William drummed his fingers restlessly against his thigh. “LeClerc might suspect a trap, or a delay, or a feint to draw attention away from battle plans. He might not come.”
“He’ll come.”
Dominic could almost feel the temperature drop as he neared the Scots border, and he cursed the French king for making this move so close to November. It was his first time in the North. Taken in all, he thought, looking around at the forbidding landscape, he preferred Wales.
Though it was clear, the wind was biting and cold and he hoped there wasn’t snow in that threat. He and Harrington had ridden to the market town of Rothbury the day before and spent the night in a soot-heavy inn with bad food and worse beds. It was eighteen miles from Rothbury to Windy Gyle peak, and they moved warily through the unwelcoming terrain. He and Harrington were both dressed plainly and wore no armour. But his trust did not extend to traveling unarmed. Not even a merchant would do that in this country.
Harrington was a comfortable companion in silence. Dominic knew that the big man was scanning the horizon as well, eyes roaming ceaselessly over the hills with their folds and deceptive cuts. The Salter Road that they were on was a common trade route, but they saw no one. Not even a sheep or cow.
They approached the cairn from the south, the horses picking their way slowly up the treeless slope. After a careful circuit of the tumbled stone, Dominic was satisfied they had arrived before Renaud. He set Harrington to watch the south and west, and walked his own horse to the north, from where Renaud would arrive. He was already beginning to regret choosing this spot, for Windy Gyle more than lived up to its name; the gusts seemed to come from nowhere, a cold bite to the wind that spoke not only of winter but of violence.
It was a testament to Renaud’s skill that he got closer than anyone else would have before Dominic saw him. He, too, had a single companion with him, and they appeared out of one of the folds in the hills just close enough for Dominic to recognize the horsemen. Renaud had started up the last push to the summit, his man riding behind, when he raised one hand to Dominic in greeting.
That was the moment the arrow flew.
It struck Renaud in the back, with enough force to throw him sideways off his horse. Dominic was off his own mount in an instant, scrambling headlong down the steep slope, without ever pausing to wonder if more arrows were on their way. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement—another horseman fleeing back into the Cheviot Hills.
Renaud lay on his side, the arrow—with deadly accuracy—driven through his cloak and into his leather jerkin. Before Dominic could kneel and see the damage, he found himself at the end of a sword.
The steel blade wavered slightly in the hand of Renaud’s squire. Dominic stood absolutely still and looked into the young man’s face—equal parts outraged and terrified.
With exaggerated care, Dominic spread his hands wide and raised them. “It wasn’t us.”
“Where’s your companion?”
“Coming down the slope.” Dominic could hear Harrington behind him. “The arrow came from below; I saw the movement of a horseman who is no doubt getting away as we speak. Let Harrington go after him.”
The boy—for he could not be more than sixteen—licked his lips, looking from Dominic to his fallen commander. He nodded once and Harrington was gone in an instant. Then the squire lowered his sword and said, his voice trembling, “Is he…”
Dominic was on his knees, frantically loosening the cloak and jerkin. What he saw beneath made him breathe out in relief. Beneath his unobtrusive clothing, Renaud wore a breastplate of plate armour.
Renaud had been stunned by the fall, but now he swore loudly and inventively in both French and English as Dominic helped him sit up. They disentangled the arrow from the fabric it had gone through and Renaud studied it closely. “Recognize it?” he asked.
Dominic didn’t expect to. This bore all the hallmarks of an assassination, which meant anonymity.
Renaud’s face was the grimmest Dominic had ever seen. “Is this why you asked me to come?” he asked accusingly. “Because you meant violence?”
“You know me better than that.”
“Do I?” Renaud got to his feet, grimacing at what would no doubt be a wicked bruise. “At least I know negotiating is not on the table.”
“Apparently not.”
They were still standing there, glaring at each other, two soldiers trying to work out the lethal labyrinth of politics behind each one of them, when Harrington returned. Renaud’s squire raised his sword in reflex, but Renaud stopped him.
“Any luck?” Dominic asked.
Harrington shook his head. “Whoever’s out there knows his business. He could go to ground in any one of a dozen small valleys. If we had twenty men, we could flush him out. But the four of us alone—and one of us the target—it would take a stroke of luck to stumble over him without getting killed in the process.”
Dominic studied the furrows and crinkles of the Cheviot Hills, considering. Though part of him was straining like a greyhound, desperate to lay hands on the man who had torn through Renaud’s cloak with one expert arrow, he knew Harrington was right. They might never find the assailant. And as much as Dominic wanted the archer, he wanted the man who had sent him even more. He had the beginnings of an idea, a faint churning in his chest that he was desperate to disprove.
“You’d better go,” he said abruptly to Renaud. “I think you’ll be let through to your men, now that we are both on guard.”
“I think so, too. Are you sure, Dominic, that I was the only target today?”
He wasn’t sure of anything, except that he had some burning questions to pose once he got back across the border.
Renaud shrugged. “At the least I can give you my message. We French don’t want war, at least not this winter. The battle with the border forces was meant as a warning. Word leaked of your meeting with the Spanish ambassador this summer, and my king was extremely displeased with the implications. Go back to your own king and tell him that our treaty holds—for now. But he should be wary of provoking further displeasure.”
