“I will look a fierce warrior,” the young woman whispered.
And all the more threatening amid moonlit fog, Honore imagined and hoped it would prevent Finwyn from trespassing as he had done the last time when he wrenched the covering from her face.
“No more is required of you,” Honore said. “Now I would have your word that if anything goes afoul, you will run straight to the abbey.”
“Already I gave my word, Mine Honore.”
“I would hear it again.”
The young woman sighed. “If all goes afoul, I shall return to the abbey as quickly as my legs can carry me. My word I give.”
Honore leaned up and kissed Jeannette’s cheek. “God willing, this night we shall each have a babe to sing to sleep.” She stepped back and lowered her chin. “Almighty,” she prayed, “bless us this eve as we seek to do Your good work. Amen.”
“Amen,” Jeannette said.
After ensuring the cloth covering the lower half of her face was secure, Honore lifted her skirts and ascended the rise. Upon reaching the crest, she set her shoulders back and increased her stride.
There was no disguising herself as being other than a woman, but she refused to appear meek. If Finwyn drew too near again, she would do more than slap him. She touched the stick beneath her belt that was half as long but twice as thick as Jeannette’s. In addition to coin, the knave would depart the wood with lumps and bruises. Or so she told herself, Finwyn being the first and last person she had ever struck.
I shall do so again if I must—and harder, she assured herself and set her eyes on the distant tree, a portion of whose aboveground roots served as a cradle. As the fog creeped thicker there, she would have to draw near to confirm the exchange was possible. On occasion it was not, the cradle empty due to the babe’s death.
“Lord, let the wee ones be hale,” she whispered and sent her gaze around the wood in search of movement whilst straining to catch the sound of fitful babes. Were they in the cradle, Finwyn would be watching.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw Jeannette had placed herself as directed. The young woman did look to be a fierce warrior—the moon’s glow at her back outlining her hulking figure and what appeared to be a drawn sword. She would not go unnoticed, and Finwyn would know exactly why Honore had not come alone. Hopefully, once more he would honor their agreement and collect his coin following her departure.
When Honore was near enough to see the humped roots near the tree’s base, she silently thanked the Lord. Amid the fog, two bundles lay side by side. Blessedly, neither babe was fitful, for she hated that they might be frantic and frightened.
Though careful to pick her way amongst the roots that extended a dozen feet from the tree, twice she nearly twisted an ankle, causing the coins to clatter.
When she stood before the bundles, she raised her pouch to show the one watching that she paid the price required to save two innocents, then set it in a patch of moss. God willing, it was the last payment she would make.
As she straightened, she noticed a rope tied around the tree’s trunk. Did Finwyn seek to tell her something? Might this be a threat? She considered it a moment longer, then brushed aside the curiosity with the assurance it was not fashioned into a noose. And nearly laughed at allowing her mind to wander in that direction. She did not like the man, but he gave her no cause to fear for her life.
She positioned the sling she wore over her short cloak so it draped one shoulder and rested on the opposite hip, then reached for the first bundle.
“There is naught there for you, woman.”
She stilled. Someone showed himself, and it was not Finwyn. Counseling calm though her heart thought itself a drum, Honore slowly turned.
CHAPTER THREE
Sweeping her gaze over the wood, Honore saw Jeannette’s dark figure on the hill, moonlight appearing to radiate from her, then the one whose shadow glided across the fog, swept up over her skirts and bodice, and covered her face.
Though less than twenty feet distant, the only sense she could make of the large figure backed by moonlight the same as Jeannette’s and the ring of chain mail, was that here was a warrior.
Fifteen feet.
Grateful his shadow masked the fear in her eyes nearly as well as the cloth hid her trembling mouth, she pulled the stick from beneath her belt.
Ten feet.
She thrust her weapon forward. “Come no nearer!”
Though she doubted he felt threatened, he halted. Even without the sword and dagger hung from his waist, he could make a quick end of her. And all the more easily were he not alone.
Honore shifted her gaze past his shoulder, saw Jeannette had yet to run as instructed. But then, nothing ill had happened. At least, not that the young woman could know with certainty.
Wishing she had better prepared her for what constituted afoul, Honore said, “What is it you want?”
When the warrior finally answered, he punctuated each word as if it did not need any other to be understood. “I want my son.”
Honore nearly looked behind at the babes, but she dared not move her gaze from this man. Too, she would wager the quiet bundles were only lures—a trap set by Finwyn. Doubtless, he had learned of the abbey’s plan and thought to gain every last coin possible ere being rendered obsolete.
What she did not understand was this warrior. Surely he was not meant to kill her. Unless…
Might this be Finwyn’s attempt to preserve his business? If so, it would be for naught. Abbess Abigail would see the plan through to its good end. However, Honore’s death would serve another purpose were Finwyn even less worthy of his grandsire’s name than already believed—revenge. And yet in light of this warrior’s words, that made little sense.
“I know naught of your son, Sir Knight,” she afforded him a title he might not be owed since he could be but a mercenary of the lower ranks. “I fear Finwyn has misled you for his own profit.”
“Finwyn?”
“Finwyn Arblette.”
“Ah. Certes, I do not like the man, but thus far all has come to pass as told.”
“All?”
“Are you not here to buy unwanted babes?”
She could not see his eyes move to the pouch she had deposited, but she sensed it there. Wishing Jeannette would run, she said, “I am here for an exchange—the coin Finwyn requires for the children whose parents wish to dispose of them.”
“How kind of you.” His sarcasm was not subtle. “Tell me, how do you dispose of them?”
Though she longed to rail against the insinuation she was of ill intent, she said as calmly as she could, “I assure you, not as Finwyn would have you believe.”
“Then you will have no difficulty delivering my son to me.”