“Fled to the south with your wife.”
“She went with him most willingly.”
“Nay! She went to keep the knight from killing him!”
Ramsay straightened at that.
“Aye, he meant to kill you when you could not defend yourself,” the smith said, shaking his head in disapproval. “His sword was on your chest, but your wife offered her all in exchange for your life.”
Aye, that would be Evangeline’s choice.
The smith’s brow darkened. “And he sliced open her belly before us all! I thought him a fiend beyond compare, but there was no child. Her belly was merely cloth.” He scowled at Ramsay. “You deceived me in this.”
“Aye, ’twas the lady’s notion,” Ramsay admitted. “She feared this lord’s pursuit of her and suggested the disguise.”
“But he recognized her nonetheless.”
“Because he saw her,” Ramsay said ruefully. “If we had departed before his arrival, you would have told him that there had been solely a smith and his pregnant wife in town last eve.”
The smith nodded. “And he would have ridden elsewhere. That is most clever.” He granted Ramsay a quelling glance. “Are you even wed to her?”
“I am. She is my lady wife.”
“And are you a smith?”
“I confess that I am not.” Ramsay realized belatedly that his crossbow was gone. A curse upon Rufus! He pushed to his feet, willing all to still around him, then bowed to the smith. “I am Sir Ramsay MacLaren, a knight, albeit one dressed humbly upon this quest to defend my lady.”
“’Tis like a tale,” one villager said to another, who nodded.
“A pursuit of justice,” agreed the second.
“It explains the horses,” the smith said wisely and they exchanged glances before turning to Ramsay again.
“What can we do to aid the course of justice?” asked the gatekeeper.
“That nobleman is Rufus Percival,” Ramsay felt compelled to explain. “Recently become Lord of Dunhaven. If you would thwart him, you should know that there may be a price.”
“Our lord counts Dunhaven among his allies,” the gatekeeper provided, and more than one villager took a step back.
Ramsay did not blame them for such a choice. He would not urge any soul to willingly make an enemy of Rufus Percival.
The smith, however, lifted his chin. “I will aid you, however I might,” he said, then gestured to Basilisk. “He injured the horses to make them flee and I cannot abide any man who would willfully hurt a steed, never mind one so wondrous as this pair.”
Ramsay turned at the smith’s gesture and realized Foudre was returning as well, though the stallion came at a walk, his manner wary. Ramsay lifted a hand and whistled. The dapple destrier’s ears flicked and he trotted to Ramsay with greater speed.
Ramsay’s saddlebag was yet tethered to the beast’s saddle, but he dug into it to find an apple. Foudre accepted this with apparent gratitude, while Basilisk snorted indignation. The smith chuckled as Ramsay gave the black destrier an apple as well, and Ramsay was relieved that his fingers survived the transaction intact.
The smith, meanwhile, was examining the horses’ wounds. “I have an unguent that will help this heal,” he said. “The cut is not as deep as it could have been, though I would prefer to stitch the skin.”
