Finan strode through the camp, his mind filled with worry. If Gradock had Rafe, was it possible that he would hand him back unharmed? The Gradock family were known for their fiery temper, and Lord Gradock’s was particularly vengeful. Finan blanched at the thought.
“The men are ready, Finan.” Leofric emerged out of the mist. His face was grim, completely different from the usual genial expression that resided there. It made him appear much older.
“Good.”
Finan took the reins from the boy who held his horse and swung up onto its back, giving the command to get under way.
“What do you expect to find, Finan?” asked Leofric quietly.
“Pray, Fricka, more fervently than ever you have before.”
Leofric nodded, both knew that the chances of Rafe still being alive were slim at best. Old Lord Gradock was still smarting from King Ine’s request, no, demand, that the matter between him and Rafe be settled with money rather than blood.
There was little hope and Leofric knew that. So why was he finding it so hard to believe that Rafe was probably already dead? He had engaged in enough battles to have had the idealism that he had once possessed stripped away. He knew the odds, he wasn’t naïve, and he had learnt long ago the penalties of the lives that they led. They had only reached the outskirts of the camp when Leofric raised his hand to still the men.
“What is it?”
Leofric looked anxious and shook his head.
“I do not know; I thought I heard something.”
“What?”
“I am not sure.”
“We have no time for this, Fricka.”
“You think I do not know that?” Leofric demanded. Finan shook his head and sat motionless, listening as well. After a while he turned sharply.
“Horses.”
Leofric nodded.
“And coming from different directions.” As Finan spoke he was pulling his sword free of its sheath. Leofric watched the movement, sensing the tension that hid beneath his calm exterior, before turning his eyes back to the thick whiteness before them.
-------
Rafe moved quickly; he knew that his pursuers were close and once again was grateful for the covering mist. He could hear the sound of horses, not only behind him, but also hemming him in on each side. He knew that only three men had followed him and had surmised that the rest had followed Eda and Adele’s tracks. They would come from an eastern direction, and would therefore be the riders on his left.
But who were the mounted men on his right?
Rafe watched the two groups of horsemen on each side of him halt some distance from each other, and saw each man reach for his sword.
“Who are you and what business do you have here?” It was Finan’s voice breaking the silence, its timbre challenging.
Rafe heaved a large sigh and cautiously made his way toward the huge animal that Finan was astride. Belatedly he recognised the beast as his friend’s favourite horse, Brute.
“’Tis a question I have been burning to ask these three days.”
Finan’s head jerked sharply in his direction, and Rafe saw a wave of barely contained relief flood his friend’s face.
“Rafe?”
“Finan, the ladies…?”
“Safe and sound, at this very moment resting in your tent.”
Rafe leaned against Finan’s horse in relief.
“Thank goodness for that!”
“Where have you been, Rafe, we heard that you had run into trouble on Gradock’s lands.”
It was Leofric’s voice, and Rafe peered past Finan at such an unexpected visitor to his camp.
“Fricka? What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing, Finn,” returned Leofric dryly.
Rafe’s eyes locked on his. He would never know how Leofric managed to grasp the facts of a situation so quickly. He greatly envied the way Leofric was able to disconcert his adversaries so efficiently, before calmly taking the upper hand. Rafe ignored the hit, and turned toward the two groups of riders that had now merged and stood silently across from them.
“Why have you been following me?” He kept his tone reasonable, yet there was confidence behind his words. He had not drawn his sword, but his men had and they were not to be ignored lightly. One man urged his horse forwards, breaking rank with the other riders, and coming closer to where Rafe stood. It took Rafe no more than a second to recognise him.
“Rand.”
“Hello, Rafe. I should have known that it was you of course.” Rand’s pale blue eyes moved to take in the two mounted men to either side of him. “Finan and Leofric too… some things never change.”
“And the apple never falls far from the tree,” responded Leofric smoothly.
“You are a long way from Mercia, Rand, take my advice and leave Wessex while you still may.”
“Not before I have accomplished that which I came for,” replied Rand firmly.
“And what would that be?”
“I came for Adele.”
For a second the silence was deafening. No one moved, no one spoke, for a second it seemed as though no one dared to breathe. Then with a suddenness that took all by surprise, Rafe dragged Rand from his horse.
Rand struggled to gain his balance as he hit the floor, and tried to disentangle himself from Rafe’s strong grip. They swayed slightly and then landed, a flailing mass of limbs, in the mud. Their struggling was fierce, and very soon both were covered in wet soil. Rafe felt his hold slip and Rand fell back onto the floor, breaking apart, and both men scrambled to their feet, only to engage again. Not one of their men felt that interrupting the bout would be welcomed by either party. They sat, silent and still, their attention halved between the fight and each other.
Though no sound was made, the intelligence that an altercation was taking place on the outskirts of the camp soon became known to those within. Eventually Adele and Eda, led by Druce, arrived to see what the whispering was all about. Finan saw them and, cursing the entire race of women for their curious nature, forced his horse through the crowd that had gathered.
“Lady Adele, this is no place for women; go back to the tent at once!”
Any one of the men in Valrek’s army could have told her that when Master Finan used that tone, argument was not only foolish but unsafe. Adele did worse than argue, she ignored.
“For goodness sake, will you not end it?”
“’Tis a matter between those two men. ‘Tis not my argument, or yours to involve yourself in: go back to the tent,” replied Finan shortly.
Adele’s eyes met his, glowing softly with an emotion it took him several seconds to place. It was disappointment. Finan was taken so much by surprise that he did not call a man to take them back, forcibly if necessary, to the tent, but sat staring down at her. He felt suddenly that he had come up lacking somehow.
“It is not your argument so you will allow them to beat what little sense they possess out of each other?” As she turned she caught sight of the principals in the argument more clearly and turned white.
Before Finan knew what she was about she had moved forwards, thrusting her way between the crowd. Her diminutive figure was interestingly conspicuous among the brawny, battle toughened men all around. She passed them without a glance, and ran into the circle that the soldiers had made around the two fighting men. Adele didn’t check as she slipped on the mud, but quickly made her way to where Rafe was seated on the unfortunate Rand of Targhe.
“Desist!” Adele caught Rafe’s arm as he brought it back to deliver another blow. “Please, Finn, stop!”
He paused, looking up at her blankly as if wondering where she had sprung from. Rand, seeing that Rafe’s attention was thus diverted, landed a well aimed punch. Rafe fell backwards and Rand struggled to his feet, lunging forwards to where Rafe was attempting to rise. He halted sharply as Adele caught his ear and squeezed none too gently. Letting out a yelp, he turned to look down at her flushed face.
“What do y
ou think you are doing, Randwulf?”
“No, Adele, please, not the ear…”
Adele dropped her hold on him, the movement betraying her distaste and fury.
“What are you doing here?”
“Making sure you are safe,” responded Rand sulkily.
“Well I am, perfectly, which is more than will be said of you when I am finished! What did you think that you were doing hitting Finn when he was defenceless? Somewhat less than honourable and very much less than I would have expected of you, Randwulf!”
Rafe had stood, wiping the mud from his face, but at this utterance his eyes sharpened and met Rand’s.
“Randwulf?” Rafe paused significantly. “I have heard a great deal about you, Randwulf.”
Both men sized each other up meassuringly.
“Strange, for I have heard nothing of you, Finn,” replied Rand coolly.
Both men were silent for a moment, and when Rand next spoke his voice held an unmistakable warning.
“You have as much.” He lifted his hand to push a strand of Adele’s hair back from her face. “If not more, to lose.”
His action was designed to provoke, and Rafe’s hands clenched into fists. He found it took all his restraint to keep from lunging at Rand again. As it was he had the satisfaction of seeing Adele slap Rand’s hand away.
Adele was sure that the conversation had more than its surface meaning. She could sense a wariness in Rand that she had never before seen in him, and Rafe was pale, but not with shock, anger spilled like fire from his eyes. There was something she didn’t understand, something very important connecting the two men. Such an intensity of feeling as was between them was impossible between strangers.
“Adele, take Eda and go back to the tent, one of the men will take you.” Rafe’s eyes never left Rand.
“Finn?”
Rafe turned to her and saw worry in her eyes. Some of the bitterness and sternness that had scared her disappeared, and he smiled reassuringly. He looked suddenly, with mud smeared across his cheek and in his hair, boyish and unthreatening.
“Go, Adele; do not fear that I shall try to break Randwulf’s head. Go back to the tent and rest.”
The worry left Adele’s face immediately, but she turned to Rand a little warily.
“I know, Adele, I know.” Some of the stiffness left Rand’s rigid features and he smiled. “I promise I will not lay a hand on him.”
“Good, for ‘tis you who would probably come off the loser, you clumsy great oaf!”
Rand smiled a little more naturally at this provoking statement, but as his gaze took in Eda, hanging back amid the crowd, his expression became expressionless once more.
“Eda is here I see.” Rand tuned back to Adele, lifting her hand briefly to his lips. “She will see you are comfortable.”
Adele nodded and cast a last uncertain glance at each of them before turning to leave. Rafe waited until she and Eda had disappeared into the mist before addressing Rand once more. If Adele had seen his face then she would not have felt so easy of mind.
“What do you want, Rand?”
“Just a little of your time.”
Rafe was silent for a few moments before finally lifting his hand to his eyes and rubbing them wearily.
“Very well.”
“Rafe?”
“A few moments of our time is not unreasonable, Leofric,” responded Rafe. “However, know this, Rand: you and your men are to relinquish your weapons when you wish to enter my camp. They will be returned to you when you leave.”
Rand stiffened, he had heard the mistrust, the disgust that had coloured Rafe’s voice with the obvious belief that he, Rand, was a dog, fit for nothing but a leash. His hand clenched on his sword and he jerked it roughly from its sheath, flinging it to the ground. It landed, its blade buried six inches into the soil, between Rafe’s feet.
Rafe didn’t flinch. He looked down at the still quivering blade with a faintly amused gleam in his eyes that infuriated Rand even more.
“We can talk in my tent,” he suggested mildly.
“No you cannot,” interrupted Leofric. “That would mean that Lady Adele would be present, and I do not think…”
Rafe slapped a hand to his head.
“I had forgotten. You must have designated quarters here, Fricka, where are they?”
“Come, I will show you.” Leofric turned and Finan followed him, Rand stood undecided.
“After you, Randwulf,” invited Rafe laconically.
Rand nodded stiffly and gestured to Bron that he should follow also.
Chapter Eighteen