of rubble left. And there had been no one in sight. No one except for two men scrambling down from the opposite side from the one by which she had come, and a horseman galloping down from her side—a horseman looking like a woman in a dark dress, with long dark hair.
He galloped up beside her and swept her up with one powerful arm. Aled. He was Aled and he was safe. He had not been caught. She clung to him, numb with relief. For several moments after the shot was fired, she did not realize what it was. And then she did realize and the numbness deepened. That shot had been fired at them. At Aled.
“Get out of here!” Aled yelled suddenly. “What are you waiting for?”
She turned her head on his chest and opened her eyes. There was another horseman, clad all in white. Even his hair and his face looked white in the moonlight. Rebecca! Ceris’s stomach felt as if it turned a complete somersault.
She turned her head the other way as both horses galloped off so that she would not have to see Rebecca. And she clung harder. They had been shot at! The truth of it was only just beginning to hit her. She still had her eyes open as the horses turned to go uphill again. Three men on foot watched them go by. She wondered that they were standing motionless and were still so close to the road. Crowds of men had been fleeing when she had been on her way down.
Several moments passed before the fact registered on her brain that one of the three men—the one whose eyes she had met—was Matthew. The truth dawned upon her at the same moment. He had used her to lead him to Rebecca and all her followers. To Aled. If anyone had been caught or hurt, it would have been her foolish fault.
She remembered Marged’s concern that inadvertently she might betray some of her knowledge, and her own indignation that her friend should think she could ever do such a thing.
She might have killed Aled tonight. She buried her face against his chest again, moved her hands higher up his back, and tightened her hold.
Two things happened simultaneously. His breath hissed in through his teeth. And her right hand encountered something warm and wet and sticky.
She did not move. She was afraid to move a muscle. “You have been shot,” she said against his dark gown.
“It is nothing,” he said, though the sound of his voice gave the lie to his words. “I will have you home and safe in no time, Ceris. Just hold tight.”
She moaned. “No. Stop, Aled,” she said. “You have been shot. You are bleeding.”
“I’ll get you home,” he said. “There is pursuit. Idris brought word. You were bringing the same message?”
“No!” Her voice was agonized. “We have passed them already. They are far behind and on foot. There were three of them. I led them to you.”
“You?” His breathing was labored.
“They followed me.” She could hear that she was wailing and could not stop herself. “Aled, you have been shot. Because of me.”
“Hush,” he said. “Hush. I am going to take you home.”
“No,” she said. She turned her head again to see that they were not far from home. “No, I am coming home with you. You are going to need me. You have been hit.”
He did not argue. He rode incautiously into Glynderi and around to the back of the smithy, where his horse was stabled and where the door into his living quarters was situated. Ceris jumped down as soon as the horse came to a halt, and reached up her arms to assist Aled. He looked so strange in his women’s clothes and with his face blackened, a part of her mind thought. He slid down awkwardly from the saddle, his left arm curled against his chest, while she tried to steady him and break his fall if his legs did not support him. But he stayed on his feet and even managed to see to his horse, with Ceris’s help, before they went into the house.
The bullet had gone through his shoulder. They discovered that after Ceris had somehow got him out of the dark robe and had peeled back his blood-soaked shirt and dabbed away some of the dried blood with a dampened cloth.
“There is a hole at the front,” he said faintly. “There must be one at the back too, Ceris. They shot