“I’ve fought in worse shape.”
FitzAlan’s sword lay beside him on the pallet; his hand was on the hilt. If the need arose, FitzAlan would find the strength to charge down the hill, sword swinging. She had no doubt of it.
If it came to that, she would go with him.
Over the chanting of the monks’ prayers inside the church, she heard the faint sounds of shouts and galloping horses. She jumped to her feet. As the sounds grew louder, she rose on her tiptoes, straining to see. A group of riders broke over the hill. A moment later they streaked past, riding along the wall of the abbey and into the woods on the other side.
Then a second, larger group came thundering over the hill. As they rode in front of the abbey, the lead rider broke away and waved the others on. It was Stephen; she knew it before he rode through the gate. He pulled off his helmet and looked up the hill, his eyes searching, until he found her.
Now that the danger was past, she felt tears welling up. She remembered how Stephen comforted her after the killing in the wood. How she longed for that now! To feel his arms so tight around her she could not breathe. To hear him mutter soothing, senseless words into her hair. She clenched her fists until the nails dug into her palms, to keep from running to him.
Stephen tossed his reins to Jamie. With a lightness that belied his long journey and heavy armor, he trotted up the hill. Afore God, he was a beautiful man, with the sun glinting off his armor and shining on his hair.
But he was coming straight for her. Panic seized her as she saw the intention in his eyes. Surely he knew better than to embrace her here, in front of everyone? Did he not care if they all knew?
As he came near, she took a quick step back and said in a voice much too loud, “Your brother is able to sit up, as you can see, Sir Stephen!”
Had she truly said that? After he rode through the night and back again to save them?
“Thank you. Thank you so very much.” Her words fell awkwardly from her lips, showing her for the idiot that she was.
Stephen raised an eyebrow, but he came no closer.
Now that she knew he was not going to do anything foolish, she wanted to say something more to acknowledge his feat. “I—I saw you coming from the church roof.”
He leaned his head back and squinted up at the church, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Watching for me, were you, now?”
Isobel glanced down at FitzAlan. Could the man not save her from further embarrassment and offer some word of greeting?
When she noticed the sheen of sweat on FitzAlan’s brow, she dropped to her knees beside him.Where is the old monk?She looked about but did not see him.
“How are you, William?” Stephen’s voice above her was soft, worried.
FitzAlan was saved from answering by the arrival of Jamie and Geoffrey.
“Better late than never,” Jamie said, slapping Stephen on the back.
Stephen gave Jamie a puzzled look. “Late?”
“These same men attacked us at dawn,” Jamie said. “Geoffrey and I sent them running like scared rabbits.”
“This was God’s doing, not ours,” Geoffrey said.
Stephen looked from one to the other. The light left his eyes as he realized they were not having a joke on him.
“Forgive me, I came as fast as I could.”
“You came when you were needed,” Jamie said. “We could not have held them a second time.”
Stephen did not look any happier.
“One of the men lived long enough to confess,” Jamie said. “They meant to sack the abbey, murder all the monks, and blame the English army.”
FitzAlan dozed off before Jamie was done giving Stephen a full account.
“He is bleeding through the bandage again,” Isobel said, looking up at Stephen.
Stephen sent Jamie and Geoffrey to fetch the old monk and knelt beside her. “How bad is he?”