I shook my head. “That has nothing. I mean … as I said, I was waylaid. And lost.” Renaud’s words from the meadow came back to me:We are making something powerful together.I swallowed,feeling small and meaningless.
“We are prostitutes, good sir,” Dacia admitted, and I wished she had not, though the black cloaks had already given it away. There was just something different about bringing it into the spoken air—especially in a camp of lawless men. “Devout Christian women, but in dire circumstances. We are no friends of the Baron. It’s true he sent his man with us to protect us, but he has done nothing but torment our village with taxes and labor. Meanwhile, girls have gone missing one after another, and he will not listen to our pleas to find out why and put an end to it.”
The men looked at each other, weighing her words. “Tie her up,” Tobin said, gesturing to me. “I don’t want her running off. Not until I figure out where she came from and am sure it’s not that bastard trying to flush us out.”
My stomach sank. “At least take Dacia back to the village! She will be missed.”
Both men gave me a withering look of disgust—as if they couldn’t believe I would even try.
“You don’t understand,” I said. “I’m not supposed to be here!” I was supposed to be in my chambers, in bed, recovering, having Renaud change my bandages and smooth my legs with his bare hands. I had made a terrible mistake when I ran. I could see that now. No one had ever treated me as well as Renaud, and I should have trusted that truth rather than my own fear.
The big one grabbed me.
I screamed, hands up and fighting—careless to modesty, either in body or spirit. I fought, but that mountain of a man held me like I was nothing.
“Wait, Jon,” Tobin said.
Jon froze. I shoved myself out of his grasp, breathing hard, hair wild in my face.
“What is on your legs?”
I lifted my chin. “I am injured. I was way—”
“Let me see,” Tobin ordered.
I did not have a choice. Jon turned me over as easily as a doll and the two men inspected the back of my legs.
Dacia met my eyes. It was such a familiar look—one we’d exchanged a million times before. I had once had my body inspected and used by many men. In Death’s home, my body had been my own—or at least until … My whole body prickled with pain and sweat and I felt raw and exposed in front of these men.
“These are going to rot if not treated,” Tobin said, his face pale and expression drawn, as if he had seen a ghost. “They are already inflamed.”
“The healing pools would be good. Then some hot wine and honey,” Jon murmured. “I don’t think it can wait.”
I was surprised by his knowledge of healing, but then I imagined somebody in this group needed to know. Bandithood probably came with a lot of injuries.
Tobin sighed. “Take her to the pools, clean her up, find her some clothes. Then we’ll talk more.”
Jon hauled me by my arm toward the tent door, but I pulled back. “Let my friend come with me. I’m afraid to be alone.”
“You will be safe with Jon. I swear it,” Tobin said.
Dacia stepped toward me, a firm look on her face as she addressed Tobin. “I will need to help wash her wounds. I swear on Christ’s empty tomb we will return.”
Tobin sighed as if weary of all this. “Take Leland to be sure they don’t slip off.”
“I shall not allow that,” Jon said firmly, a little scorn in his tone. Tobin didn’t argue.
Jon herded us together and pushed us out into the open camp. I pulled my borrowed cloak tight against the rain and ducked my head. Dacia kept close beside me.
Outside the tent, the camp was full of men, and they all tracked us with their gazes. How did I shake off this terrible draw of darkness?
As if hearing my thoughts, Dacia reached out and grabbed my hand and I gripped her tight.
XXII.
Life, Rather than Death
Jon, it turned out, was no fool. He did not let us ride together. Lifting Dacia onto an old pony and me behind him on his horse, he kept a short lead line between us as we rode through the gloom. For the first part, we were blindfolded again, but soon they were removed.
