“Romney!” she cried. “Come back! Come…!”
Another arrow zinged over her head and she screamed again, ducking down low and trying to roll herself into a ball. Then a wave of horses roared in from the south, shielded by the dark trees. She couldn’t see who they were but suddenly, one of them came to an abrupt halt beside her and mud flew up in her face. Sputtering, she tried to stand up and run, but strong arms went around her.
“Kitten, are you all right?”
She recognized the voice. Startled, breathless, her enormous eyes struggled to see the face in the darkness, a face she had never imagined she would see again. Her avenging angel had arrived, the archangel Gabriel, and the hosts of heaven were with him as they went about systematically smiting Julian’s evil escort. With a cry, Emberley threw her arms around Gart’s neck and began weeping hysterically.
“Gart,” she sobbed. “It is you!”
Gart held her tightly, watching his men race off after the remainder of de Moyon’s escort. He could hardly speak for the lump in his throat, holding Emberley so tightly that he was surely crushing her.
“Aye, kitten, it is me,” he murmured, joyously kissing her cheeks and bumping her with his helm. “Are you well? You have not been injured, have you?”
She shook her head earnestly, and then began to look around frantically. “Romney!” she gasped. “The horse ran off and…!”
“He is well, my lady,” de Lara suddenly appeared, walking towards her in the darkness and leading a small gray mare. “I caught him before he could get too far.”
Romney, spying Gart, leapt off the horse and ran to the man, throwing his arms around his legs. Gart reached down and picked the little boy up, hugging him tightly even as he held Emberley. He realized, even as he held them in his arms, that hewas shaking uncontrollably with relief and happiness. He could hardly believe he had them, alive and warm. They were safe and unharmed. He kissed Romney on the cheek before returning his focus to Emberley.
“Tell me truthfully,” he put his enormous hand on her face and forced her to look up at him. “Did they treat you well? Are you…?”
She cut him off. “They treated us as well as they could,” she replied. “They made sure we were fed and as comfortable as possible. Romney and I are fine. Romney has been very brave.”
Gart gazed into her eyes, haunting things in the shadows of the moonlight, reacquainting himself with her beautiful face. He’d missed her desperately. Then he noticed the gash on her neck and the dark stains around the top of her surcoat. His expression darkened.
“What happened to your neck?” he asked through clenched teeth. “What did they do to you?”
It had been five days since the gash and she’d nearly forgotten about it, as it was healing nicely. Her hands flew to her neck, her fingers flitting nervously over the scab.
“It is nothing,” she assured him. “It is healing very well.”
“Who did it?”
“I did it.”
His brow furrowed. “Youdid it? Emberley, if you think I….”
She cut him off, her arms around his waist and her head against his armored chest. “Please,” she begged softly. “No harsh words between us. We have not seen each other in weeks. I do not want our first words to be those of anger.”
With a heavy sigh, Gart pulled her back into a tight embrace. He didn’t believe her about the gash but in hindsight, it really didn’t matter. She was healing and healthy. That was all he cared about.
“The rest of the children are still at Trelystan, correct?” Gart asked softly.
Her head was against his chest and she nodded. “They are,” she looked back up at him again. “How did you know we had been taken?”
Gart could see his men coming back through the trees. “Lord de Lara sent a messenger,” he replied. “We barely had time to intercept your escort. Thank God we anticipated the road they would take and were here to meet them.”
Gart’s men began returning from the chase, swarming around them as de Lara turned the gray mare loose, smacking it on the rump so it would run off. Gart pulled Emberley tightly against him so she wouldn’t be bumped by the excited horses, moving aside when they came too close.
“Are they all dead?” Gart asked his soldiers.
One man nodded. “Aye, m’lord,” he replied. “We killed every one of them.”
“Make sure these men lying on the road are dead also,” he instructed. “We will leave no survivors to tell de Moyon of the attack.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
“Make it look like bandits if you can, sloppy.”
