Highland Honor. Hannah HowellЧитать онлайн книгу.
It suddenly occurred to Gisele that the manner of her husband’s mutilation promised that she would never find an ally amongst the men hunting her. The way the knight had spoken of it told her he found it of far more consequence than the murder itself. She found herself wondering if Sir Nigel would be equally appalled and withdraw his support, perhaps even join the DeVeaux, then forced herself to pay heed to something of far greater importance—staying alive.
“I will not go back to the DeVeau lair,” she said, careful to keep just out of reach of the knight as she tried to get around him, to find a clear route of escape.
“Oh, oui, you will. Alive or dead.”
“Dead? I believe the DeVeau pack of dogs wish me alive so that they might show me more of their brutality.”
“This chase has lasted for so long that I think they no longer care.”
“Ah, but I care. I would prefer the wee lass alive,” drawled a thickly accented voice in English.
Gisele’s eyes widened when she saw Sir Nigel standing behind the knight who confronted her, but she did not think she looked as surprised as the knight himself. She certainly did not share the DeVeau man’s obvious fear. She quickly stepped back as the knight whirled around to face Sir Nigel. He was much too slow to save himself. Although his death was far more merciful than the one he had planned to deliver her to, she still felt sickened as Nigel cut him down. Silently, she pointed to Guy, who was hard pressed to simply hold back the two men trying to kill him.
Even though she was afraid to look and did not want to see any more death, especially not Guy’s or Nigel’s, she turned to watch the battle. Its outcome would decide her next step, and that could be a decision she had to make immediately. She also prayed, vehemently, that Sir Nigel and Guy would not pay too dearly for protecting her.
When Nigel cut down his opponent Gisele felt relieved, almost cheered, for one brief moment. Then Guy’s opponent made a skilled thrust that Guy was too slow to deflect. She cried out along with Guy when the sword cut into his left shoulder. Only his quick shift to the right kept the blade from piercing his heart. Even as she moved to help her cousin, Nigel stopped the DeVeau man from delivering the death stroke, swiftly turning the man’s attention from taking a life to desperately trying to save his own. It was a short battle, and Sir Nigel quickly ended the man’s life. Gisele was just kneeling beside Guy when Sir Nigel wiped his sword on the dead man’s jupon, sheathed his weapon, and moved to help her.
“Sorry, cousin,” muttered Guy, clenching his teeth in pain as Gisele struggled to open his bloodsoaked jupon.
“For what?” she asked, fighting to ignore the blood and the pain she had to cause him.
“My first attempt to protect you was a miserable one.”
“Non, fool, it was most gallant.”
“Charles is dead?”
“I fear so.”
“Curse the DeVeaux and all their progeny. Charles was a good man, the best of companions.”
“I will see that his body is tended with care and honor,” Nigel said.
“Thank you most kindly.” Guy looked at Nigel and smiled faintly. “Where did you come from?”
“When I listened to ye speaking by the river I heard the name DeVeau. I took it upon myself to find out what I might about the family. Then in the heat of the battle, I saw ye and your friend turn and run this way. Then I spied the DeVeau men, and felt ye may need some help.”
“And he needs more help now,” Gisele said. “All I need to tend to his wound is within our tent.”
Nigel lifted Guy up and carried him into the tent. Gisele followed, pointed to a bed of sheepskins covered by a blanket, and he gently set the younger man down on it. As Gisele worked to clean, stitch, and bind her cousin’s wound, Nigel found a wineskin, sat on a chest, and helped himself to a hearty drink.
When he had realized that Gisele was in danger he had been seized by an urgency he had not felt in a long time. Seeing her facing a large, sword-wielding knight with only a strong spirit and a small dagger had stirred his admiration, and also made him eager to cut down the man threatening her. He found that both curious and unsettling. It had been a very long time since he had felt any such emotion.
As she stitched Guy’s wound, her face pale with concern, Nigel studied her. She was tiny in height and stature. In the clothes she wore there was little indication that she was a woman, yet his body had no difficulty in reacting to her as one, swiftly and regularly. Gisele was unquestionably pretty with her small face, faintly pointed chin, straight nose, and wide, vividly green eyes. Her dark brows were delicately arched, enhancing the wideness of her eyes, and her lashes were long and thick. She had the most beautiful eyes he had seen in years. None of it, however, explained the feelings she stirred within him. Adorable though she was, she was no blinding beauty who could inspire men to risk all for no more than a kind word from her full lips. And yet she drew him to her as if she were.
Entangling himself in her troubles was unwise. From all he had learned of the DeVeaux they were a huge family, rich, powerful, and brutal. A man with his wits about him would do all he could to distance himself from such a family’s enemies, would be very careful never to let a DeVeau mark him as an enemy, too. Instead, he had rushed in, sword raised, and killed three DeVeau knights. He could still save himself, for all witnesses to his rescue were dead or would never tell the DeVeaux, but he knew he would not back away now. He felt compelled to help Gisele whether she wished him to or not.
“You have decided not to return to the battle?” Gisele asked as she finished washing up and moved to start a fire.
“That fight was near o’er when I decided to come and save your bonny skin.”
She scowled at him, watching very closely as he had a long, hearty drink of her wine. “Guy and I were doing well enough, although I thank you for your kind aid.” She cursed softly when he grinned, revealing that he did not believe her claim any more than she did herself. She and Guy had desperately needed his help, and she somewhat resented that.
“Ye find it verra hard to admit that ye are neck deep in the mire and sinking fast, dinnae ye?” he asked, still grinning.
“A vivid turn of phrase,” she murmured. “I have cared for myself for nearly a year with no more than an occasional assist from my family. I believe I can continue to survive.”
“Whate’er ye are running from, lass, is beginning to catch up with you. Aye, ’tis so close that it has taken the life of a friend and nearly taken that of your kinsmon. Has that happened ere now?”
Gisele sat down before the growing fire, snatched the wineskin from his hand, and took a large drink. “Non, that has not happened before. I am sorry for Charles, very sorry, for he was young and honorable, a boyhood friend of Guy’s. Guy’s wound has weakened him, but it will not kill him if properly cared for.”
“True, but I think ye will find that a difficult task.”
“I have some skill at healing.”
“I am sure ye do, as much skill as ye have at running away from and hiding from your enemies. But, how much skill do ye think ye have for doing both at the same time?” He smiled in sympathy when she paled and began to twist her delicate, long-fingered hands together in her lap. “Ye can no longer stay here, lass.”
“You killed the men who found me.”
“But were they the only ones DeVeau sent here? They may have sent word back to the ones hunting you, word that they had found their prey. More will come. And, I dinnae think ye need me to tell you that ye cannae run and hide verra weel if ye are dragging a wounded mon about with you. ’Twould endanger you, and may weel make the lad’s wound a fatal one.”
Gisele closed her eyes and fought to calm herself. When she had first sought out Guy it had seemed such a clever plan. Who would think to look for a delicate, well-bred lady in the