With that, he turned his horse and galloped off.
“Stay close to me,” Stephen ordered. “We’ll ride behind until his temper cools.”
They spurred their horses forward and rode side by side.
Stephen could not let it go just yet. “Truly, Isobel, that was foolish in more ways than I can name.”
“Anyone seeing me will think I am a man,” she said, though she was feeling worse and worse by the moment. “Surely ’tis safer to travel as three armed men than two.”
“Safer, with you?” he said, turning and raising an eyebrow. “Your being dressed like that serves only to distract me. Why, I can see the shape of your leg all the way up to—”
“Be serious, Stephen.”
She looked ahead, embarrassed. At least the anger was gone from Stephen’s voice. Judging from the stiffness of FitzAlan’s back, he would not forgive her so easily.
Stephen seemed to read her thoughts. “I’ve not seen a woman other than his wife provoke William this much before.”
“He gets angry with her often? The poor woman.”
“Poor Catherine?” Stephen laughed. “Believe me, she has the great commander wrapped around her little finger.”
He was quiet a moment. “There is nothing he would not do for her,” he said, his voice wistful. “Or she for him.”
Who would have guessed the stern commander harbored a great love? Inexplicably, the thought made Isobel’s eyes sting.
“Do not fret over William’s displeasure,” Stephen said. “He is so angry with me, he can have little left for you.”
“What happened?”
“It is because of me,” he said, staring straight ahead, “that Jamie ran off.”
She averted her gaze from the naked pain on Stephen’s face and tried to think of something she could say to comfort him.
“William!” Stephen roared.
She jerked her head up. Time stopped as she tried to make sense of the scene before her: FitzAlan slumped over his horse, a rain of arrows falling all about him. Was FitzAlan injured? How was it possible?
Stephen’s shouts brought her to her senses.
“To the wood, Isobel! Now!” He pointed in the direction he wanted her to go and then shot forward on his horse.
She turned her horse into the field and galloped across it toward the wood beyond. When she risked a glance over her shoulder, her heart went to her throat.
Stephen had put himself between his wounded brother and the stand of trees from which the arrows were coming. As she watched, he leaned over, caught the reins of FitzAlan’s horse, and took off again. Praise God!
Before she entered the wood, she looked for him again. Stephen was galloping, with FitzAlan in tow, in a wide arc that would bring them into the same wood, but farther up. She entered the wood and rode, as fast as she dared, to meet them.
At last she saw movement ahead through the trees. When she came upon the two horses, panic surged through her. Their saddles were empty. Then she saw Stephen beside a fallen log, hunched over his brother.
She leapt down from her horse and knelt beside him.
“What can I do?” She gripped Stephen’s arm and peered down at FitzAlan.
Oh, my God.FitzAlan was drenched in blood. An arrow stuck out of his neck above his chain mail shirt.
“We should have taken the time to don full armor,” Stephen said as he worked the arrow out of FitzAlan’s neck. “Find something to bind the wound. Quickly.”
Isobel removed the food bundle she had stowed inside her shirt. She let the bread and cheese fall to the ground, shook out the cloth, and folded it tightly.
