d-dead,” she stammered.
Anvrai lowered his sword arm. “You killed anoth—?”
Before he could brace himself, Isabel threw herself into his arms and began to weep. “I was s-so frightened!”
She pressed her face against his chest. Without thinking, Anvrai slid one arm ’round her shoulders. She felt soft and vulnerable, and he felt entirely inadequate. He’d done very little for the lady…hadn’t rescued her at Kettwyck or saved her from the dark-bearded Scot. And now this.
“I don’t know how long he’s been dead,” she said with a shudder. “Not long…his flesh is still…”
“You didn’t kill him?”
“Kill—? No. His body was lying there. I f-fell over him.”
“Wait here for me.” He set her aside and stepped into the cave, then waited for his vision to adapt to the darkness.
’Twas not long before he saw the body. He went down on one knee and looked closer, determining that the corpse had once been a man—a holy man, judging by the cross that hung ’round his neck on a thin leather thong. Anvrai raised his head and looked into the cave, where he saw the shadowy remains of the man’s belongings.
He stepped outside. Isabel stood with her back to him, shivering in the cold, her body dwarfed by his long tunic. Her legs were bare below the knee, and she’d wrapped her foot in a strip of cloth torn from her chemise.
The sight of her tender, desolate form touched him in an unwelcome manner. He had left all softness behind with the violent deaths of his family. He was not about to join the ranks of her mush-hearted suitors.
“Lady Isabel, go back to Sir Roger. Stay with him until I come for you.”
She gave a quick nod and left the area, leaving Anvrai alone to deal with the dead man.
It did not take long. Anvrai found torches and flint inside the cave, and he soon had light. There were tools, cooking utensils, and furs for warmth. He took the man’s clothes, rolled him onto one of the furs and pulled him out of the cave, then down the beach. There was no place to bury him, so he lifted the body into the oldboat, then launched it on the river where the current carried it out of sight.
Anvrai went back to the place where he’d left Roger and found Isabel sitting next to him, tending a wound in her foot. Crouching beside her, he took her foot in hand. He had an extensive collection of healing herbs and ointments in a special satchel that he kept in his quarters at Belmere, but that would do her no good at present. He would have to see if there were any medicinal plants nearby, something useful that might still be growing so late in the season.
Releasing her, he lifted Roger onto his shoulder once again. “Come on. The cave is empty now,” he said as he stood, “and we can use it for shelter until Roger is able to travel.”
Isabel came along quietly, but when they reached the tall cross with the cave entrance right behind it, she faltered.
Anvrai sensed her nervousness, but there was no kindness in him. When he replied, ’twas only to convince her to go inside. They both needed to rest, and the cave was the best place to do so. “The body is gone,” he said.
Isabel nodded. “I saw you,” she whispered.
Anvrai walked past her, carrying Roger into the cave. He lowered the young man onto the hermit’s pallet and covered him with one of the furs, then took the dead man’s cooking pot andcarried it outside. There were things that had to be done before he could rest, before he made the mistake of trying to comfort the comely dark-haired lady who stood at the edge of the cave in such distress. Beautiful, highborn ladies abhorred his company, much less his touch. He would foist neither upon Lady Isabel.
He returned to their stolen currach and retrieved their few belongings, hanging the wet skins over the branches of nearby shrubs. Then he filled the hermit’s pot with fresh water and carried it, along with the rolled-up skin Isabel had taken from the chieftain’s hut, to the
Anvrai lowered his sword arm. “You killed anoth—?”
Before he could brace himself, Isabel threw herself into his arms and began to weep. “I was s-so frightened!”
She pressed her face against his chest. Without thinking, Anvrai slid one arm ’round her shoulders. She felt soft and vulnerable, and he felt entirely inadequate. He’d done very little for the lady…hadn’t rescued her at Kettwyck or saved her from the dark-bearded Scot. And now this.
“I don’t know how long he’s been dead,” she said with a shudder. “Not long…his flesh is still…”
“You didn’t kill him?”
“Kill—? No. His body was lying there. I f-fell over him.”
“Wait here for me.” He set her aside and stepped into the cave, then waited for his vision to adapt to the darkness.
’Twas not long before he saw the body. He went down on one knee and looked closer, determining that the corpse had once been a man—a holy man, judging by the cross that hung ’round his neck on a thin leather thong. Anvrai raised his head and looked into the cave, where he saw the shadowy remains of the man’s belongings.
He stepped outside. Isabel stood with her back to him, shivering in the cold, her body dwarfed by his long tunic. Her legs were bare below the knee, and she’d wrapped her foot in a strip of cloth torn from her chemise.
The sight of her tender, desolate form touched him in an unwelcome manner. He had left all softness behind with the violent deaths of his family. He was not about to join the ranks of her mush-hearted suitors.
“Lady Isabel, go back to Sir Roger. Stay with him until I come for you.”
She gave a quick nod and left the area, leaving Anvrai alone to deal with the dead man.
It did not take long. Anvrai found torches and flint inside the cave, and he soon had light. There were tools, cooking utensils, and furs for warmth. He took the man’s clothes, rolled him onto one of the furs and pulled him out of the cave, then down the beach. There was no place to bury him, so he lifted the body into the oldboat, then launched it on the river where the current carried it out of sight.
Anvrai went back to the place where he’d left Roger and found Isabel sitting next to him, tending a wound in her foot. Crouching beside her, he took her foot in hand. He had an extensive collection of healing herbs and ointments in a special satchel that he kept in his quarters at Belmere, but that would do her no good at present. He would have to see if there were any medicinal plants nearby, something useful that might still be growing so late in the season.
Releasing her, he lifted Roger onto his shoulder once again. “Come on. The cave is empty now,” he said as he stood, “and we can use it for shelter until Roger is able to travel.”
Isabel came along quietly, but when they reached the tall cross with the cave entrance right behind it, she faltered.
Anvrai sensed her nervousness, but there was no kindness in him. When he replied, ’twas only to convince her to go inside. They both needed to rest, and the cave was the best place to do so. “The body is gone,” he said.
Isabel nodded. “I saw you,” she whispered.
Anvrai walked past her, carrying Roger into the cave. He lowered the young man onto the hermit’s pallet and covered him with one of the furs, then took the dead man’s cooking pot andcarried it outside. There were things that had to be done before he could rest, before he made the mistake of trying to comfort the comely dark-haired lady who stood at the edge of the cave in such distress. Beautiful, highborn ladies abhorred his company, much less his touch. He would foist neither upon Lady Isabel.
He returned to their stolen currach and retrieved their few belongings, hanging the wet skins over the branches of nearby shrubs. Then he filled the hermit’s pot with fresh water and carried it, along with the rolled-up skin Isabel had taken from the chieftain’s hut, to the
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