Simon spoke to a man dressed in brown breeches and tunic, who appeared to Christian like a farmer.
After a moment, the farmer nodded and guided the horse attached to the wagon toward the road.
Christian straightened. His gaze shifted from the wagon back to his brother.
Simon kicked something toward the remains of the building and whirled, mounting his horse to gallop past the farmer.
Christian narrowed his eyes as he examined the plums of black rolling from the scorched inside. It must have been a hot fire to destroy the structure so completely. Only skeletal, blackened beams remained. He climbed onto his horse, swiveling his stare to the wagon traversing the field. “Let’s find out what’s in the wagon.”
Willow climbed onto her steed and trailed Christian toward the farmer. They guided the horses at a leisurely walk to ensure Simon was long gone before they reached the wagon.
“Good day,” Christian called to the farmer.
“Go away,” he called angrily.
Simon must have treated the farmer the same way he treated Christian for the farmer to answer grumpily.
Willow dismounted and, holding the reins, took up step beside the farmer. “We are terribly sorry to bother you. You must have had a difficult day with all those soldiers.”
He snorted, eyeing her. Then, his shoulders sagged. “I had food to gather for me family. I didna need to be luggin’ this lucky chap to the chapel.”
Willow turned to the wagon. “It’s a body?” she asked. “Who is it?”
“Don’ know. They found ’im in the barn.”
Willow exchanged a glance with Christian before focusing on the farmer. “We can transport him to the chapel for you.”
The farmer’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He considered her request before sighing and shaking his head. “I’d best not. They would beat me if they found out.”
“Can we take a look?” Christian asked.
The farmer scowled.
“We might know him,” Willow added.
The farmer brought the horse to a halt. “Go on.”
Christian rode over to the side of the wagon. A cotton blanket covered the body, and he eased the corner up. The body was charred, and the horrible scent of burnt flesh assailed him. He wrinkled his nose and held his breath as his stare tracked up the torso to the head. The face was scorched and blackened beyond recognition. A few blonde strands still stuck to the back of the head. “Marcus,” he told Willow, recognizing some of the clothing seared to the skin. He quickly dropped the blanket.
Willow glanced at the farmer. “Thank you for your trouble.” She dug in the pouch attached to her belt and handed the farmer a shilling.
The farmer’s face lost some aggravation as he took the coin. “Ya’ve been kind ta me. ’Twas me pleasure.” The farmer continued past her, the horse’s hooves clopping in the dirt.
Willow mounted her horse. “You’re sure it was Marcus?”
Christian nodded. “Certain.”
She studied the homes in the village, the plowed fields, and the shadows below the forest’s tall trees. “Where is Sage?”
“She must have escaped,” he suggested.
“Maybe she was captured.”
Christian didn’t think so. He remembered how angry his brother had appeared when he was at the smoldering structure when he kicked something into it. “We’ll ask in the village, but first, I want to check out that building.” He headed carefully across the empty field, scanning the area for soldiers or Simon’s men. He spurred his steed into a gallop when he didn’t see anyone.
When he reached the burned structure, he glanced at Willow, who brought her horse to a halt behind his. They both dismounted.
“What are we looking for?” Willow asked, searching the ground.
