Gisele opened her mouth to say something, caught sight of George shaking his head, and decided to shut up. Speaking her mind might ease the fear and anger churning inside of her, but it would do her no good to arrive at Sir Vachel’s manse beaten senseless. Not only would it mean that she would be unable to try to talk her way out of trouble, but she could miss some small chance to escape or be too weak to take advantage of one. She knew she could also be riding to her death, but she decided that, too, would be better met with a clear head. Dragged before her enemy beaten and mute, too weak to even mutter some last words as he cut her down, would not be a dignified way to die.
They crossed the fields, rode past a thick clump of trees, and there before them was a grand keep, its walls thick and tall and very imposing. Gisele inwardly cursed. It looked as if she had just about ridden up to Sir Vachel’s gates. If she survived this catastrophe she was going to have to learn how to find her way, at least learn enough to know where not to go. She now saw that she had been a fool to let her raw emotions drive her away from Nigel and his protection, and it had been pure insanity to go off on her own when she had such a true skill for getting lost.
“When we first saw you riding so brazenly across Sir Vachel’s fields, we had thought that you had come to surrender yourself,” said George.
“And steal away your chance to gather some blood-money?” she replied, her fury at her own stupidity roughening her voice.
George just lifted one eyebrow and stared at her for a moment before saying, “It seemed the only explanation for you to come so close after having stayed free and hidden for a year.”
There was a hint of admiration in his deep voice, but Gisele was too heartsick to be flattered by it. “Well, I have another explanation. It would be nice if it stole away some of the glory you may think you have gained by capturing this desperate killer, but it will probably just make me look witless. I got lost.” She shrugged when his eyes widened in surprise.
“You got lost?”
“I got lost.” She stared up at the huge, iron-studded gates they were about to ride through. “Very, very lost,” she whispered.
She prayed that Nigel was not hunting her, that he had found her gone and decided to just go home. He had pledged to protect her and he was a man who took such things very seriously, but she was sure she had deeply offended him by slipping away in the dead of night without a word. She prayed that his sense of outrage would force him to give up on her. This keep was sturdy and well-manned. If he tried to pull her out of the trap she had ridden into, he could easily get himself killed. Gisele felt certain that she would soon be dead, and the last thing she wanted to face as she died was the knowledge that her stupidity had also gotten Nigel killed.
Nigel stared out over the fields and scowled. Such open ground made him uneasy, but he had clearly not made Gisele aware of its dangers. He looked back down at the churned up earth and cursed. Something had taken place here, and he had the sick feeling that some disaster had befallen Gisele.
He had followed her trail to this spot, easily seeing her horse’s distinctive hoofmarks upon the ground. At some time, he mused, he ought to go and give the blacksmith who had shod the animal with a scarred shoe a little gift. The fact that one of Gisele’s horse’s hooves left a mark distinguished by a little slash resembling a lightning bolt had made tracking her almost embarrassingly simple. If he got her out of whatever trouble she was in, he might have to fix that, however. If he recognized it as hers and could follow it so easily, so could someone else.
Dismounting, he studied the signs upon the ground more carefully. Tugging his horse after him he walked into the wood, following her trail straight to the little mound Gisele had tried to shelter behind. There he saw the clear signs of a battle. His brief alarm eased when he saw no blood, but he knew she was not safe. Two men had been with her. She had been taken, but she had been taken alive. He just wished he knew when, and if she were still alive. Where they had taken her would be easy to find out, for they had taken her horse, as well. All he had to do was follow the trail.
Just thinking that Gisele might be dead, that the DeVeaux might have won, sent shivers down Nigel’s spine. He felt the chill of that thought deep in his heart. He could not believe God would allow such an injustice, and he clung to that thought. God and luck had kept that girl alive for a year despite so many people searching for her. It had to keep her alive a little longer, just long enough for him to pull her out of the danger she was in. Any other possibility was simply unthinkable.
After taking a deep breath to calm himself, Nigel returned to reading the signs. By the time he found himself back at the top of the little hillock overlooking the fields, he was sure of what had happened. His unease with open ground had been justified, for as Gisele had sat here, clear for all to see, the DeVeaux had spotted her. She had then been chased and finally captured in the wood where she had tried to seek shelter. The DeVeaux had next ridden out over the fields, someone pulling her horse after theirs.
The fields below him were even more dangerously open than the little hillock. It would be quicker and easier if he directly followed their trail, but it would also expose him to the same fate that had befallen Gisele. The DeVeaux knew she had a companion, a Scot riding at her side. They might still be looking for him. Even standing there in full view upon the mossy hillock while he pondered what to do was putting him at risk.
He hurriedly moved toward the high hedgerows that encircled the fields. They would provide some cover. Nigel decided he would follow them around until he picked up his quarry’s trail again. It was hard, but he moved slowly, ambling along and leading his horse as if he were in no hurry, were just some traveler courteous enough not to take the straightest route and damage a newly planted crop.
As he had begun his search for Gisele he had been torn two ways. She had left him, willingly and stealthily in the middle of the night. A sensible man would see that as the clear rejection it probably was, but Nigel had come to realize that he was not very sensible when it came to Gisele. He had tried to tell himself that it was his pledge to protect her that had him hunting her down, that it was all a matter of honor, but he knew that was not the whole of it. She had, after all, dismissed him from her service by walking away. No one would ever fault him if he simply walked away, gave up, and went home.
Nigel had to accept the truth. He had come hieing after Gisele because he wanted her back. He also wanted to be certain she was safe, but that had not been a grave concern at the start. She had managed to keep herself safe and alive for a year before he had joined her. It was not until he had seen the signs of trouble that he had added concern for her safety to what drove him.
He was so confused, in his heart and in his mind, that it made his head ache. Nigel placed the blame for that discomfort squarely on Gisele’s pretty shoulders. She had gifted him with the sweetest, wildest passion he had ever known and then walked away without a word. He did not know what he felt for her—or even if he could trust his own feelings, anyway—yet the moment she was not at his side he panicked. His heart felt as if it had just had a piece torn away, and that, he knew, should tell him something.
A smile touched his face, and he shook his head. He and Gisele needed someone a lot wiser than they were to untangle them. Instinct told him that she, too, suffered some confusion and doubt. A little vindictively, he hoped it was as much, if not more, than he did. If he were going to be tormented, then so should she.
As he reached the side of the field opposite the hillock, he found the trail he sought. Cautiously, an ominous feeling growing in his belly, he followed it to a thick clump of trees. The trail went around the trees, but Nigel went inside them, welcoming the shadows. The moment he saw what stood on the other side, he froze.
“Ye rode right into their hands, didnae ye, loving?” he muttered.
He cursed and, tethering his horses to a branch, he sat down on the leaf-strewn ground and stared at the fortifieddemansein front of him. Nigel knew she was in there, and knew that it was a DeVeau stronghold. Every instinct he had told him so. Gisele had ridden away from him straight into the deadly grasp of her enemy.
For a brief moment, he wondered if that had been her intention. She had become increasingly fretful about the danger she was pulling him into, had suffered a deep guilt when he had been wounded. He had thought that he had cured her of all that, but he may have been wrong. Perhaps, in some mad gesture of gallantry, she had realized that the only way to make the DeVeaux stop chasing him was to surrender herself.
“Nay,” he whispered, “Gisele isnae that big a fool.”
Even as he spoke the words he knew they were true. Gisele might do such a thing if it were her only choice, if some DeVeau held a sword to his throat and told her it was his life or her surrender. There was no such threat, however. She still had had some choices. Her cousin David had told her that most of her family now believed in her innocence, and so she could go to one of them for help. Gisele had too much spirit to simply give up, had too strong a will to live to just hand herself over to people who ached to kill her.
What he had to do now was come up with a plan to get her out of there. The longer he stared at the keep, the more sure he was that he was mad to think he could get her free. The moment he tried to reach her in there he would be found and killed, or set beside her on the scaffold. It was a strong, well-manned keep. It looked impenetrable.
He hastily shook his head. Every keep had a weakness, just as every person did. They were built by people, after all. They also had to have some bolthole, some way for people trapped inside to get out. If someone can get out unseen, then someone can get in unseen. At times, a keep’s defenses themselves were the weakness. If the men at the gates and on the walls felt too secure, if it had been a long time since they had had to fight in defense of the keep, then they could grow lax in their watch. Nigel knew that all he needed was a moment of inattention, and he could get inside.
It was hard to fully muffle the groan of frustration that slowly escaped him, and he put his head in his hands. And just what was he going to do once he did get inside? His attire would not give him away, but if he had to speak to anyone his heavily accented French would quickly let everyone know he was not one of DeVeau’s men. There was also the problem of finding Gisele, releasing her from whatever hole she had been thrown into, and then getting her out of the keep.
Nigel returned to staring at the keep. It was madness. There was nothing he could do, no plan that was not fraught with danger for himself and for Gisele. A wise man would accept defeat, grieve for the loss of the woman, and creep home with his tail between his legs. He sighed with resignation and shook his head, for he knew he would sit there until he rotted or some idea came to him. Nigel prayed that he would be shown the way to free her before Gisele was forced to pay with her life for a murder she did not commit.
