Page 12 of The Knight's Pledge
“A moment, I pray, lord,” he said as he loosened the other horse tied to the cart.
“I can manage, Rolf,”Lucan muttered.
Lucan held his injured left foot aloft as he slid to the groundonto his right—
And promptly collapsed tothe rocky bank.
“Dammit!” Lucan could feel all eyes in the party turn to him as he lay sprawled on his side. Rolf and Gorman were soon grasping him beneath his arms and lifting him while hispride writhed.
“You’re yet very ill, lord,” Rolf chastised quietly. He and his son helped Lucan to a nearby sycamore and lowered him down against its painted andbalding trunk.
“Isn’t this a rather dangerous place to rest?” Lucan asked gruffly to cover his embarrassment. “There couldbe a robbery.”
“Only if we’re lucky, lord.”
Once Lucan was seated, the white-haired Winnie and Gilboe approached, the friar hefting a shallow, square basket against his thigh. The old woman knelt near Lucan’s foot and pressed gently about the bandages, carefully scrutinizing each of Lucan’s exposed toes, while Gilboe opened the lid of the basket to reveal a variety of small bottles andpouches inside.
Winnie smiled gently and made a series of gestures with her hands, and Gilboe immediately closed and fastened the basket once more while the old woman looked up at Lucan. She held her palms toward him pointedly and then caressed her throat with one hand. Then she rose to her feetand left them.
“She wants you to rest,” Gilboe said and handed him a corked skin. “And drink.”
Lucan took the skin gratefully, trying to recover from his pride-damaging fall, although no one else in the party appeared to be paying any attention to him at all as they opened satchels and uncorked their own skins somedistance away.
He was anathema, after all. A necessary evil totheir mission.
Lucan supported the skin in both hands and turned it up, filling his mouth with the wine. It was bitter and burning, searing the insides of his cheeks and throat as he swallowed and then gasped abreath of air.
“It’s fortified,” Gilboe confided too late.
“Fortified with what?” Lucan demanded in a raspy voice. “Sulphur?”
Gilboe looked thoughtful for a moment. “Hmm. Perhaps,” he allowedoptimistically.
The sound of hoof beats wafted down from the road above and everyone in the party seemed to freeze for an instant, all inlike postures.
“Two horses,” Effie called out in a low voice, and then paused again, listening. “Both carrying riders. Travelling light.”
And then the party burst into action, each going about a specific task as if being directed, although no onesaid anything.
Gilboe climbed up to stand in the bed of the corpse cart over the still-sleeping form of Chumley.
Rolf disappeared with Winnieinto the trees.
Effie Annesley pulled dark, cloth-like objects from the saddlebag and tossed some to Gorman, who walked toward Lucan. Effie shook out one of the objects and slipped it over her head as Gorman did the same, his pace not slowing as he neared the sycamore, a hood still in his hand.
Lucan realized what the bearded man was about. “No,” he said, holding up a hand.
Gorman paused. “You wish tobe recognized?”
“Recognized by whom?”
Gorman shrugged. “Could be anyone.” Gorman didn’t give him any more time to think before he’d jammed the hood over Lucan’s head. “Just lie there and be injured.”
“I’ll do my best,” Lucan said wryly as he adjusted the hood to see out ofthe eye slash.
Effie Annesley had taken up a stance about ten feet from the cart bed, her bow in her hands, an arrow knocked and pointing at the ground. Gorman came to her side, similarly posed. Effie nodded toward the friar.
Still standing in the bed of the corpse cart, Gilboe took the signal and withdrew a cross from the folds of his robes and held it aloft, yelling as the rumble of hooves drew nearer.
