Ignoring his snide tone, she nodded. “Aye—my father.”
“He has taken the side of the English, has he?”
“Nay. He takes no side in this war.”
“Is he a Scotsmon?”
“Aye.”
“Then if he isnae fighting with the English what is he doing in England?”
“There is more wealth here, more coin which may be earned or slyly tricked away from its owner. True, ’tis held tightly in but a few hands, most people being too poor even to feed their families. Howbeit, if the coin is there, Papa can find it.”
“Ye became separated when the battle began?”
“Nay. He set off just before the attack.” She told him about the shepherd. “Father wished to ken exactly which army marched our way. He didnae return ere the attack began.”
“Weel, he willnae return now if he still lives. He can only be seen as an enemy if he approaches.”
Jennet sighed and nodded. She prayed her father was alive, that they would simply be apart for a while. It would be a cruel twist of fate if, when she held such joy in one hand through the discovery that Hacon was alive, she should be delivered only sorrow in the other through the death of her father. She fought to push aside all thought of such a possibility. Her father was simply hiding for his own safety. Once it was safe, he would find her again. As they neared the village she struggled to believe that, to banish all doubt.
“They were here,” Hacon muttered as he sat on the threshold of the stone cottage that Dugald had claimed for them.
Leaning against the low, sturdy door frame, Dugald frowned. “’Twould appear they were, even though the name we were given isnae the right one.”
“Ye have let your French lag sorely, cousin. Artos de Nullepart means Artair of Nowhere.” He smiled faintly when Dugald cursed, then gave a reluctant laugh. “I have no doubt that Artos de Nullepart is Artair Graeme. Such a game would explain how he can move so freely from Scotland to England and back again. Such a rogue. I ache to meet him.”
“So, they were here. Where, then, did they go?”
“I wish I could say. No one has seen him or Jennet since the alarum was sounded. One mon swore he saw Artair heading toward our army, but none of our men recalls seeing him. And why would he leave alone? What of Jennet?”
“Neither is amongst the dead.”
“True. There is comfort in that. They must be hiding somewhere, waiting until we leave.”
“Aye, but where to look?” Dugald ran a hand through his hair and scowled out at the quieting village.
“I dinnae ken where to start. They could be anywhere. I have our men looking, but the sun will soon set, ending the search.”
“And come dawn, we march toward York.”
Hacon nodded and muttered a curse. “And we must go with the Douglas. If naught else, ’twould be too dangerous to linger here once the strength of the army has been taken away.”
“Then ye must leave word with the people here. They will tell Jennet ye are alive and searching for her.”
“Which could cause her a wealth of trouble. After this they willnae look kindly upon one who is wed to one of us. They will turn their fury and hate upon her and her father. I am certain of it. I would make the mon who found her a verra wealthy mon,” he vowed. “I would give him every farthing I have if it was needed.”
“Weel, ready your purse,” drawled Dugald.
“What? What say you?”
“Look there.” Dugald pointed to a couple slowly walking toward them.
“Jennet,” Hacon whispered, slowly standing up. “’Tis truly her.”
“Aye, and with a mon who willnae hesitate to accept any coin ye mean to toss his way,” Dugald said.
“I would willingly give him all I own,” Hacon replied, not truly heeding his own words.
