"Too close and drawing closer,” Liam replied. “Yet, I wouldnae have thought he was already breathing down our necks."
"But he could be and she is walking toward him, isnae she?"
"So we had best nay just start bellowing her name,” Tait murmured as he joined Liam and Sigimor in continuing to follow her trail. “Might be why she isnae bawling like a lost lamb."
"Could be pure, stubborn pride, too,” Sigimor said. “I have watched her go the wrong way, turned her about, and had her try to convince me that was the way she wished to go if but for a wee moment. As we left the room at the inn, she turned left instead of right toward the stairs. When I pointed out the right way, she told me she was just satisfying her curiosity about how many rooms were on that floor.” He exchanged a brief grin with his companions. “Nay, she is lost and I fear she has wandered a long way refusing to admit it. I but hope that is the only problem."
Following Jolene's trail was not easy for she was obviously possessed of a light tread, leaving only the faintest sign of her passing when she left one at all. Time was slipping away and each minute that passed in which Jolene was not safe at his side, Sigimor felt his fear grow. There were other dangers out there beside Harold. He finally sent Liam to scout the area up ahead of them to be sure they were not walking into any trouble as they searched for her. Although it was somewhat satisfying to know his companions now shared his concern, Sigimor found little comfort in their increasingly grim expressions. He promised himself the privilege of lecturing Jolene until her head throbbed, then turned all his attention back to hunting her.
Jolene glanced up at the sky and inwardly cursed. The day was fading fast. All too soon the sun would be setting. Escaping into the dark would certainly make it difficult for Harold to chase her down. Unfortunately, it would also make it difficult for her. She had managed to get herself lost in the full light of day. She would have little chance of finding her way back to Sigimor in the dark. With her abominable sense of direction, she thought ruefully, she could end up in Wales.
The real trick would be getting away from a very alert Harold and his equally alert men. Jolene refused to think that it was impossible. All she needed was one small chance, one tiny miracle. Even if just Harold's two men were thoroughly distracted for a moment, escape might be possible. Then she could strike Harold with the rock tucked under her skirts and make a run for it. One thing she could do was run fast and she had the stamina to do so for a long time. Just one little chance, she silently prayed.
"The moment we return to Drumwich, we shall be married,” Harold said, watching her intently as he spoke.
Obviously her prayers were to go unanswered for the moment, Jolene thought. “You make a poor jest, Cousin."
"I ne'er jest and we are but distant cousins. It was not very hard to get a special dispensation since our blood ties are so very thin."
"And some bishop was so very greedy."
"Tsk, so little respect you have for our esteemed clergy. I but made a gift to the church out of gratitude for their help and understanding."
Jolene rolled her eyes, then scowled at him. “You are very free with coin that is not yours by right."
"I hold it and Drumwich, thus ‘tis all mine."
"It all belongs to Reynard, my brother's son, his heir."
"For now.” Harold took a drink from his wineskin and then offered it to Jolene.
Thirst overcame her urge to spurn his offer, but Jolene pointedly wiped clean the mouth of the wineskin before taking a drink. The way Harold narrowed his pale blue eyes told her she was stirring his formidable temper, but she doubted she could keep too firm a rein upon her tongue. Simply being so close to the man who had Peter's blood upon his hands roused her hate and anger to a near-feverish pitch. The knowledge that he would kill Reynard, too, if given the chance, and do so without remorse, only hardened those feelings.
"What do you mean by that?” She hated to ask, but felt compelled to as she handed his wineskin back to him.
"Such young children are very prone to dying, are they not?"
"You would actually stain your hands with the blood of an innocent, helpless child?"
"Not if I can help it. I was actually planning to have him proclaimed a bastard. Although I was willing to take the easier, swifter path, if the boy fell into my grasp, making him illegitimate will work as well."
"That would still leave you with nothing. You are not the next male in line."
"But I am named Peter's heir after Reynard."
For one brief, horrifying moment, Jolene thought he was telling her the truth, but then she saw how intently Harold watched her. He was waiting to see if she was fool enough to believe him. It was something he habitually did when he lied, something she had noticed years ago. She was disgusted with herself for forgetting that.
"Nay, Peter would ne'er have named you his heir,” she said firmly. “He would have hesitated to disrupt the proper line of succession, but, even if he had, he would ne'er have chosen you. If naught else, he ne'er fully trusted you. He would have chosen Roger whom he loved as a brother and trusted in all things."
When she saw the fury which darkened Harold's face and saw him slightly raise one fist, Jolene braced herself for a blow. It surprised her when he controlled that urge. Harold never resisted the urge to strike those who displeased him. In a strange way, Harold's newly acquired ability to control his fury made him seem all the more dangerous to her.
"Iwillhold Drumwich and Iwillhold you,” he said between tightly clenched teeth.
"Nay, you willneverhold me."
"I will marry you, securing my hold upon Drumwich, and I will bed you, thoroughly."
The very thought of Harold's bloodstained hands touching her made Jolene feel cold and ill. The way he flushed told her that she had done a poor job of keeping her revulsion hidden. He had to be mad to think she would submit herself to a man who had her brother's blood upon his hands and would be perfectly content to add her nephew's to that stain.
