He shook his head. “I was thinking of the many unexpected twists and turns the path of life takes.”
“Any turn in particular?” he asked curiously.
“Alyssa.”
Michael nodded. He and the two men who rode behind them were amongst the few who did not fear Robert’s sister-in-law.
Poor Dillon. People had been wary of him and feared him for his ferocity on the battlefield long before he had married Alyssa. But, now that he had chosen for his wife a woman reputed to be a sorceress, England’s populace was utterly terrified of him.
Of them both, actually.
“By marrying your brother,” Michael commented, “and swiftly producing a son, Lady Alyssa has denied you the title of Earl of Westcott.”
Robert nodded. Dillon had been grooming him for the title since their father’s death. “And yet, had she not married my brother, I would not love her like a sister and would not have taken such offense when Lord Hurley heaped insults upon her head. So I would not have begged the king’s leave to settle our dispute on the field of combat.”
“Weasely little bastard,” Sir Stephen spat. “’Tis no wonder he always hid behind those hulking guards of his, letting others fight his battles instead of facing one like a man. He had no talent with a sword.”
Sir Adam grunted his agreement.
It had taken Robert mere minutes to defeat Hurley. But, after conceding the battle, the blackguard had attacked Robert’s back as he had turned to leave the field. Had Michael not bellowed a warning, Robert would have been felled. Instead, he had deflected the blow meant to sever his head, then had driven his sword through Hurley’s heart.
“And now you and your brother are both earls,” Michael said with a grin.
“Aye, we are.”
Since Lord Hurley had had no living heirs, King John had bestowed the former Earl of Fosterly’s title upon Robert, granting him the lands and remaining wealth that accompanied it as well.
Robert did not delude himself regarding the reasons for this, however. King John had engendered many enemies and wished to curry the favor and acquire the loyalty of Robert and, through him, his brother Dillon, who commanded the largest garrison in the kingdom. Countless noblemen sent their sons to foster at Westcott, where both brothers were renowned for training the country’s finest knights. King John was no imbecile. He knew that, should Robert and Dillon decide to join his adversaries, they could swiftly raise a formidable army against him.
“I believe King John is afraid of Lady Alyssa,” Adam inserted softly.
Robert glanced at him over his shoulder.
“’Tis why he has never summoned your brother and his wife to court,” Adam continued. “He fears she will see his secrets and expose them. Expose him.”
Stephen whistled low. “’Tis something I would like to see. Would you not? Particularly since I can guess what some of those secrets are.”
A distant discordant sound met Robert’s ears, distracting him. Holding up a hand to halt his men, he listened carefully.
Seconds later it came again.
“Do you hear that?” he asked.
Michael frowned. “Aye. ’Tis a woman.”
“Does she call for help?” Robert asked.
“I know not,” Michael responded. “I can barely hear her.”
All quieted.
The call came again, a fraction louder this time.
Stephen grunted. “I hear her now. But I cannot understand her words.”
“Nor can I,” Robert murmured. Mayhap distance muddled them. “But I hear the fear in her voice.”
The others nodded.
Adam studied the trees in front of them. “It she to the north?”
“Josh!” the woman shouted.
“Nay.” Robert pointed east. “There.”
As one, the men turned their horses east and swiftly urged them forward.
Chapter Two
Something tickled her face. Reaching up to brush it away, Beth encountered a strand of her own hair. It danced on a surprisingly cool breeze that wafted over her. Yawning, she tucked it behind her ear, then drew her hands above her head in a stretch, twisting first one way, then the other.
Dull pain traveled from her back to her shoulder, inspiring a wince.
Memory returned in a flash.
Beth bolted upright.
Looking down, she stared in dread at the red stains that covered her shirt sleeve and darkened her jeans almost down to the knees.
She had been shot. Twice.
She frowned. But, other than a slight stiffness in her back and shoulder, she felt fine.
She examined her vest. A substantial hole showed her where the bullet had exited her chest. A smaller one marked the place the other bullet had entered her shoulder. Reaching around behind her, she felt a second set of entry and exit holes.
Yet she felt fine.
Unfastening the Velcro tabs on the vest, she opened it and dragged up the sticky tank top she wore beneath it.
Aside from the blood, the only sign that a wound had ever marred her skin was a pale, barely visible… scar?
Confused, she pulled the top down and sat unseeing for several seconds.