Eric slumped weakly against the wall outside Walter’s chamber, apparently already having told Ranulf what had happened. The door was still open, and Reina became hesitant now on seeing Ranulf within. He stood next to Walter’s narrow bed looking down at him, his body so still it could have been made of stone, muscles bunched, fists clenched at his sides. She could not see his expression yet, but he must indeed be angry to have frightened Florette into leaving her patient, for she, too, was waiting without the chamber.
He still did not move or glance her way when she reached his side. “You cannot truly be angry with him for getting wounded, Ranulf. Think you he did it apurpose?”
“The fool knew he would be traveling through the woods, lady. He knew the place swarmed with brigands, and yet he only took three men-at-arms with him.”
“But they were besides three knights fully armed. The outlaws rarely set upon travelers with any strength in their group.”
“They did this time.”
What could she say to that? So he did have reason to be angry. But when he finally looked at her, ’twas not anger she saw in his eyes, but a deep, terrible dread.
“My lady, please, do not let him die,” he said with heartfelt gruffness. “Do you aid him to recovery, you will have my deepest gratitude.”
Reina felt her throat tighten. She had the overwhelming urge to put her arms about him and assure him he had naught to fear. But sympathy and trite assurances were not the way to deal with this man.
“Whatever can you be thinking, my lord?” She made her voice deliberately stern. “Much as I would like to have you beholden to me for a time when I might find it useful to have you so, I must tell you de Breaute is not dying. His wounds are trifling compared to some I have seen.”
“Then why does he not awaken?”
“Because I gave him something to make him sleep, as I gave to Sir Searle. ’Tis the best way for a man to get his strength back after losing a little blood. But neither of them is so sorely wounded that he will not be full of complaints at the long bed rest I will insist on.”
She was not sure her husband would swallow that, but after a moment he nodded curtly and left the chamber. Reina sighed in relief that was short-lived as she glanced down at Walter. He was still terribly pale. No wonder Ranulf had thought him dying.
“Best you hear me, de Breaute.” She bent over him to whisper sharply by his ear. “You make me a liar by dying now, and I will spend the rest of my life praying you spend the rest ofyourlife rotting in purgatory. For whatever misbegotten reason you are dear to him, for his sake you will recover right quickly.”
Whether he somehow heard her or not, she felt better for having said it.
Florette was still hovering anxiously outside the chamber, so Reina sent her back in, instructing her to watch for fever and send for her at the first sign. A glance about the hall found Ranulf in conversation with Eric again, but Reina only heard the last of it as she approached them.
“Send a messenger you can trust to the castellan at Warhurst. Tell him does he send a large force after the outlaws on the morrow at first light, he will at last have them.”
“Will he?”
“Aye. After he chases them into our hands, he can have whatever is left of them to do with as he pleases.”
Reina turned away ere Ranulf noticed her, not that he would call her to him if he did, when he had only bloodshedding on his mind. She had never heard him speak in quite that tone before, but knew that whatever it was he planned for the morrow, ’twas not something she wanted to know about. She could almost pity the outlaws, if they had not long needed getting rid of.
Chapter Thirty-three
The overcast sky kept the heat at bay, but did naught to alleviate Ranulf’s impatience as the morning progressed. They had left Clydon under cover of darkness in the middle of the night, and at intervals in small groups. Riding south first before turning back to circle the woods had been another caution, enough to satisfy him the trap would not be suspected.
There had been a total of sixty-eight horses at Clydon, and Ranulf took every one, including his wife’s dainty palfrey. Still, the smaller men had had to ride two to a horse to accommodate the full hundred men he was utilizing and get them where he wanted before first light.
Eric and Sir Meyer had taken half the men east, Ranulf riding along the western edge of the woods. Being unfamiliar with the terrain had not been a detriment to the plan, at least on the western boundary. The stream that paralleled the woods here for about a league had a low enough bank to conceal the horses, even spread out as they were to allow for whichever point the outlaws chose to exit the woods. They needed that concealment for surprise, and he could only hope Eric had found a like concealment.
The wide field of oats running between the woods and the stream was newly planted, low enough not to give the outlaws any cover once they were caught in the middle of it. According to one of the Clydon men, the field belonged to the widow de Burgh, so Ranulf did not feel the least hesitant in littering it with dead bodies and trampling the crop to do so. He had even considered sending a man to her manor to enlist what men she could spare, but decided against it for such easy sport. If and when Lord Rothwell came to see what had happened to his bride, or if there was any more trouble from Falkes de Rochefort, would be soon enough to call on his vassals for aid.
“Think you something has gone awry, Ranulf?” Kenric asked beside him. “Mayhap the men from Warhurst got lucky this time and caught them for us.”
Ranulf did no more than grunt, for the thought had crossed his mind, too. The woods were only several leagues wide, so how long could it take a man running for his life to exit them? True, these outlaws were wily. They might be even now on the edge of the woods, cautiously watching for a trap ere they decided to make a run for the next stand of trees farther west.
And then he saw movement, though it took a moment for him to be certain. No wonder these men had eluded capture for so many years. Without horses, and dressed in the same colors of the woods, they could easily blend into the foliage around them, even get up a tree to become almost invisible. If their pursuers were not many, they really had no reason to leave the woods entirely. So Warhurst must have sent forth a large enough patrol to make them nervous enough to risk it.
There were now two men, now three. They were in no hurry. The first man turned about to say something to the others, while still more emerged from the woods. If they had scattered to run from the Warhurst soldiers, then they obviously had met up again before risking the open field, which was more than Ranulf could have hoped for. He had been half afraid they would come out singly and he would get only a handful or so, for stragglers would either see his men or hear something, and blend back into the woods.
Ranulf passed the word down the line to make ready, though the band of outlaws crossing the field was hard to miss now. Their numbers had increased until they were nearly fifty, odds more to Ranulf’s liking. Thirty-four of his men would ride out to meet them. The rest were positioned with crossbows to take down any within range. He did not intend to lose a single one, and so being, he had to first cut them off from escaping back into the woods.
What ensued was a farce like to sicken a seasoned warrior. The element of surprise worked. To see a line of horsemen charging over an embankment right in front of them had the outlaws gaping for long, suspended moments ere they spurred their feet to turn about and run. They were reached just past the middle of the field, which undoubtedly made them lose heart, seeing the woods and escape such a long distance away. A goodly number were struck down in the pass to cut them off, but when Ranulf turned about, it was to find the entire band prostrated on the ground, what weapons they carried thrown away, and the whole lot of them screaming for mercy, as if they had long practiced this ploy.
