Chapter Twenty-Three
Christian held her as they staredat the stars. He wanted to kiss her and make love to her, but he knew she required rest, and her shoulder needed time to heal.
She promised him it was feeling better and didn’t hurt as much as it had, which relieved him.
She nuzzled against him, resting her leg over his. “How will we find Sage?” she whispered. “We’ve lost her trail.” There was disappointment and hopelessness in her voice.
Christian had an idea. “Simon said he was on the way to Les Labadous to meet with Guillume de Nogaret.”
“Marcus’s cousin,” Willow recalled.
Christian nodded. “He works for the king. Perchance Marcus was going there to give his cousin the book.”
She sat up and looked at him, and her face seemed to shine.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” he asked.
She grinned and lowered her chin, gazing at him seductively. “You clever man. Yes. It does make sense.” She leaned in, pressing her lips to his.
He returned her kiss with enthusiasm. He always felt enthusiasm with Willow.
She began unlacing her armor.
Oh, Christian wanted her. But he never wanted to hurt her. “Your arm…”
Willow grinned, her beautiful hair cascading over her shoulders like a cloud of sunlight. “It’s a pain I’m willing to endure for such pleasure.”
Christian couldn’t resist her.
It took an entire day to get to Les Labadous. Throughout the trip, Christian watched Willow and how she used her arm. He was certain it was sore, but she could move it. Hopefully, in time, she would be back to normal.
They approached the busy town as the sun began its descent. It was a series of watt and daub buildings connected by a long dirt road. Loose shutters banged against windows. Merchants packed up their wares and loaded wagons. Shops were closing. The street was crowded with villagers. A crisp breeze blew a fine layer of dust and leaves into the air.
Christian’s gaze was captured by a plume of smoke rising in the distance. He glanced at Willow. She was scanning the crowd.
A child cried out and raced through the street as an older boy chased him.
Christian rode slowly down the road toward the smoke, maneuvering through the people. The wispy black cloud seemed to be coming from the distance, behind the houses.
He steered his steed between two farmhouses behind which harvested fields stretched. He immediately saw a burnt structure in the distance and halted his horse.
Soldiers and horses surrounded the blackened building. A wagon was positioned next to the charred structure.
“What is it?” Willow asked.
“My brother,” Christian replied, spotting him among the soldiers nearest the wagon, speaking with a man with a dark, drooping mustache and pointed beard. “He’s there with Guillume de Nogaret.”
Willow straightened to see.
Christian was more interested in the wagon. What was in it? “I have to get closer.”
“Wait until some of those soldiers leave,” Willow suggested. “There’s no use endangering yourself.”
Christian agreed. He dismounted, and Willow followed. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest to watch.
Willow stroked her horse’s nose, keeping her stare on the burned building.
Guillume mounted his horse and, with a shouted order, led the soldiers across the fields.
