away adding, “I’ll join the others around the fire and leave you to your prize.”
What did she do with his men? Bryce started toward the tent when Sir John burst out of the forest.
“My Lord Ashforde!” John raced toward him, shouting. Eustace followed a little slower. Sir John had the wild-eyed look of surprise on his face. Eustace appeared more embarrassed than surprised. Both men were dripping with water.
Bryce groaned. He knew what the news was going to be before either man said another word. Somehow she’d managed to toss both men into the ice-cold water. This was his fault. He should have seen to her himself. At least she’d not taken it into her head to escape.
“My Lord, I—”
Bryce cut off Sir John’s explanation. “I will deal with this. Both of you go dry off by the fire.”
Chapter Six
Marianne awoke with a start. Something had pulled her from her dreams. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep, not when she’d been waiting for Ashforde to appear. When she’d run into the tent earlier, she’d expected Ashforde to charge in after her demanding to know what had happened at the stream.
He’d come as far as the flap. She heard his steps falter, then he turned and walked away. Immediately after that she heard more steps approach the tent. Nobody entered, but the men had taken up positions surrounding the tent.
After that, the last thing she remembered was stretching out on the pallet to await Ashforde and his rage.
Now, making as little sound as possible, she inched her hand along the hard pallet made of covers folded on the ground and wrapped her fingers around a rock she’d found at the stream. Not much of a weapon, but the smooth round rock fit her palm and would stun a man if she hit him hard enough.
She could see nothing in the blackness of the night, but she listened carefully for anything out of the ordinary. The sounds were familiar; murmurs of the men around the crackling fire—meaning they no longer guarded the tent—the evening breeze shaking the leaves on the trees, the stream in the distance, the sound of her own breath…and someone else’s.
She listened closer. Soft clinks of the small metal links that made up chain mail fell against each other, confirming her fear—she was not alone. Marianne tightened her grip on the rock.
“Perhaps I should have checked for weapons.” Ashforde’s voice curiously calmed the fearful stuttering of her pulse. “What are you reaching for?”
How did he know? The tent was cloaked in darkness. She no longer believed in things unworldly. Had she made some small sound that had alerted him to her movements? Or was he instinctively that perceptive?
“Nothing.” She relaxed her fingers, but left the rock hidden beneath her side. “I was just stretching. This pallet is not the most comfortable I have slept upon.”
“I tried not to wake you.” He laughed lightly and she heard him move closer along the ground.
“I thought you would be in here earlier to discuss your men. Did they make it back to camp?”
He ignored her question and said, “I was. But you wouldn’t have heard me over the rumbling of your stomach. You are hungry.”
Yes, she was hungry. But again, his assumption of her state of being rankled. No matter how much she wanted to rail against his unusually well-honed intuition, she was truly famished. So much so that the mere thought of food took her mind off the questions and complaints bouncing around in her head. He could shout and rage all he wanted, if only he gave her food to eat first.
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