She sat back on her heels and drew her cloak about her so only her flame-lit face remained visible. Horland rubbed his chin. Something about her visage was familiar. Yes. His brows rose in surprise. Turn her red locks to night-black hair and her eyes brown and she would be Patricia, wife of Sir Garlain.
How could two of the most beautiful women he had ever seen live in the same realm?
He stretched his neck to look at the men around the fire but kept the cage and the woman in the corner of his eye. The men still argued and from what Horland could make out—one was speaking Saxonage and the other three spoke Kernow—they were arguing about the woman. He wasn’t surprised. She was indeed a wonder, although from the little interaction he’d had with her, it might not be beneficial to win that argument. He surmised she would be a witch to live with, and he doubted any one of the men before him would be successful in making her subservient. He shook his head. She even thought she was above a knight of the realm.
Mayhap he should leave her to her fate. After all, he had a mission to fulfill, and standing there taking orders from a woman wasn’t getting him any closer to Garlain and Patricia. He drew in a deep breath. The woman in the cage had brought Patricia’s smiling face to his mind. Patricia would expect Horland to save the damsel in distress, and so he shall.
The scent of the pot and the emptiness in his stomach made his decision all the clearer.
BREE COULDN’T BELIEVEher luck. She was all set to pick the lock and escape, and the stupid man in the trees was going to ruin it all. She eyed him. He stood erect; his confidence was unnerving. She regarded his dress. Moonlight glinted off the chainmail tunic that covered his torso to his hips. A thick studded belt settled on his waist. She let her gaze drift south. Brown trousers and black boots finished off what Bree was certain was a knight’s outfit. Nice.
She glanced at the men by the fire. They were still furiously arguing and if the dummy in the trees just stayed there, she and the girl could get out without their captors even knowing. The way they were going at it, she guessed they’d be there long enough at least for her and the girl to find somewhere to hide.
His hand signals told Bree he intended to talk to the brigands. What a dolt. He was one against four. Even if he was a knight and a skilled swordsman, he couldn’t possibly think he could better the four of them, especially seeing that they were criminals and as such would have no guilt at playing dirty.
Bree waved him back for the hundredth time, mouthing a great big NO.
He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. She could almost hear his mind turning over his next move. She put a finger on her lips to silence him and held up the pick between two fingers of her other hand.
He leaned forward as if he was trying to see and then drew back. Appearing to know what it was, he shook his head and grinned. Bree gawked. He was beautiful and that grin, even though she knew he was laughing at her, warmed her all over. She imagined he would be great fun in better circumstances and if there was one trait she loved in a man, it was a sense of humor.
Uh oh. Don’t go there, Bree.She averted her eyes and staredunseeing at the fire. She was there to meet her father, maybe visit for a while, then go back home to Garrett, Laura, and the baby, not play fun and games with a knight in shining armor. Well, chain mail.
He was still smirking when she looked back, and she lifted her hands in a shrug.
He took out his own pick and stabbed it into his chest. He tilted his head, his curly dark locks hanging over his shoulder, and held up a now broken pick.
She shook her head. The dolt thought she was going to try to stab her captors with it. As if.
The knight stepped out into the clearing. Bree gasped and tried to wave him back, but he wouldn’t even glance her way.
He spoke in English. “Hail, citizens of Pradwick.”
All four men stopped their bickering and turned to stare at him. They seemed frozen in their surprise of having a knight in their midst.
The knight strode to the fire and stopped short of Red. The man laughed.
The knight frowned. “What wit is this? Do you not bow before a knight of the realm?”
Bree would have laughed herself if she weren’t trying to keep any attention off herself and the girl. The dolt actually expected them to bow. They were outlaws, for Pete’s sake.
Small joined in the laughter, and Toothless spoke. “We do not bow to Pradwick’s servants.”
Bree widened her eyes. He spoke English?
“Servant?” The knight cleared his throat. “I am a knight of Pradwick and all bow before me or lose their heads.”
The knight pierced him with his gaze, a look that would have sent most men scurrying out of his way, but Bree wanted to scream at him. These were not most men; they were thieves, people traders, and more than likely, killers.
Toothless peered over the knight’s shoulder. “Do you have an army behind you?”
“I do not need an army.” Horland drew his sword. “If it is a fight we are to have, then let us begin.”
The driver rushed to the front seat of the wagon and pulled a sword out. “Drimpal,” he shouted and threw the sword to Toothless.
Drimpal caught it and stood facing the knight, his feet slightly apart in readiness for an attack.
Moving more quickly than Bree thought he could, the old driver threw two more swords through the air. Small and Red both caught them with ease. Bree groaned. Great. They knew what they were doing.
