Drake's Honor Read online

  She was too slight despite her fiery spirit, her body unable to keep up with the strength of her determination.

  Rage simmered through him when he thought back to the nobleman who had struck her. What would he have done if Drake had not run him off?

  The sun was still high in the sky when Drake suggested they stop. It was far earlier than when he ordinarily would have paused for a respite, but he suspected Greer was not used to riding for several hours on end. A brief break would most likely do her good. His back could use a reprieve as well if he were being honest. Holding himself rigid for so long left a jabbing pain in the lower area over his hips, and he couldn’t wait to walk it loose.

  They located a spring before halting their steeds and sliding to the ground. Drake helped Greer from the horse, careful to touch only her hand and not reach for her waist, even when she stumbled slightly upon landing on unsteady legs.

  She regained her balance and gazed up at him, her long-lashed green eyes beautiful and sunlit in the summer afternoon. A smattering of light freckles dusted the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks. Her lower lip was fuller than the top one, and Drake was hit with the sudden urge to run his tongue along its plumpness—to sample the taste of her mouth.

  He turned away abruptly and clenched his hand into a fist to squeeze away the unwanted desire. “I should gather wood.”

  “Are we making camp here?” Bean asked.

  Drake shook his head. “Nay, but there’s a good bit of tinder about,” he replied brusquely. “I’ll gather some now for tonight’s fire.”

  Without waiting for Bean to reply, Drake strode off into the surrounding woods with intent. Too late, he realized he’d left his sword behind. He wouldn’t go back for it. Not now, when his temptation for Greer was so great.

  He hadn’t known where that lash of desire had come from. The lass was appealing, aye, and triggered in him a need to protect. But that was as far as it ought to go. He shouldn’t have the urge to study her mouth, the desire to kiss her.

  There was only one other time he had felt thus…with one other woman…

  He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

  Immediately, Anice came to mind. Long, curling blonde hair, innocent blue eyes, her beauty otherworldly. And not meant to be his.

  She was happily married, and he’d been glad to see her thus. She was a good woman who deserved only the best in life.

  He only wished it hadn’t caused him so much pain.

  His life had no room for romantic entanglements. Drake had long ago set aside his own happiness to see to his sisters and mother. And now that they were safe, he could ignore his longing for a family of his own a little longer, at least until he had earned the title of knight.

  There would always be time for love later when he was ready. After all, wasn’t that how love was best found?

  Greer stood rooted to the spot where she’d dismounted from Drake’s horse. He had been almost formal when he’d helped her down, but there was something in the way his gaze had lingered on her face. There was interest—enough that she thought for half a moment that he might kiss her.

  The realization hadn’t been met with dread but with a little flutter in her stomach. A curious reaction, not one she normally had towards men. And a reaction she was not inclined to explore.

  She was simply here to gain access to his sword and horse before fleeing to get to Mac faster.

  She turned from the horse and found Bean staring at her, a slight flush coloring his cheeks.

  “Ye’re no’ going with him?” she teased.

  Bean looked after Drake with a frown.

  “Ach, I was only jesting.” She winked at him and strode toward the narrow stream to splash the dust from her face. The water was cool against her gritty skin despite the otherwise warm day, and she breathed in the scent of damp, rich earth.

  It would be far easier if Bean left, but she knew better than to be so obvious in her suggestions.

  “In truth…” Bean pursed his lips. “I wasna going with him to gather wood, but I do have a need to wander from camp a bit. If ye dinna mind.”

  He squirmed with his legs pressed together as his cheeks deepened to a mortified red.

  “Nay.” Greer shook her head before his embarrassment could overwhelm him. “I dinna mind in the least.” She waved her hand. “Off with ye.”

  He gave her a grateful smile, reminiscent of the ones Mac so often sent her way that the force of it struck her directly in the heart. Bean scampered off, wandering through the tightly packed trees until he was out of sight.

  This was her chance.

  She rushed from the stream to where the destrier was still strapped with the saddle holding Drake’s sword. He’d gone into the woods without it. She’d noticed it as soon as he’d left, half expecting him to come back to reclaim it.

  This was all too easy. Nothing in her life had ever been easy.

  She glanced about before scrambling onto the high back of the destrier. In one swift move, she could be gone with his bag, his sword and steed. She lifted the worn leather reins and clicked her tongue.

  The horse didn’t move.

  She tapped her heels to its sides.

  Still, the horse didn’t move.

  Wasn’t that the way of getting the beast to trot onward? By clicking one’s tongue and tapping their heels against the great velvety bellies?

  She’d never owned a horse to know what to do. It looked simple enough, but the beast refused to abide by her commands.

  Damn.

  Sweat ran down her back, and urgency pressed at her. Drake and Bean would not be gone long. She didn’t have time to trifle with a stubborn horse.

  Jumping down from the massive beast, she plucked Drake’s sheathed sword from the saddle. She moved to grab his bag and stopped. He had been kind to her. She couldn’t leave him with no coin, no food.

  Leaving his bag in place, she hustled to Bean’s small horse, hopped on its back and clicked her tongue. The petite, compliant animal strode forward without hesitation. Granted, the beast wouldn’t fetch nearly the price a destrier would, but travel would be far faster, and whatever she could sell it for in Lochmaben would be beneficial. Every bit of coin would be needed.

  She’d watched Drake’s movements guiding his own horse with a careful eye in the hours they’d ridden and applied the same motions now. That she was able to navigate at all was most likely due to the mount’s gentleness and less to do with her own inadequate skill. But she still managed to wind her way through the woods, not back the way they came or even in the direction they’d headed, but to the far right.

  Her heels tapped the beast’s sides, and the pace quickened to a trot that jarred her where she bounced in the hard saddle. It would not take long for Drake and Bean to realize she’d gone, nor to realize what had been stolen. They would, of course, be chasing after her.

  Sunlight dappled her path as she squeezed between trees whose slender trunks grew almost too close to one another. Perfect for a pony, but a deterrent for a destrier. Mayhap would save Drake from catching her as his horse could travel far faster than hers otherwise.

  Seconds crawled into minutes as she waited for a shout behind her. It did not come.

  The forest began to thin, and in the distance were several curling billows of smoke. She had found what she’d been seeking: a village. She could approach a blacksmith to sell the sword, then trade the pony and a bit of the coin for a faster horse and be on her way without Drake and the lad any wiser.

  Guilt rose in her gullet, an unwanted emotion when she had so little choice in the matter. Its discomfort, however, was ebbed away by the mere thought of Mac, alone in a cell, dirty, hungry and scared. He was waiting for her rescue.

  The poor were never well treated by their lords, especially not when they had been perceived as a criminal.

  “Forgive me,” she said under her breath to the two from whom she’d been forced to steal, wishing the balmy summer breeze would carry her
words back to those she had so wronged.

  Before they could catch up with her, she urged the horse toward the village and prayed she might soon have Mac back home.

  4

  A pile of slender, dry sticks gathered in the crook of Drake’s arm when Bean’s voice pierced the air with the crack of adolescence.

  “Master Fletcher,” the lad shouted. “Hasten back!”

  There was an urgency to his tone that had Drake dropping the wood to the ground as he sprinted back to the horses. Bean stood by Drake’s destrier, his head swiveling about, searching the surrounding forest.

  “She’s gone,” he cried.

  Drake relaxed, realizing the lad was merely upset about Greer having gone on her own path. “Some travelers prefer to be on their own way. I’m sure she dinna mean offense.”

  “But she took Brevis.”

  Drake tilted his head. “Brevis?”

  “My horse.” Tears shimmered in Bean’s eyes. He clenched his jaw and slid his gaze away. “My da let me pick him out…”

  A swift glance confirmed the pony was missing. Drake hissed an exhale.

  “We can track her, lad…” he started, then stopped abruptly as his gaze landed on his saddle. And the very apparent absence of his sword.

  His stomach curled into a cold ball of ice. His father’s sword. The only thing he had left of the man he had so loved and admired. It wasn’t often Drake cursed, but he did so now at the loss of such a treasured possession.

  “A knight shouldna ever utter such coarse language,” Bean said miserably and turned his bright blue gaze on Drake. “But I understand.”

  “Ye’re right. I shouldna have said what I did,” Drake conceded. He put a hand to the lad’s shoulder and squeezed it. They both had lost much that day. “Come. We’ll see if we can find her.”

  Drake helped Bean onto the destrier, then swung up behind him. From that vantage point, it was easy to make out the paths on the field where horse hooves had trod, leaving the grass flattened. One in the direction they’d come. And one to the right, disappearing into the forest.

  No doubt she was heading toward the nearest village to unload the horse and sword. Even if they did not find her, at least they could reclaim the things that meant so much to them. Recovering them would be costly but worth every groat.

  Drake guided his steed in the same direction and immediately began to follow her trail. It was easy to do so with so many broken sticks and twigs. The lass did not know how to travel discreetly. As they traveled, the trees became dense, meaning they had to navigate more carefully and at a slower pace, which made the press of urgency enough to drive Drake mad.

  Bean gave a sniffle from where he sat in front of Drake. “It was cruel of her to steal from us. Especially after we had shown her such kindness.”

  While Drake’s reaction had been a flash of anger with a similar line of thought, he had enough experience with thieves to know their deeds were seldom done for pleasure. Especially female thieves, who had so few options available to them by way of earning an income.

  Again, the yearning to protect Greer caught him in a hard grip. He could still recall the way she had regarded him with such wariness when he’d offered to let her ride his steed with him. That immediate need to distrust was not innate; it was learned. And oft through hard experiences.

  “Ye dinna know what circumstances can lead to such desperation,” Drake replied.

  “Stealing will always be wrong,” Beathan said vehemently. “My da says ye should always respect the belongings of others.”

  “Aye, and he’s correct,” Drake agreed. “But mayhap she needs help.”

  The lad went silent at that, thinking over what Drake had said.

  Snapping twigs and the dull thump of the horse’s massive hooves thudding into the soft soil filled the lack of their conversation. In the distance, several streams of rising smoke indicated a nearby village. Tension knotted in Drake’s shoulders.

  Hopefully, he was correct in his assumption that was where Greer had gone.

  “We should offer her aid.” Bean’s voice cut into Drake’s thoughts. “If we find her.”

  “Ye’d aid someone who stole from ye?” Drake asked, surprised at the lad whose thick voice indicated he was still aching from the loss of his pony.

  The slender shoulders in front of Drake lifted in a careless shrug. “If I’m able to be reunited with Brevis, it doesna matter, I suppose. And if the lass is in trouble, wouldna it be our duty to offer her aid?”

  “Aye,” Drake answered slowly. Bean wasn’t incorrect. But then, Drake also had an obligation to ensure Bean stayed safe. What if the lad had tried to stop Greer from leaving? Would she have hurt him?

  He recalled her demeanor with the boy, how she’d ruffled his hair like a child, and reserved her brightest smiles for him.

  Nay, she wouldn’t have hurt him. Or at least, Drake didn’t think so.

  But was he willing to stake the boy’s life on that assumption?

  The scent of smoke grew more apparent as they arrived at the village’s edge and mingled with everyday odors of village life, where pigs walked about in the alleyways and refuse piled up. They slowed as they passed the simple huts on the outskirts and worked their way inward to the center. Multiple stalls had been set up for market day.

  “Of all days, it had to be market day.” Bean’s proud posture deflated somewhat.

  Granted, the multitude of people in attendance would provide more of a crowd for Greer to blend into, but Drake knew it would be impossible to miss her. Not the wealth of her auburn hair bound back in a braid or the slender waist and generous hips he couldn’t keep from noticing, no matter how much he tried not to.

  She was not a lass he would ever overlook again.

  He scanned the surrounding area, seeking Greer or Bean’s horse or even the blacksmith’s shop as he suspected.

  Urgency pressed in on Drake, nipping at the edges of his patience.

  Not only to save his sword and Bean’s pony, but also mayhap the woman herself.

  The blacksmith’s shop was a stone structure with a slate roof. The door was propped open to reveal a glowing forge and a figure moving within. Greer tied Bean’s horse to a post out front and strode into the shop. A large man in a leather apron was bent over an anvil, a bit of glowing red metal secured in a pincher grip by a pair of tongs. Catching sight of her, he set aside his hammer and the tongs and straightened with a grin.

  His gaze moved appreciatively, first over her, then over the hilt of the sword where it jutted from its leather-wrapped sheath. She pulled it free and tried to make its weight appear easily managed with one hand.

  It wasn’t, though. The solid metal seemed to weigh more than a millstone and left her arm trembling with the effort to hold it aloft. She set the stolen item upon the stone counter as slowly as she could despite her eagerness to be free of its heft.

  If the blacksmith noticed her struggle, he didn’t make a show of it. Instead, his gaze danced over the weapon from hilt to tip. “’Tis a fine sword.”

  She tilted her head up at him. “Worth a fine bit of coin, aye?”

  His pale gaze lifted to hers and his eyes narrowed. “Is it stolen?”

  She gave a carefree chuckle. “Does it matter?”

  “Aye,” he said sternly. “It does. ’Tis an arming sword, one belonging to a knight, I wager. I’ll no’ have a knight up my arse for buying his weapon.”

  Damn.

  A shop owner with a conscience was no friend to a thief.

  “Well, I’ll no’ trouble ye then.” With a nonchalant lift of her shoulders, she reached for the hilt.

  The blacksmith put his hand over the weapon, trapping her fingers between the heat of his rough skin and the cool metal. “This sword doesna belong to ye.”

  The seriousness in his eyes told her any attempt at arguing would be a losing battle. It was time to change tactics.

  She widened her eyes, letting them soften with innocence. “Please let me leave
,” she said quietly. “I’ll starve if I dinna have this.”

  The furrow of his brow melted.

  “Please,” she whispered. “I’ve no’ eaten for two days.” It was a lie this time but hadn’t been on many other occasions. She would say anything to leave the shop without being dragged to the local lord and thrown into the dungeon.

  There would be no helping Mac then.

  The very thought caught at her heart and made it flit about like something wild and trapped.

  The light in the shop dimmed as the entryway was blocked. “That sword isna for sale.” The familiar voice sent dread thumping in Greer’s chest.

  Drake.

  Panic whipped around her. There was nothing for it now. She would be thrown into the dungeon, like Mac. And they both would be left to their dismal fates.

  An image flashed unbidden in her mind of Mac cold and hungry in a dank cell, wondering when she would arrive to help.

  And now, she never would.

  The men she was up against were just and honorable, both far larger than she.

  She might be able to run. The possibility stuck fast in her mind and set her heart racing. She spun about with intent and found Drake directly behind her.

  Usually, she was swift with a ready quip, an excuse, anything. Now, she simply stared up at him, her breath coming and going so fast, it made her vision go dim. “I…”

  His expression was hard, his mouth set in a firm, thin line. “Did ye have the blade sharpened?”

  She blinked. “I…”

  “She was trying to sell it,” the blacksmith offered. “I take it this sword is yers.”

  “Aye, ’twas my da’s.” Drake continued to look at her as he said pointedly, “’Tis all I have left to remember him.”

  He said it in a reverent way that indicated his father had been one worth remembering. Unlike her own, who had been found stone-cold dead on the doorstep of a tavern four years prior, a jug of spirits clutched in his stiff hands.