Chapter 11

11

E llyn now rode one of the horses captured in the skirmish but there was still a long tether rope between her and Roger. The bow she had used had been strapped back onto the donkey along with the weapons taken from the fallen guards. The bodies had been dragged off the path and buried under piles of leaves, not that there was much hope they would remain hidden for long. Even as they rode out of the clearing, four-legged scavengers were creeping toward the killing ground.

The knights rode hard, well into the evening, putting as much distance between themselves and the site of the ambuscade as possible. The descending dusk had come with a heavy mist that had already turned into drizzle and the temperature was dropping to a nighttime chill. Another hour and the forest would be dark as the inside of a coal bin.

Renn and Terrowin had frequently fallen back to watch for any sign they were being followed and twice they ordered the small party to change direction, the last time leading their horses into a stream and walking a mile or more in the water to throw any more bloodhounds off the scent.

The earlier rush of battle energy had worn away, leaving the travellers and their horses drained and weary. Rennwick, cautiously satisfied there were no more trackers behind them, returned from scouting the forest behind them and called a halt for the night.

"I took the opportunity to find our supper on the way back." He reached behind his saddle and unslung a rope that held the carcasses of three fat hares.

"Ho ho! I am hungry enough to eat those tidbits raw, my good friend," Baldor declared.

"I've tasted enough blood this day," Roger said, touching a gloved finger to a cut on his lip. "I prefer my meat roasted."

"Roasted it shall be," Terrowin said, grinning as he unslung a brace of grouse from his saddle.

Baldor almost whimpered at the sight. "But is it wise to light a fire and announce our presence?"

"If my recollections are correct, there is a cave not far from here," Rennwick said. "It goes deep enough into the hillside to shelter us as well as the horses, and swallow any smoke from a fire. Moreover, these woods fill with wraiths and ghostlings after dark. It would take braver men than Nottingham has for any of them to venture into this part of the greenwood at night."

"Ghostlings?" Baldor's head swivelled around. "Wraiths?"

"You are in Lincolnwoods, man," Terrowin said, holding back a grin. "Have you never heard the tales of faeries and elves who dwell hereabout? Not to mention the ghosts of Robin Hood and his band of outlaws. That clicking sound you hear at night is the bones of their victims swinging from the boughs. "

"Lincolnwoods!" Ellyn, who had been scratching a bite on her neck, started when she heard this and glared at Rennwick. "I thought you said we were heading south?"

Renn arched an eyebrow. "And I thought you said a halfwit could tell north from south?"

She drew a breath to toss a retort at his back but he nudged his horse past, leaving Roger to bear the brunt of her disdain.

"I had hoped you would be civil enough… indeed, kind enough … to at least tell me where we were going."

"I do beg your forgiveness if you think I have been unkind."

"Unkind. Cruel. Heartless. And a man who breaks his vows as easily as the man who leads you."

"What vow have I broken, pray?"

"Does your chivalric code not include a vow to protect damsels, widows, and orphans from all harm? I may not be a widow, but I am a damsel and an orphan."

Roger pursed his lips. "That you may well be, but judging by what I saw earlier today, you are hardly in need of protecting."

"Then why hold me to a tether like some pet goshawk?"

He studied her face for a moment. Trust was a valuable commodity at the best of times and he had no reason to believe she had ever given it freely or earned it easily. He leaned over and untied the rope from the palfrey's bridle then wound it into a circle which he hung on a leather strap at the back of his saddle.

"Come. We'd best catch up before we lose them in the dark. "

Rennwick found the cave after three false tries. On the fourth, determined his memory was not at fault, he made a torch from a tree branch and scraps of linen and thrust it into every nook and cranny along a seemingly unbroken wall of rock until he found the entrance. After the men and horses were inside, he and Roger hacked enough branches and saplings to conceal the opening behind them again.

Twenty paces from the entrance, the walls opened into a cavern the size and shape of a cathedral with the dome rising to the height of ten tall men. Beneath the dome was a pool that caught the light from their torches and shimmered an eerie, iridescent green. The water was so clear they could count the long fingers of weed that grew on the bottom, and could see where they were slanted in the middle to indicate a gentle current flowing in and out.

"How the devil did you know about this place?" Roger asked.

"I lived here for a time," was the only answer Renn offered.

By all appearances, it seemed apparent the cavern had not been occupied by two-legged habitants since. There were animal droppings and nests aplenty, and a colony of bats took offense to the flickering lights as Renn lit more torches, and swarms of them flew upward in a squealing, spiralling black cloud.

"Don't like bats!" Baldor declared, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword.

"There is an opening at the top of the dome," Renn said. "As long as we are here, they will not come back."

"Bats," Baldor muttered. "Trolls, wraiths. And a wench who may or may not be a witch. Fine company we find ourselves keeping in this gloomy land of Norman bastards."

Ellyn glared. "If I was a witch, good knight, think you I would still be here? Think you I would not have flown away with my fellow bats? Or vanished into the treetops this afternoon?"

Before the big man could growl a retort, Renn stepped between them. "Your choice to skin the rabbits or see to the horses."

"I will take the rabbits," Baldor grunted, inviting no argument. "I am in a fine mood for tearing something limb from limb."

"I will tend the horses," Terrowin volunteered.

"Unless we plan to burn my foot," Roger looked around, "we will need some kindling and wood for the fire."

Renn took Ellyn by the arm. "Come along. You can help."

She pulled her arm out of his grasp but followed him back to the mouth of the cave. When they were outside again and out of earshot of the others, Renn spoke over his shoulder.

"You really should try not to aggravate Baldor."

" He should try not to aggravate me . How many times must I say I am not a witch. Not a wraith, not a sorceress, not a woodsprite or a faery. I have no visions; I cannot see into the future. I am just a girl, a plain and simple girl."

"Hardly simple," Renn said. "And hardly plain."

Ellyn stopped walking. "Good God, sirrah. Was that a word of flattery?"

He tramped a few more feet ahead, then stopped and stuck his torch in a crevice of rock. "False modesty does you no favors, demoiselle."

"I assure you, Sir Knight, there is nothing false in what I say."

He tipped his head slightly. "Do all simple girls know how to shoot a bow with enough of a calm eye to bring down six guardsmen? As for being plain, have you never looked at yourself in a mirror?"

"There are few mirrors in an armorer's forge."

"And have no lusty young lads paid compliment to the color of your hair or the extraordinary blue of your eyes? Have none wanted to take you into the woods alone?"

A small rush of heat crept up Ellyn's throat. She doubted very much whether anyone had ever been blinded by her waif-like beauty, for her nose was too sharp, her chin too round, her mouth too full, and her forehead too high. Moreover, most men preferred their women plump and buxom, not lean with muscle and so flat in the chest it had always been easy for her to pass as a boy. But she had, indeed, heard compliments before—from Lythwyn the Welshman moments before he had taken her virginity.

As for taking her into the woods alone, Rennwick de Beauvoir had done just that. And now he was giving her compliments.

Renn straightened from picking up a length of dry wood and noted her silence first, then the wary look in her eyes.

"Gracious good God, girl, I have brought you out here to gather wood, not to ravish you. The smallest thought of such a thing had not even occurred to me. Unstick your feet from the forest floor and start gathering dry wood. I promise I shall keep myself at enough of a distance to safeguard your virginity."

"And if I say I am not a virgin?"

"I would say Hallelujah to that. Now go and fetch wood."

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Renn filled his arms with fallen branches and lengths of wood. Ellyn remained bristling over his obvious amusement until they were back in the cavern with their gleanings. She dropped her bundle of twigs and pine knots by the ring of stones that formed the firepit then, wishing to have no further contact with any of the rogues—for surely de Beauvoir would share his entertaining exchange with the others—she walked around to the far side of the wide pool and took refuge in the shadows.

She tore a strip off the bottom of her shirt, soaked it, and used it to scrub the dirt off her face. The water was surprisingly warm and looked to be about waist deep. She longed to wade in and wash the day's aches and pains away but just as the thought occurred to her, she saw Rennwick on the far side of the pool testing the water with his hand. He obviously had the same idea, for he straightened and started to strip down. He removed his belt and scabbards, setting his weapons carefully aside. The white surcoat was pulled easily over his head, revealing the heavy chain mail hauberk beneath. For that he needed help and stood facing the pool while Terrowin unbuckled the dozen or so leather straps down the back of the garment.

Sitting where she was, cloaked in shadows, Ellyn watched him lift the hem of his shirt and tug it over his head. He put toes to heels and removed his boots, then unfastened the laces holding his chausses tight to his waist and peeled them down as well.

Naked as the day he was born, he walked straight into the warm water and dove under the surface, moving like an eel to the centre of the pool before rising up again, glistening wet. He brought up handfuls of the soft sand as he did and used it to scrub any remnants of blood and sweat from his face and hair. A second dive brought up more sand which he used to scrub his chest, under his arms, then areas she could not see below the rippled surface of the water.

Ellyn had seen many naked men over the years so there was nothing mysterious or shocking about his body, nothing that would make her blush or grow faint of breath. She was more intrigued by the scars he bore. Having heard tales of his jousting exploits from Roger she noted a scar on his arm—long and ugly and puckered from the edges of flesh being sewn together without care. There was another jagged scar high on his ribs that suggested where a bone had been broken and torn through skin and muscle. Both wounds would have been debilitating and a lesser man might have hung up his armor and retired behind the walls of a castle to limit his days to hunting grouse.

Rennwick ducked under the water a third time and stayed longer, swimming away from the disturbed cloud of silt into clearer depths. When he rose, it was with a heartily refreshed snort and such a vigorous shake of his long dark hair that the sparkling droplets sprayed Ellyn where she sat.

It was his turn to look surprised as he heard her gasp and discovered that she was sitting on the bank.

For the longest moment, the two just stared. His hair was dripping and his body was gleaming wet, outlined by the glow of firelight behind him, every muscle and sinew sleek from the water. Her breath quickened and she felt oddly hot and cold at the same time, a foolish reaction to be sure, for as little as he had entertained the notion of ravishing her, she had even less desire to be ravished. He was a beast and a brute, and possessed as much emotion as a dry log.

"If your eyes have had their fill of my breasts, Sir Rogue, and you are finished staring down my shirt, I would prefer to be left to my own company."

Though she could not read his expression, there was no mistaking the stiffening of his shoulders and the abrupt lift of his chin.

"The water is warm. You might want to take advantage of this time alone while the others are occupied with making the meal."

"But I am not alone, am I sirrah? For you stand there before me as naked as a bull in heat."

She thought she saw a flash of white teeth as he grinned, but she could not be sure. In the next instant, he touched a wet forelock and turned away, giving her a deliberate view of his bare buttocks as he swam back to the far side of the pool. Only then did she release the deep breath she had been holding, and only then did she look down and notice that her hands were trembling.

The rabbits were cooked and eaten along with some of the cheese from their earlier meal. The bones were thrown into a tin pot full of water and set over the hot coals to make a broth for the morning porridge.

When the meal was finished, the three big men splashed into the pool to bathe and tend the minor cuts and scrapes they had earned earlier in the day. Ellyn deliberately turned her back and focussed her attention on the fire, poking the burning logs with a long, forked stick. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Rennwick de Beauvoir over by the horses, rubbing down his big gray beast with a handful of straw. His hair had dried into a mass of curly waves and he had used the sharp edge of a dagger to scrape most of the dark stubble off his cheeks, leaving only a thin moustache and a tidy triangle on his chin.

He paused mid-stroke and glanced over his shoulder as if he could feel her eyes on the back of his neck, but she had already turned away. Yawning, she rolled herself in the warm cocoon of her cloak then curled up on a bed of soft moss close enough to the fire to take advantage of the heat on her back.

It was the lice that woke her. Persistent, annoying, crawling in places that were tender and moist, biting with jaws like those of a lion. They were in the fine hairs under her arms and on her scalp; it felt like there were colonies of them living in the filthy clothes she had been given and they kept her scratching and tossing around in her woolen cocoon until she thought she might go mad.

Midway through the night, she flung the cloak aside, removed her boots, and simply walked straight into the water, fully clothed. If nothing else, she would drown the little gnawing bastards.

Keeping one eye on the light from the fire, she waded into the pool, surprised and a little nervous when the level rose above her breasts. Countering that small fear was the relief that came as the warm water soaked through to her skin. Staying submerged to her chin, she removed each of her garments and scoured them with handfuls of the fine sand, then did the same all over her body, scrubbing until her skin tingled. Her hair was the last thing she did. She had no idea how to swim and she was too terrified to dip her head completely under the water, but by leaning back she was able to wet her hair thoroughly and drown whatever vermin might have been transferred from the wretched pillow hat.

Something slithered past her foot and she stumbled quickly to move away, realizing too late it was just a long thread of weed moving in the current. She was already partially off balance from leaning backward and when her foot slipped on the sand, she went under without any control. She tried to cry out but water filled her mouth instantly. She flailed her arms and her eyes opened instinctively but what little glow from the fire penetrated the depths was now distorted by clouds of sand and she could not distinguish up from down.

Somehow, she managed to break the surface and suck in a mouthful of air, but the panic kept her off balance and her feet skidded again. Weeds wrapped long fingers around her ankles and seemed to tug her down and the more she fought to free herself, the tighter they held her. What little air she had managed to steal bubbled away on another soundless cry and just as she was about to inhale the water directly into her lungs, she felt a pair of hands go around her waist and drag her upright.

Coughing, choking, she clawed at Rennwick de Beauvoir's broad shoulders even as he pulled her free of the weeds and held her steady until her feet could find the bottom. Her hair was like a sodden blanket over her face and he pushed handfuls of it aside to help her see and breathe.

"You little fool! What the devil do you think you are doing?"

"L-lice." Her teeth were chattering so badly she could hardly speak. "They w-were in the clothes, on m-my skin, biting. I th-thought I could drown them."

She pressed her face against his neck and wrapped her arms tightly around him, half-sobbing, half-choking, but mostly coughing sour water onto his shoulder. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her back to the edge of the pool. She was naked and wet and slippery, shaking too much to release the death grip she had around his neck.

"Along with drowning the lice," he said gently, "you very nearly drowned yourself. Can you not swim? "

She lifted her head enough to glare at him through wet, spiked lashes. "Y-you say that as if everyone who lives a th-thousand leagues from the s-sea should know how. Do you know h-how to spin w-wool?"

Renn arched an eyebrow. "I confess I do not."

She gave a righteous snort and a small spray of water hit his face.

He set her down on her bedding then snatched up a blanket and wrapped it tight around her shoulders. He rubbed her arms and chafed her legs with the coarse wool until the shivering was reduced to sporadic shivers.

"The next time you feel like washing your clothes or drowning bugs, you should at least do it while one of us is awake to fish you out if need be."

She sniffed and wiped a droplet of water off her nose. "Baldor would let me drown."

Renn met her gaze and she looked so small and despondent that he could not hold back a smile. "As much as he tries to act the part of a gruff ogre, he has a heart as big as this forest and a streak of loyalty twice as wide. I promise he would go in after you wearing full armor if he thought you were in distress."

"I was in distress just now and he slept right through it."

"Yes, well, you were drowning rather quietly, I doubt he could hear you over his own cacophony."

They both glanced sidelong at the snoring giant, then shared an easy smile for as long as it took Ellyn to remember she disliked and mistrusted the lot of them.

Renn cleared his throat and squeezed the water out of the hem of his shirt. "Since I am already wet…"

He stood and left her to rub her own arms while he waded back into the pool to retrieve her clothes. He wrung them out as best he could then spread them on a rock by the fire.

"I doubt they will be dry by morning."

Terrowin, wakened by their conversation, yawned and rolled off his blanket. "I have a spare shirt. Or… leastwise, I did."

Ellyn followed his glance and saw where the broth pot had been accidentally knocked off the fire and the contents spilled half in the sand, half onto the saddlebags.

She sighed and wiped her nose again. "I will not be dressing in rags again or smearing any more mud on my face, nor will I wear anything that bears the smallest speck of louse shit."

Renn noted the stubborn jut to her chin, then straightened and walked over to one of the packs that had been strapped to the donkey's back. He untied it from the other bundles and brought it back to the fireside.

Ellyn watched as he opened the canvas sack and pulled out a carefully folded bliaut along with a hunter-green sorquenie —a long cote with a close-fitting bodice laced down each side. The latter was made of cendal, embellished at the wrist and hem with bands of embroidered gold silk. The sleeves were long and flared so widely from the elbow the cuffs would reach the ground. There was also hose and a linen chemise, the cloth so soft and pristinely clean she nearly started weeping again. A wimple and a small circlet of gold brocade would complete the transformation.

She raised silvery eyes to Renn and clutched the garments to her chest.

"Why could you not have given these to me this morning?"

"This morning you were a squire. Tomorrow, you will be someone else, should someone see us on the road. "

Ellyn smoothed her hand over the bundle of clothes. Over the years travelling with the armorer and his wife, she had seen enough velvets and silks worn by wealthy ladies at tournaments to know these garments were more costly than every other article of clothing she had ever owned, combined. These were clothes worn by the nobility.

Instead of being thrilled and awed, she felt another bubble of unease rising in her chest.

She was as far from being of noble birth as a fishmonger's daughter. To wear such elegant clothing, to pretend to be a noblewoman was an offense punishable by death. Who had sent these men to find her? Who had provided such exquisite finery… and why?

Rennwick was watching her expression change and once again, his own softened slightly. He rummaged in the canvas sack again and produced a hairbrush, which he held out like a peace offering. "You should put this to good use before it dries and we are forced to cut through the tangles with a knife."

When she did not take the brush from his hand, he leaned over and set it carefully on top of the bundled clothing. "We will be leaving at first light. Be ready."

"And if I am not?"

"If not… I will have Baldor help you. I am confident he knows how to remove a woman's clothing, but not entirely certain he knows how to put them back on."