“I am all atremble.”
“Soon you will be alldead.”
“You have gained a taste for killing men, have you?” He struck out at her, and his dark eyes widened slightly when she neatly blocked his swing.
“I have gained a taste for staying alive,” she said, keeping her voice low and calm and hiding the very real fear she felt.
“I approached you unarmed, my sword sheathed. I was not planning to kill you,” he said in a quiet voice, obviously trying to cajole her into surrendering.
“Mayhap you have no intention of killing me yourself, but you mean to take me to those who will.” She swiftly knocked aside another of his thrusts.
“You murdered a DeVeau, the one with the highest standing, and the king’s ear. I but mean to take you to face justice.”
“A DeVeau would not know justice if it grew legs, walked up to him, and spit in his eye.”
The man smiled, then attacked her with a vengeance. Gisele fought hard, struggling to remember every little thing Nigel had told her about what to watch for and how to strike back. She was just beginning to think she might have a chance, albeit a small one, of winning, when she felt a sharp, blinding pain in the back of her head. Gisele cried out and staggered from the force of the blow. Her sword fell from her hands as she reached up to clutch her head and stumbled to her knees. She cried out in pain as the man who had struck her from behind grabbed her roughly by the arm and yanked her to her feet.
“I was rather enjoying my little battle,” said her opponent as he picked up her sword.
“I could not believe my eyes when I came around the side of the hill and saw you fighting this bitch,” said the short, hulking man who held her captive.
“She was revealing some interesting skill. Someone has taught her well, Louis.”
“Probably that fool Scot she has been whoring for. You should have just killed her and been done with it, George.”
“I was told to find her, not execute her,” George said in a hard, cold voice. “If DeVeau wants her dead, let him get her blood on his own hands.”
“He will not be as soft of heart as you. She butchered his cousin.”
“Vachel hated his cousin Michael. His grief is born of the fact that, as long as she lives, he cannot claim his full inheritance as the next in line. And now they have to try to find someone else who can cuddle up to the king.”
“You should speak with more care, George. Vachel DeVeau deals harshly with those he believes are against him.”
“I shall be sweet of tongue and nature when I face him. Then I shall gather the bounty owed me and leave this cursed place.” He frowned at Gisele. “Where is the Scotsman?”
He no longer rides with me,” Gisele answered, praying that Nigel would now be left alone.
“Did you kill him, too?” grumbled Louis as he started to walk away from the hill, roughly dragging her along with him.
“I have never killed anyone,” she snapped, knowing that was not really the truth. The man she had killed to save Nigel’s life could well be a friend or kinsman of one of these men, though, and she decided it was a secret well kept.
“That is not the tale the DeVeaux tell.”
“And every word from their cold lips is the truth, is it? You are a greater fool than you look if you believe that.” She cursed in pain as he gave her arm a vicious yank.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of George frowning, his dark expression revealing all of his doubts. She wondered if she could find an ally there, then told herself not to foolishly raise her hopes. The man wanted the bounty offered for her, and although it might be simple avarice that drove him, he might also have a deep need for the coin—a need so desperate that he would be willing to sacrifice a life to get it. There was also the fact that anyone who helped her would be putting his own life at risk. There were not many people who would put their lives at risk for a woman they did not know, one who could be a murderer.
She studied the other men who waited by Louis’s and George’s horses. They were a hard-faced, rough looking group. Each one of them watched her with no hint of sympathy or discomfort upon their faces. Nigel had told her that she was pretty, but it was clear that she was not pretty enough to stir a softness in any of these men. There would be no help for her from that quarter.
“Do not try and plead your innocence with me,” snarled Louis as he grabbed a length of rope from his saddle and tied her hands securely behind her back. “I do not care whether you killed the bastard or not. Sir Vachel wants you, and I mean to give you to him,” he said, as he tossed her up into his saddle and mounted behind her.
“Sir Vachel obviously surrounds himself with witlessly obedient little serfs,” she murmured, then cried out in pain when he cuffed her on the side of the head, leaving her ears ringing.
“If you wish to plead, save the begging for his ears.”
“I would never give a DeVeau the pleasure of hearing me beg.”
“I begin to think you killed your husband by cutting him into little bloody pieces with your sharp tongue,” Louis muttered. “Best you keep silent now, woman. Vachel may want you alive, but he did not say you had to be hale and unhurt.”
