“I will bring her back so she can watch you die, William Stone.”
He kicked his horse’s flanks and thundered off toward Charlie. Nicholas listened to him go, cursing his own body. He fought to sit up and swore an oath when pain lanced through him. He had to do something. He had to get up and go help the people he loved. But even if he managed to get himself out of the cart, how would he get past DeAvoy’s men?
He would worry about that when he got there. For now, he struggled through and managed to turn himself around. He pushed himself slowly up the back of the cart until he was almost in a sitting position, still bound, looking out of the back of the cart. He let a wave of nausea pass over him and tried to catch his breath. He counted at least thirty men, going as far back as a half-mile, some walked, liked Charlie, and some rode horses.
He was going to have to fight—once he got himself free of his confines. The harder he worked, the more exhausted he became. He no longer felt cold but warm, burning up as a matter of fact. He’d managed to get his right arm and leg free before he passed out.
Chapter Sixteen
Nicholas woke uptwenty-two hours later. The first thing he became aware of was that he was no longer on the cart. The ground felt spongy and blessedly still beneath him. He was covered with several blankets and a fur cloak.
He heard sounds around him. A pot hitting into another. A campsite? Someone’s footsteps to the right. He opened his eyes to the sun hidden behind the tangle of thick, bare treetops. He moved his fingers, and then his wrists…his arms. He was free!
“Nicky!”
Rauf?
“Och, hell, Nicky! Simon, Margaret, he is awake!”
Nicholas closed his eyes again, this time to keep them from turning to liquid. They were alive. He gave thanks to God.
“Wait!” Rauf shouted them off. “I think he passed oot again!”
Nicholas should have known his friend wouldn’t leave him for too long. “No,” he said, smiling as he opened his eyes and saw their concerned and elated expressions hovering over him. “I am awake.”
“How d’ye feel?” Rauf asked and touched the back of his hand to Nicholas’ cheek.
“Better than I have in many days, old friend. Too many days.”
“Aye,” Rauf agreed in a low voice.
“Now tell me, how did you free me from DeAvoy’s men?”
“They believed Rauf dead and left him at Lismoor,” Simon told him. “They had rounded Margaret and me up with some of the other prisoners and took us away. Our group was not far from where they were moving you.”
“Just us?” he asked hesitantly. He didn’t want to hear bad news of Julianna or Elias.
“Just ye,” Rauf told him. “I woke up a few days ago hangin’ over the battlement wall in Lismoor. I went through the castle but, Nicky, I didna find anyone. They may have been hidin’ because they are not among the prisoners. There are others I canna find,” he lamented. “Agnes…Lancaster. Some bastard ran me through with his sword.” He lifted his léine beneath his plaid to reveal a perfectly sewn gash on both sides.
Nicholas’ gaze fell to Margaret and he smiled. She smiled and blushed back.
“The blade narrowly missed anything vital,” she told him.
“God smiles upon Rauf!” Simon declared with an easy grin.
“I am glad,” Nicholas told him then tried to move. The pain was intense but it was over more quickly than before. “I have to find her.”
“You need to be still, my lord,” Margaret said, putting a hand to his shoulder to stop him. “You are badly injured.”
She was right. He felt worse when he moved. He needed to heal. He turned to Rauf. “How did you rescue us?”
“I arrived a day ago,” his commander told him. “I brought horses and some weapons. I learned where people were. I found the bishop but not Lancaster. I waited fer the men to sleep and made my way quietly into the camp. I fought and killed a few of the men but it seemed they had no officer. They were easy to kill, even with my wound. Margaret sewed me and she and Simon aided me in gettin’ ye and the bishop oot of the camp. Margaret tended to both of ye. We removed the arrow from yer shoulder. ’Tis healin’ already.”
“What happened to the bishop?” Nicholas asked, looking around and not finding him.
“He didna make it,” Rauf told him sadly. We thought he was doin’ better until twelve hours ago when he perished from his wounds.”
“Damn it,” Nicholas swore. The bishop was his friend. More for DeAvoy to pay for.
