There was someone in the woods nearby. Someone moving with the deadly stealth of a hunter closing in on a wolf’s lair.
14
The Wolf’s first thought was for the sentry up on the promontory; he should have seen the intruders in plenty of time to have passed an alarm to the abbey. His second thought exploded inwardly on a curse, for he had waved the sentry away when he had carried Servanne past the Silent Pool. In an even more shocking breach of his own rules, he realized he had left his bow in the courtyard, along with his sword. He had his falchion and a dull eating knife—neither of which would do much good unless he could creep unseen to within a few feet of an enemy.
Pressing a finger to his lips, he cautioned Servanne needlessly to silence and crossed to the mouth of the cavern. He was just a shadow hunched against the mist, but she saw him sink into a low crouch and melt back against the stone as a particularly loud crunch of twigs occurred within a pace or two of where the entrance lay hidden behind the ivy.
Servanne held her breath. She suffered a fleeting glimpse of men-at-arms and knights locked in mortal combat with the Wolf’s men, screaming, charging through the woods, their swords gleaming red and wet. And in the midst of it all, she would be running and screaming as well, but to which camp? To whose arms?
Servanne screamed the answer just as the Wolf sprang forward and crashed through the gap in the ivy. There were muffled sounds of grunts and scraping feet, the paunchy thud of a well-met fist … then silence.
She rose up onto her knees, her gown clutched over her bare breasts, her heart in her throat, her eyes stinging with fear. Another ripe scream was bubbling up from her toes just as she recognized the Wolf’s broad shoulders dragging something or someone back into the gloom of the cavern.
“Sparrow! Goddammit!” he shouted.
Servanne’s gasp relieved the pressure building in her lungs the same instant the Wolf’s hand lifted away from the elf’s mouth, releasing a string of shrilled oaths and invectives. They were choked back sharply as the Wolf thrust him hard against the wall and held him by the scruff of the neck, leaving the stubby arms and legs to flail the empty air in panic.
“Sparrow, by Christ, I warned you—!”
“We have all been out searching this past half hour for you, my lord,” Sparrow squeaked. “The Dragon’s men … they are in the woods. They are heading this way!”
The Wolf’s hand flexed open and the little man dropped into an abrupt heap on the moss.
“’tis true, my lord,” he gasped, rubbing his throat for circulation. “The Dragon’s men … two hours away, no more. With armour on their backs and blood in their eyes. They must know we are here—a loose tongue, or a careless footstep.”
“Two sets of careless footsteps, I warrant,” the Wolf snarled. “How many men are there?”
“H-he had two score with him in camp, plus the sheriff’s men, p-plus those left from the cavalcade. Not all would have come, but enough to send Sigurd hurrying back with the alarm.”
“It was to be expected. We could not have remained here much longer without someone stumbling over us. Are we ready for them?”
Sparrow nodded hard enough to set his curls bouncing. “The men are all dispatched and await your orders. You were the only one we could not find. You and … and …”
The round cherub eyes blinked wider as he caught sight of a nervous movement through the clouds of rising steam. He blinked again and swallowed whatever he might have been tempted to say, in favour of ignoring the plenitude of naked limbs and awkward tempers.
“Well, then,” he said instead. “I have found you both.”
“And nearly won a blade in your gullet for the effort,” said the Wolf, stalking back to the far side of the pool to snatch up the rest of his clothes. A glare in Servanne’s direction was sufficient to unlock her fingers from the folds of velvet and hurry them in pulling the rumpled gown over her head. The fabric was damp and chilled her skin, but she scarcely felt it for the more foreboding chill in the air.
“Why did you not sound the horn?” the Wolf asked, threading the points of his leggings swiftly through the corresponding loops on his belt.
“We did,” Sparrow replied. “Twice. Friar began to worry