The Welshman's Way. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ He could hear singing. Low, deep—men’s voices, sonorous and comforting. Chants.

      It was night, and he was in a monastery.

      What had happened? There had been a skirmish, with outlaws. Madeline had screamed....

      “Madeline!” he cried, sitting up abruptly. The pain that shot through his temple made him flop back onto the coarse pillow.

      Sir Albert Lacourt bent over him, and his anxious face looked to be floating in a mist.

      “Where...?” Roger whispered.

      “You are safe at the monastery of St. Christopher, Roger. You were wounded.”

      “St. Christopher? Then we are nearly back at the convent! Where is Madeline?”

      “We...we do not know. Everything has been done to locate her, Roger,” Albert said quickly.

      “I must find Madeline.” Roger tried to get up, but he felt as weak as a newborn kitten.

      Albert glanced over his shoulder at someone standing in the shadows, then bent over him again. “You have lost much blood. Father Gabriel says you must not try to get up.”

      “Who in the name of the saints is Father Gabriel to order me!” Roger exclaimed weakly. Once more he struggled to sit up.

      Instantly there was a pair of very gentle but very forceful hands pushing him back. “My lord, I must insist. Or you may die.”

      Roger glared at the man holding him down. His gray eyes were kind but held a certain firmness of purpose that Roger had seen before, when he had been practising his sword skills and his teacher had been adamant that he keep practising. Still, this fellow had more of the scholar than the soldier about him, although he was surprisingly strong for a priest, or else, Roger thought, I am even weaker than I thought. “I have to find my sister. The wedding’s in a fortnight and we are still far from my castle.”

      “Please, my lord, do not exert yourself!” Albert said. “We have Bredon out with the dogs.”

      Roger felt some slight relief. Bredon was the finest huntsman in England. He was in charge of Roger’s hounds, which were also the finest in England. If anybody could find Madeline, it would be Bredon.

      Albert cleared his throat and looked again at the anxious priest. “Unfortunately, it has been raining since near evening and we cannot search as we would like.”

      “You must have faith, my son,” the priest said softly.

      Roger de Montmorency’s lip curled skeptically in his dark, handsome face. He had faith in only three things: God, his sword and his ability to wield it. Unfortunately, God seemed to have turned his face from him, and from Madeline, too. As for his sword, he would soon have his strength back, and then he would wield it. By God, if anyone had touched her, he would ply it with no mercy. “Find her, and I want those outlaws. Alive.”

      “Capturing those rogues may be difficult. Other Welshmen will surely give them sanctuary,” Albert replied. Roger’s glower was all the answer Albert got, and all he needed. “Very well, my lord. We will search for them, too.”

      Father Gabriel cleared his throat deferentially. “My lord, please recall that there may be other factors at work here. If these men are simply outlaws, as you believe, try to understand that there are other lords, less wise than yourself, perhaps, who are harsh with their tenants and so create—”

      “If men break the law, they must be punished.”

      “Be that as it may, a little mercy—”

      “They will get precisely what they deserve, Father. No more, no less.” Roger looked at Albert and tried to focus on his friend. “I don’t think they were rebels.”

      Albert shook his head. “Nor I, my lord.”

      “What of ransom?”

      “We have heard nothing.”

      “I pray Chilcott does not hear of this. Or Baron DeGuerre.”

      “Should your concern not be for your sister’s safe return?” Father Gabriel asked softly.

      Roger saw the rebuke in the man’s eyes. “Of course I am worried about her, man! Leave me now!”

      The tone of command was unmistakable, and Father Gabriel wisely did not linger.

      “Surely there will be no need to inform your sister’s betrothed,” Albert said placatingly. “At least we have not found her body. It may be that she managed to escape and is now—”

      “Lost in the forest? Small comfort there, Albert! I will lead the search for her myself.” Roger threw off the bedclothes, set his feet on the ground and stood up.

      Then Sir Roger de Montmorency fell back onto the bed in a dead faint, his face so pale that Albert ran down the corridor shouting for Father Gabriel.

      Chapter Four

      Madeline inched her way forward, hardly daring to take a breath, although the rise and fall of the Welshman’s broad, naked chest gave her assurance that he still slept. When she had first awakened and realized he was sleeping and that the rain had ceased, she had been tempted to run away, until she realized she had no idea where she was. She might find herself lost in the woods, the very same woods that harbored the outlaws who had attacked their party yesterday. Therefore, she had decided upon a different course of action.

      Ever so carefully, she pulled the sword away from the Welshman’s loosened grip. There! She had it! She lifted it cautiously, amazed at the weight and the beauty of the design, and wary of its sharpened edge. Then, taking a deep breath, she placed it against the Welshman’s collarbone.

      He opened his eyes—and was instantly awake. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his accent strong in his surprise. He shifted ever so slightly.

      “I want you to answer my questions. I want to know who you are.” She shoved the tip forward a little to show that she expected answers, not grins.

      “David,” he replied. “My name is David.”

      “Very well, David, if that is truly your name and I do not fully believe it is, what are you doing dressed in a priest’s robe?”

      “I told you, a pilgrimage I am making.”

      “To where?”

      “Canterbury.”

      “Why then are you not heading south?”

      “I...visit family first.”

      “And you are from Cornwall?”

      “Yes.”

      “You are lying to me, David.”

      He didn’t reply.

      “We had Welsh girls serving us in the convent. I recognize the accent. What else have you lied about? That you СКАЧАТЬ