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.The weak link in this chain is here”—he rattled it—“close to your hand.”“Then swing your ax true,” Raymond answered.“Better you should cut off my head than my hands, for my hands will wreak vengeance on Sir Joseph.”“Your head is only good for butting down stone walls,” Keir said wryly.“Sit down.Make fists, and stretch that chain as taut as you can.”Raymond obeyed.Keir leaned his rear against the tree, braced his feet and raised the ax.“Wait!” Juliana yelled.Keir froze.“My lady?”“Why are you doing it like that? You can’t see as well as if you faced him.”“It gives me the power I need behind my swing.As for sight”—he lifted the ax again—“there’s not much chain to see, anyway.”She wanted to close her eyes against the impact, but a horrible fascination held her.The ax struck the chain squarely, sending sparks as it skidded across a link and caught.The jolt sent Keir spinning away, the ax flying out of his hand.Juliana ducked, but it landed nowhere near her, and Raymond said impatiently, “Try again.”Flexing his hands, Keir grimaced at Juliana.Her voice trembled as she said, “Wait, Raymond.Keir hurt himself.”“I can’t wait,” Raymond insisted.“There are riders approaching.”Putting her head to the ground, Juliana listened and heard it—the rumble of hooves.She nodded at Keir, and Keir picked up the ax.Positioning himself with care, he eyed the chain steadily, practiced his blow, then brought the ax down with a mighty clang.The ax sank into the wood.The severed chain whipped the air as Raymond brought his hands around.Keir and Juliana stared at the ax, both held by an unbearable suspense.They shuddered when Raymond’s voice broke.“You did it.You did it!” He staggered around the side of the tree, fists raised to the heavens.“Your fingers!” Juliana cried.“What happened to your fingers?”He stared as if she were mad, then opened his hands.His fingers were there, all ten of them.Keir lay over on the grass.Juliana put her head between her knees.Raymond laughed, too long and too hard.And that was how Valeska and Dagna found them.20Fixing her gimlet eye on them, Valeska queried, “For this we rode until our old bones ached? To find you making merry?”Juliana and Keir lifted their heads and glared; Raymond laughed harder.Dagna looked at Valeska with disgust.“Let us go and rescue Margery from Lord Felix.”“Felix?” Juliana scrambled to her feet.“Why do you say Felix?”“Because this is the road to Moncestus Castle,” Dagna answered.Juliana shook her head.“It can’t be.He can’t be in league with—”Raymond reached out to her, but the jangle of chains acted like a dash of North Sea water.How much comfort could she derive from him? From a man shackled, body and soul, to old terrors?She didn’t see—or pretended not to see—his gesture.Dashing into the woods, she returned on her palfrey, her mouth hard, her chin set.“Let’s ride.”Raymond sighed.“Would God I had my destrier.” And remembering, he said to Keir, “I thought the mount Sir Joseph rode appeared familiar.”Keir coughed, looking as embarrassed as that iron man could look, and indicated his steed.“Take this one.’Tis yours, anyway.”“’Tis my lady’s,” Raymond corrected, but he mounted immediately, not trusting Juliana to wait for them.Valeska slid from the saddle.“I’ll ride with Dagna, Keir can have my stallion, but first—” She presented Raymond with his arms.His long sword, his short sword, and his mace.Reverently, she lifted his shield off the leather straps that held it and presented it with a flourish.Upon the shield stood an upright bear, claw and fang exposed to inspire dread and intimidation.Raymond gazed on the fearsome representation, then rested his hand on Valeska’s head for a brief moment.“Thanks to you, my faithful squire.”The moon, sinking toward the horizon, deserted them among the tall trees, then shone its flat light over the ruts and mud that formed the road to Moncestus Castle.Juliana pushed ahead, setting a gallop that left the others jostling for position.Without a word, Raymond set off after her, the war-horse moving with a sweet ease of muscle that made him want to race.He wanted to face the chill, grip sword and shield, ride into battle with a bellow that carried terror on the wind.But he couldn’t.Until they rescued Margery, he was the leader, the arbiter of good sense.Renouncing the appetite for warfare and vengeance, he overtook Juliana, cutting her off with ease.When she whipped her head around, he rebuked, “We’ll not arrive soon if you fall and break your neck.” To relieve the pressure on his collar, he shifted the bolt and its accompanying hunk of oak in his hand.“Keep a steady pace.”She set her chin, but nodded.As her palfrey settled into a slow canter, she said grudgingly, “Good advice.”“If hard to follow,” he added, urging Anglais along the road beside her.As the horses picked their way with a steady rhythm, it freed Raymond’s mind to meditate on the fate of Margery.His fingers tightened on the reins, and Anglais leaped forward.“Keep a steady pace,” Juliana said, clearly smarting from his reprimand, but he refused to relinquish the hard-won control on himself.“As you say, my lady.” He was proud of his steady tone, but Juliana didn’t seem to notice it.Her gaze kept sliding to his handful of metal and wood.She began to speak, stopped, then blurted, “Doesn’t the weight of the chain bother you?”In sooth, he’d scarcely noticed it.He’d worn heavier shackles for less purpose, but his sideways glance caught her puckered mouth, her grim brow.The collar repulsed her.Of course.What did he expect? To him, the demeaning collar could be borne as long as liberty accompanied it.For so many days and months in Tunisia, he’d been shackled tight.No movement, no freedom.Muscles dissolving, disintegrating.Youth and power lost forever.That had driven him mad.That had broken him.Broken him twice—once in a hot dungeon in Tunisia.Once in a cool forest in England.He had too many memories of the snivelling creature he had become in Tunisia, and almost no memory of the howling beast he had become in England.But Juliana remembered.She wanted security, and the sight of his shackles proved she couldn’t trust him to give it to her.He found himself stopped in the middle of the road, his chest heaving, his heart twisting as he tried to deal with the pain.Keir and the women circled around him, and Juliana pressed her horse against his.Her cool hands touched his cheeks.She sounded fierce when she asked, “Is it your neck? Your wrists? Did they hurt you inside?”Her copper hair, like bits of flame, warmed her pale face.Her eyes gazed at him with such a genuine appearance of concern he believed it for one sweet moment.“Hurt me?”“Inside,” she insisted.“Did Sir Joseph and his men—”The name jolted him back to reality.Of course she was concerned; she needed him, not as a husband, but as a warrior.“Nay! Not Sir Joseph [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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