thought you were anxious to see the wounded cared for,” growled the object of her thoughts. Gowain had dismounted and stood beside the wagon, eyes glaring a challenge from deep within the dark sockets of his helmet. Behind him, his crew of thieves busily transferred the stolen goods from the wagons to packhorses. They worked briskly and efficiently, doubtless with the skill of long practice.
“Come, I will take you up with me,” Gowain said, holding out his mailed hand.
“I prefer the wagon, thank you,” she said coldly.
“The wagons are going to a farm nearby, where…”
“From which you doubtless stole them.”
“What I steal, I generally keep. The wagons are mine. The farmer stores them and the horses for me betweentimes.”
“Between raids. What of the wounded? Do they walk?”
“Nay. We’ll carry them up on litters. ‘Tis a long hike, and I but thought you’d be weary after your long night.” He shrugged, as though the matter were unimportant. “Suit yourself, but don’t fall behind.”
Pride kept Alys from calling him back. She rued it during the long walk up the mountain. Her low riding boots were soft-soled, and the stones bit through the leather. Blisters sprang up on her heels and toes; her muscles, cramped and bruised from jolting about all night, screamed with every step. It took all her will and concentration to keep moving. Soon even the men carrying the wounded had outdistanced her.
“Hoping to fall back and escape?” demanded a familiar voice.
Alys spun, and would have fallen if Gowain’s hard hand hadn’t reached out and grabbed her arm. Though three layers of wool clothes separated her from his touch, the contact sent a sizzle across her skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. It was not his anger or annoyance. What was this strange sensation?
He felt it, too. His nostrils flared, and his eyes widened, then narrowed. “What the hell?” he whispered. His gaze moved over her. Some emotion she couldn’t name flared his eyes so that the green burned bright. “Dieu, surely I am cursed,” he spat, dropping her arm and severing the connection.
Alys exhaled sharply. What had happened? She hadn’t felt his emotions, not exactly. This was like nothing she’d experienced before. “What…Where is your horse?” she asked lamely.
“Why do you wish to know?”
“I…I do not care where he is.” She tossed her head, fractious and confused. “You had offered me a ride, yet—”
“I felt the urge to stretch my legs.” He executed a bow that would have done a courtier proud, if not for the cynical twist of his mouth. “After you…Sister.”
Alys picked up her skirts, took a step and winced.
“Have you hurt yourself?”
“My boots are soft and not made for walking.”
“Like their owner, no doubt.” Before she guessed what he was about, he knelt and tugged at the hem of her skirt.
“Nay.” Alys tried to jerk free, but he held her fast.
“Show me your foot.”
“Nay.” She wore woolen hose, but it might not protect her from his touch.
“Your modesty is ill placed. Stick out your foot.”
“I do not want you to touch me.”
His expression hardened. “I have yet to stoop to ravishing nuns,” he snapped. “I am trying to help.”
“A first, I am sure.”
Gowain stood in a swift, lithe movement. “I’ve no time to bandy words with a spoiled nun. We must be inside the caves, and quickly, lest we’re spotted.” He swept her off her feet.
“Oh!” Alys waited to be rushed by his emotions, but felt only the sinewy strength of his arms around her back and under her knees, the thunder of his heart against her ribs. Yet, beyond those ordinary things, she sensed power held in check, feelings blanketed by rigid control. The realization that he was able to hide from her was more frightening. “Put me down! How dare you!”
He tightened his grip on her. “Stop wriggling, or we’ll both fall down the side of the mountain.”
Alys glanced over his shoulder at the treetops, far, far below them and stopped struggling, but the feeling of being surrounded by some terrible force persisted. She’d seen a tree once, struck by lighting. It had simply exploded from the inside out and burst into flames. Now she understood why.
“Relax. I won’t drop you.” His breath fanned her forehead, warm and soft.
“I…I am not used to being handled so.” Was that her voice? She sounded breathless and faint.
“You are the first nun I’ve carried, also. ‘Tis a bit… disconcerting. Aye, that must be it,” he added, so low she barely heard the words.
“It, what?” Talking eased her, gave her something else to concentrate on besides him and the feelings he concealed.
“Nothing.” He climbed steadily despite her weight. “How old were you when you felt the calling to be a nun?”
“Thirteen,” she said without thinking, for that was when her life had changed…and not for the better.
“Ah. I am told females do irrational things at that time.”
“Irrational! What is irrational about taking the veil?”
“Nothing, if you are suited to it. Which you are not.”
“You are an expert in such matters?”
“I know women,” he said with a contempt that grated.
“I am sure you do…and all of the low sort.”
“Tsk, tsk. Did not Christ have compassion for them? Why did you wish to become a nun?”
“Because…because I wished to serve God.” Oh, how the lie stuck in her throat. Forgive me, but I have no other choice.
“Ah. There are far too many who enter the church to avoid marriage rather than because they have a true calling.”
That stung. “I’m pleased you approve.”
“I do not.” He shifted her, ducking as he stepped forward. Instantly the dark swallowed them up. He set her on her feet, but surprised her by keeping an arm protectively around her back to steady her.
Alys instinctively braced a hand on his chest. Beneath the iron links of his mail, she felt the pounding of his heart. It raced a bit, matching her own pulse. Why this sense of connection with him, of all people? “Where are the others?”
“They are forbidden to come to the entrance lest any be spotted from below.” His low voice echoed faintly off unseen
