“I’m going to find Bea,” Ranulf replied, speaking not with the red-hot anger of a downtrodden boy, or the fiery passion of a rejected youth, but with the cold-blooded fury of a mature man. He was a warrior in his prime, and he would stop at nothing to rescue the one person in the world who loved him, and whomhe loved with all the passion, devotion and determination of his formerly barren heart.
“Bless you, sir!” Maloren cried, sobbing as she rushed to his clothes chest and threw open the lid. “I know you’ll find her and my lamb’s right to love you, even if you’ve got red hair!”
“WHY ARE YOU LIMPING?” Myghal demanded as Bea, panting, struggled beside him on the path leading down to the sea.
She glared at him. With her mouth gagged, she could hardly answer his question, and she wouldn’t tell him anyway.
Still holding his sword, Myghal impatiently pushed her onto the ground and grabbed her leg, raising her bruised and bloody foot that was only partly covered by her torn stocking. “You’ve lost your shoe.”
As if she hadn’t noticed.
Once again he hauled her to her feet. “You’re only making this harder, my lady. I’m taking you to Pierre. There’s no help for it if I’m to get Wenna and little Gawan back.”
Bea tried to say Ranulf would kill him for what he’d done—if he found out what had happened, if he discovered that Myghal was involved, if he found her—but all that came out was garbled noises.
If Wenna were saved and went back to Penterwell, she would tell Ranulf what had happened. Wenna would help her.
Wouldn’t she? Would she betray Myghal, who had risked Sir Ranulf’s wrath to save her? Oh, please, God, she must!
Myghal started down a narrow path to a small indentation in the coast where a flat-bottomed boat with a single mast, its sail furled, lay beached on the rocks. They were going to set sail inthat?Above, thick clouds were gathering on the horizon, and she immediately envisioned death by drowning in the cold, cruel sea.
Perhaps that would be better than being sold as a slave in Tangier, into some sultan’s harem.
She looked around frantically for any sign of Ranulf’s men, although, in her heart, she doubted he would have set a watch here. No ship or boat capable of carrying a group of men could put in anywhere close to these rocks.
She wasn’t going to give up yet, so as Myghal pulled her closer to the boat, she abruptly pushed back and sat on the rocky ground. He was going to have to drag her.
“Get up, my lady!” Myghal ordered, trying to tug her to her feet.
She shook her head, determined to make it as hard for him to move her as she could. She kicked her feet, too, hoping to hurt him or delay their progress.
“Get up!” Myghal cried, gripping her hard, but still she fought back, twisting and struggling and refusing to stand.
“I don’t want to hurt you!”
He was going to have to if he wanted her to move.
At last he sheathed his sword and grabbed both her arms, tugging her upright.
He was so angry and upset, he didn’t notice that her other shoe lay discarded on the ground, especially when she shoved him with her shoulder to distract him.
He grabbed her again, turned her around to face the sea and frog-marched her to the boat. Her nearly bare feet were in agony from the rough rocks, but she would have risked more than sore feet before she got in that boat. Another struggle ensued before Myghal lifted her bodily over the gunwale into the bow and pushed her down upon a thwart. She slipped and fell hard against the side, striking her elbow and ribs, the sudden, blinding pain making tears come to her eyes. Despite that, her mind still sought a way to prevent him from taking her any farther. She considered kicking a hole in the boards with her heel, but feared that might make Myghal notice that both her feet were shoeless now.
Myghal took hold of the bow and shoved the boat into the water, the bottom scraping against rock. Perhaps he’d put a hole in it and they would have to come back, lest he drown, too.
Myghal continued pushing the boat out into the water, then climbed over the left side, making it heel. Bea instinctively leaned her weight on the opposite side to balance it.
No, she didn’t want to drown. She would fight and survive, and Ranulf would find her.
Myghal unfurled the sail, then sat in the rear and put an oar over the stern of the boat to make a rudder. The wind caught the sail, and soon they were headed out to sea, skimming over the open water that so frightened Ranulf, to where the whitecaps danced and the dark clouds moved closer.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KEEPING ONE HANDon the handrail so that he wouldn’t fall, Ranulf hurried down the stairs as fast as he could, Maloren before him and Celeste coming behind. In the hall, torches flickered in the sconces, the light waxing and waning upon the faces of the worried servants and soldiers gathered there. Kiernan stood in the midst of them, his expression just as anxious and his complexion deathly pale.
The man’s visage told Ranulf as plain as words that Bea had not been found.
He let go of the handrail, straightened his shoulders and strode toward Kiernan. The servants and soldiers quickly made way for him, while Maloren and Celeste followed.
