He nodded. “Is your mule always so skittish?”
“Nay, my lord. He is usually well-mannered—for a mule.”
Richard glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, even now the beast comes. Having had his run for the day, mayhap he will be calmer now.”
“’Tis hoped for, my lord,” she answered, her fears fading. Surely, if Richard had recognized her he would have said so by now, not rambled on about a skittish mule. Perhaps she and Philip would escape this encounter unscathed.
Deftly, Richard nudged his destrier to the side, allowing the soldier who led the mule to pass by him. With the rope again in her hand, Lucinda gave the soldier a gracious smile, feeling ever more confident that she worried for naught.
“Philip,” Richard called out, “have a care not to sneeze loudly again.”
Lucinda held tight to Philip’s shoulders as he turned around to answer, “I shall try, my lord.” Then he tilted his head up to ask her, “Must I get on that beast again? My arse is well sore!”
Richard’s smile widened. The soldiers about her chuckled.
She strove for a light tone. “Mayhap I will ride and let you walk, for a while.”
Richard gathered up his horse’s reins. “I wish you both a pleasant journey,” he said, but before he could turn his horse, the old, grizzled soldier put a hand on Richard’s leg.
“Beg pardon, my lord,” the soldier said.
“What is it, Edric?” Richard asked.
Edric rubbed at his gray beard. “Whilst you chased the boy, the woman took a hard twist to her foot I do not think she can walk. If the boy walks, they will not get to the next village afore nightfall. ’Tain’t room on the beast for the two of them and the packs. Spending the night on the road would be dangerous.”
Richard looked back at her, questioning.
Lucinda quickly said, “’Tis a small hurt, my lord. Nothing to trouble yourself over.”
With a sigh of impatience, the first he’d displayed, Richard dismounted and tossed the reins to Edric.
Lucinda strove to tamp down the panic that threatened to overpower her as Richard of Wilmont came nearer. He halted a few feet away from her and crossed his muscled arms across the wide expanse of his chest.
“Edric is a well-seasoned soldier who has suffered many an injury. If he believes that your ankle will not support you, I will not doubt him. I offer you a seat in a wagon and the protection of our company,” he said.
“A kind gesture, my lord, but not necessary.”
“Can you walk?”
“Well enough,” she lied. Putting weight on her ankle was like dipping it into fire.
Richard tilted his head. “Well enough to reach the safety of the next village before nightfall?”
“That would depend on how many leagues to the village.”
“Too many if you cannot keep the mule moving at a quick pace.” He glanced down at her hands. “Your hands bleed. Can you hold the rope securely?”
She’d forgotten her hands. Not until he’d called her attention to them did she notice the blood smeared on Philip’s tunic.
“Mother?” Philip said, concerned.
“My hands are but lightly scraped. Truly, my lord, there is no need—”
“Walk to me,” he ordered.
His tone brooked no disobedience. About her stood a troop of men, Wilmont soldiers, waiting to see if she would defy their lord. Richard was giving her no choice but to accept his challenge.
Six steps would bring her to within Richard’s reach. Surely she could complete three or four. The sooner done, the sooner Richard of Wilmont would be on his way.
She handed the rope to Philip and gently pushed her son aside. The first steps were tolerable, the third step nearly brought her to her knees. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her leg trembled. She stood still.
Lucinda expected to see triumph in Richard’s expression. To her surprise, she saw admiration.
“A gallant effort, Lucinda,” he said, then signaled the wagon’s driver to come forward.
She couldn’t accept his offer. The longer she stayed in his company, the more risk was involved. She began to utter a protest. He stopped her with a forefinger to her lips. A soft touch. A spark of heat. A devastatingly effective maneuver that stole her words. Shocked, she stood still, unable to move even if she could have.
He frowned, looking intently at his finger on her parted lips. Very slowly, gently, he stroked to the corner of her mouth and across her cheek before he blinked and drew his hand back.
“I understand your reluctance to travel with a troop of men,” he said. “I swear on my honor that you need not fear for yourself or your son while in our company. We will see you safely to wherever it is you wish to go.”
He thought she feared as any woman would fear. Richard didn’t fully understand at all, but she no longer had the strength to argue, didn’t possess the physical ability to fight. Her whole body shook from the effort of having walked three measly steps. It took a fair amount of effort to hold back her tears. She nodded her surrender.
He offered his arm for support. Chain mail met her touch, but beneath the cold metal lay strength and warmth. She was careful to keep her bloody palms from wetting his hauberk.
“Philip, bring that beast over here and we will tie him to the wagon,” Richard ordered.
The wagon driver pulled up within inches of where they stood. Without warning, Richard’s hands encircled her waist. Instinctively, she grasped his shoulders. He lifted her up, effortlessly, until she hovered a few inches from the ground.
She stared straight into his green eyes, his wondrous green eyes. Flecks of gold shimmered within their depths.
He set her down on the wagon bed.
“Such beautiful eyes,” he said. “I do not think I have ever seen their like before. Like violets they are.”
Only a true dolt would respond to such flattery, but she’d been deprived of compliments for so long her vanity got the best of her.
“Not so very uncommon, my lord.”
“Rarer than you might imagine.”
Richard seemed to realize at the same time she did that they hadn’t let go of one another and were staring into each other’s eyes like moonstruck lovers. He let go and backed a step.
He crossed his arms again and looked down at her feet dangling over the wagon bed. “Do you think it broken?”
“Not likely,” she answered truthfully. “Had it broke, I could not walk on it at all.”
“Should we bind it?”
“Nay. My boot holds it fast. If I took my boot off, I might not get it back on my foot again.”
He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Philip and that mule do not get on well.”
Poor Philip. He pulled on the lead rope with all of his might but the mule wouldn’t budge. Lucinda’s frustration bubbled up.
“More than once I have taken a switch to the beast to get him to move.”
“You have come far with him?”
“Too many leagues.”
“How many yet to go?”
She didn’t know, because she didn’t know where she would call her journey to a halt.