Page 6 of One Knight in the Forest

“What can I do?” Dyane asked, as Cyn started to follow Borden.

“Thank you for offering, but we have the situation in hand.”

She pouted and set her hands on her generous hips. “Ye really should get out of those wet clothes. Ye’ll fall ill. ’Ow will ye do yer sheriff duties then?”

True. Cyn’s gaze slid to the lady, still slumped in the chair. She hadn’t moved since he set her down. Her eyes were still shut, her face was ashen, and her lips were turning blue. She, too, needed to get out of her soaked garments as soon as possible.

While Cyn considered himself more than skilled at undressing women, ’twould not be proper for him to remove this lady’s clothes, regardless of the circumstances.

Dyane had raised four healthy children and had cared for her bedridden, elderly mother. Mayhap he should make use of the woman’s many talents.

He smiled at her, and was rewarded by the excited gleam in her eyes. “There is indeed something you can do for me, Dyane.”

***

Pain forced Magdalen out of the oblivion of sleep. Her eyelids still closed, she moaned. As the discomfort surged again, she gasped, and her eyes flew open.

“Sorry,” a man said, followed by a sloshing noise: the sound of a cloth dropping into water. “Easy, now.”

She blinked to clear her blurry vision. As her pain dulled to an awful throbbing, memories of what had happened earlier raced through her mind. She remembered an archer—the local sheriff—silently commanding her to surrender to him, and found him standing down by her calves. He’d shed his green cloak and brown garments, and was now dressed in a gray tunic and hose. Somehow, he looked even more austere than in the storm-ravaged woods.

Her heart lurched, and she fought an overwhelming sense of panic as he turned to a side table and put down a large earthenware bowl. Had William caught her? How had she come to be in this place? What had happened since she’d fainted?

The sheriff’s piercing gaze locked with hers, causing a shudder to crawl through her. As he dried his hands on a cloth, he said, “I did not mean to hurt you, milady.” His was the voice she’d heard moments ago. How strange that he spoke gently, as though he didn’t want to frighten her. “Are you still in pain?”

“N-not as much as a moment ago.”

“All right. I will wait then.” He set the cloth on the table and began sorting what looked like lengths of linen bandage.

He was going to wait? Wait for what? A clinking noise, the sound of metal striking earthenware, came from another part of the building. Someone else was close by: William, or his men?

Her pulse became a fierce hammering in her breast, for so many elements of her surroundings were unfamiliar: the strong herbal scent that seemed to be coming from the bowl on the table; the texture of the cloth against her skin; and the pattering noise of rain hitting a roof not far above her head. She was lying on her back on a bed and propped up by pillows, although the last thing she remembered was standing by the log in the forest…

The feather pillow under her head rustled as she glanced about. This wasn’t a chamber at Glemstow Keep. This building was made of wattle-and-daub, not mortared stone, and was filled with shadows, furnishings, and animals she didn’t recognize.

Had the sheriff brought her here on William’s orders? While the fire-lit shadows offered comfort, she might be in grave peril, especially when her injured leg would hinder any attempts at fleeing.

“W-where am I?” she asked, drawing a sidelong glance from the sheriff.

“You are in my home.”

His home? “Did you bring me here f-from the forest? Or did you—?”

“We are still in the forest. And aye, I brought you here, after you fainted.”

Heat burned her face. How stupid of her to have swooned. She should have been stronger than that, but she’d been frightened, and then she’d seen the blood—

“Do not worry. You are quite safe.”

His words offered reassurance, but how could she be sure she was out of danger? “I do not recall your name,” she said, hating that she sounded anxious.

“I am Cynric Woodrow, sheriff of these lands. You may have seen me at Glemstow, on the occasions I have visited there.”

She swallowed, her throat painfully tight. As an officer of the crown, he’d sworn to uphold the laws of England. Would he honor them if he knew the contents of the missive, especially when that letter implicated William in a plot to commit murder?

“You are Magdalen Suffield,” the sheriff confirmed, as though determined to have a proper introduction.

She nodded.