Ranulf looked at him questioningly.
“You can tell by the rigging,” Kiernan replied. “What’s the plan of attack?”
“This is no fight of yours, Kiernan. Ride back to Penterwell.”
“I’m not a coward,” the young man replied, obviously offended. “I won’t run from a fight.”
“And if you’re hurt or killed? What am I to say to your father?”
“That I died in battle,” Kiernan said with conviction, “as a nobleman should.”
Ranulf began to think he’d underestimated the young man, but at the moment, Kiernan’s valor was not of prime importance. “We can’t come at them from up here. They’ll see us and make for their ship before we can stop them. Or are there any caves down there where they could take refuge?”
Gareth shook his head. “No, my lord. None that I know of.”
“Why do you think they came here?”
“Could be because the path over there is a wide one,” Gareth suggested. “If they plan to steal horses or sheep, they’d need a wide way down to the shore. If that’s why they’re here, they’ll wait till nightfall before leaving the beach.”
“Is there another way down?”
Gareth nodded his helmeted head. “Aye, but it’s not an easy one.”
He pointed at the eastern end of the cove, where a rocky outcrop rose several feet above the water and jutted into the sea. “There’s another way to the beach around that point—trickier, that’s for certain, but I don’t think anybody’d fall into the sea if we was careful. Could be a bit noisy what with rocks falling, though. On the other hand, they won’t be expecting anybody to come from there. A bit of rock tumbling down won’t alarm ’em.”
Looking at the waves crashing against the point, Ranulf pushed back his terror of the churning sea. “Then that way it shall be, for I’m not letting those men get away.”
ASRANULF AND HIS MENstarted making their way toward the point, a smiling, merry Beatrice bustled about the kitchen giving orders for the evening meal, while Lady Celeste contemplated the passionate energy of younger men. In the village, Wenna crooned a lullaby to little Gawan sleeping in his cradle, until a knock sounded on her door.
Wondering who it could be and suspecting it might be Myghal with another small gift, Wenna smiled and hurried to welcome him.
Instead of Myghal, three rough, strong men—one huge, one thin and one missing an eye—charged into her cottage.
“Do not be alarmed,ma petite fille,” the one-eyed man said as the thin one closed the door and barred her exit. “We have not come to hurt you.”
“Who are you?” Wenna demanded, backing toward the cradle, fighting her terror and swallowing the bile rising in her throat. “Touch me and I’ll scream!”
“Scream and we’ll kill your baby,” the one-eyed man replied, his tone calm, but his expression hard and vicious.
He would do it. He would kill her baby if she screamed.
“There now, that is better,” the man said, his hand on the hilt of the sword hanging from his belt. “Now come with us,ma belle, and no one will get hurt.”
The huge man, who looked more monster than human, started toward her, while the thin one with lanky hair guarded the door.
“My baby!” she gasped, throwing herself over the cradle, gripping it with all her mother’s strength, frantically determined to protect her child. “Don’t hurt him!”
“We don’t want your baby,ma belle. Just you.”
“I won’t leave him!”
“Ma petite, you are making this very difficult.”
“I won’t leave my baby! You’ll have to kill me first!”
The huge man scowled, but the one-eyed man merely shrugged. “Oh, very well. We’ll take the baby. He will be worth something, too.”
Wenna’s eyes widened and a different sort of panic filled her frightened eyes. “Worth something? To who?”
