“What’s Fosterly?”
“My castle.”
“I assume by castle, you mean reenactment group meeting place.”
Robert did not know how to respond to that, so he opted not to. “There is little light left, however.”
Beth glanced at the sky and frowned. “I hadn’t even noticed.”
“If your Josh’s condition is as dire as you say it is, I believe ’twould be wisest to continue searching for him.”
Relief entered her greenish-brown eyes. “That would be my choice as well. The thought of leaving the area, of leaving him even for a few hours when he might be bleeding to death is…”
“I understand. Do you know where we may find him?”
“No.” Her brow furrowed as she glanced around. “None of this looks familiar to me. But if we’re near the Woodlands, we should probably head north. Or maybe west. Or northwest. I’m just not sure.”
“Since you are uncertain, we shall each travel in a different direction. Will Josh recognize your possessions?”
“Aye.”
“Then Michael will take your pack. Stephen will take that.” He nodded at the long narrow bag on the ground.
“My tent?” she asked as Stephen bent to retrieve it.
“Aye,” Robert said, though he failed to understand how the makings of a tent could fit into such a small bag. “And Adam will take this.” He handed Adam Beth’s largest weapon. “If any of you find Josh and he doubts Bethany has sent you looking for him, show him her belongings.”
Beth nodded. “And please speak slowly when you see him so he can understand you.”
The men all agreed.
Robert motioned to his destrier. “You may once more ride with me on Berserker.”
The hazel eyes that met his carried both fear and dread. “We will find him, won’t we?”
Robert tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I hope so, Bethany.”
“You can call me Beth.”
He smiled. “As you wish, Beth.”
Taking her backpack from her, he handed it to Michael. “Shall we?”
Chapter Four
Michael rode to the south, Adam to the west, and Stephen to the east.
Robert rode to the north with Bethany perched on his lap.
She had insisted on riding astride this time, her shapely bottom snug against his groin, her thighs molded to his, generating a heat that drove him to distraction. Because of her fear of horses, he had expected her to remain tense. But she had surprised him, relaxing and leaning back against him most of the time.
He held Berserker’s reins in one hand. The other arm he wrapped around her narrow waist, smiling when she folded her hands comfortably atop it.
It would have been a pleasant journey had her concern not permeated the air around them. Every few minutes she would pull the odd sellfone from her pocket, stroke it with her thumb, then mutter and tuck it away again. Then she would draw a large hunting knife from its sheath on her thigh, hold it up in front of her like a cross, then put it away. A few minutes later she would shout Josh’s name three times, pausing in between to listen for a response. When none came, she would rest a moment, then reach again for her sellfone, and the cycle would begin anew.
“Jooooosh!” The shadows of the forest swallowed any echo her call may have otherwise generated. “Joooosh! Can you hear meeee?”
She had a powerful voice for such a small woman. His eyebrows had nigh met his hairline the first time she had bellowed the other man’s name. Unlike most of the females of his acquaintance, her voice did not rise in pitch when she shouted and was not the least bit shrill. Rather ’twas deep and strong and almost loud enough to make his ears ring, growing only the slightest bit hoarse as the sun continued its descent.
“Joooosh!”
Berserker snorted, as if he knew she desperately wanted some kind of answer and thought it might help to give her one himself.
Sighing, Bethany slumped back against Robert. “Why is it so cool?” she asked wearily. “Earlier today I was worried about suffering heatstroke, and now the breeze is giving me chills. The cold fronts we get this time of year don’t usually lower the temperature this much.”
Robert thought the temperature quite mild for late spring and wondered if mayhap she grew feverish. Frowning, he worked his arm out from under hers and pressed his palm to her forehead.
“I’m not running a fever.” She pulled his hand down. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Nay, but the padded gambeson I wear beneath my mail is much warmer than your tunics.”
She peeled the mailed sleeve of his hauberk back and tested the gambeson with her fingers. When one of those slender little fingers slipped beneath the thick material and glided across the inside of his wrist, a shock of desire zigzagged through him, catching him off guard.