Voices reached his ears, pulling him free of his dark thoughts and uncomfortable self-examination. Nigel dragged himself into a sitting position and listened carefully. Once sure of the direction the voices came from, he grabbed his boots and sword and stealthily approached. Curiosity drove him. So did the temptation of some diversion from looking at how low he had sunk in the last seven years.
Nigel barely stopped himself from walking right up to the pair he was tracking. They were nearer than he had realized, and were standing in a clearing that was not easily seen until one stepped right into it. He quickly ducked behind a clump of low-growing berry bushes. It was a poor hiding place, but the two people standing in the clearing were so intent upon what they were saying and doing that Nigel was sure they would never see him as long as he made no noise.
The young man was someone Nigel recognized, but it took him a moment to recall the man’s name. It was the smaller one of the pair that caught and held Nigel’s interest. Why was Guy Lucette talking so intently to a tiny, black-haired woman dressed in ill-fitting boy’s clothing? A quick glance at the pile of thick, raven locks on the ground told Nigel that the woman’s cap of curls was a very recent change. He felt an odd pang of regret when he looked at the discarded hair, and wondered why. Nigel decided that any man would regret seeing such long, beautiful hair shorn and cast away. Such hair was a woman’s glory. That made him wonder why the little lady would do such a drastic thing. He forced himself to stop thinking and listen to what was being said, struggling to follow the fast pace of their French.
“This is madness, Gisele,” Guy muttered as he helped her lace up her stained, deerhide leggings and worn, padded jupon. “We are soon to face the English in battle. That is no place for a woman.”
“DeVeau’s lands are no place for a woman, either. Especially this woman,” snapped the young lady as she touched her new, very short curls with long, unsteady fingers. “I could kill the man for this alone.”
“The man is already dead.”
“That does not stop me from wanting to kill him.”
“Why? He did not slash off your hair, nor did he ask you to do so.”
“The bastard pushed me to it, rather, his cursed family did. I had no idea that the DeVeaux were such prolific breeders. It seems that there is one at every corner I turn, under every bush I walk past.”
“And there are probably some DeVeaux within the army that is gathered here,” Guy said quietly. “Did you not consider that when you devised this mad plan?”
“I did,” she replied as she tugged at her jupon and then smoothed her small hands down the front to assure herself that her breasts were not shaping the front of her garment. “I also considered the fact that many of the DeVeaux know, or could easily discover, that you are my cousin. It all matters not. No man will think to look for me amongst the many pages scurrying about this camp.”
“That may be true, but I still want you to stay close to me. Better, stay within my tent as much as you can without drawing any suspicion to yourself.” Guy carefully studied their handiwork, then nodded in silent satisfaction. “Being seen by your enemy, being discovered here by them, could easily mean your death. The DeVeaux have put a hefty bounty on your pretty little head, and many men will hunger to fill their pockets with it.”
Nigel idly wondered how much the DeVeaux would be willing to pay for the lady, then shrugged. It did not matter. He was intrigued, curiosity putting the spark of life back into his veins. He was interested in something besides his own misery and battle for the first time since he had fled Scotland, and he reveled in it. Questions crowded his mind, and he really did not care what the answers were. He just wanted to hear them.
Guy and the slender, young woman he had called Gisele buried her clothes and shorn hair in a shallow grave and then left. Nigel paused in following them only long enough to collect what they had tried to hide. He made a small sack out of her shawl, wrapped the hair and other clothes inside it, and hurriedly took it to his tent before making his way to Guy’s small tent.
It was very easy to get near to Guy’s tent without being seen. The young knight had lost his two compatriots in the last skirmish with the English and had yet to replace them. Guy and Gisele were clearly doing a very poor job of watching their backs. Any man who hunted the girl and discovered where she was would not even work up a sweat in the capture of her.
Staring at the opening of Guy’s tent, Nigel wondered what to do next. He also wondered why he should care if the fools were cut down, then decided that anything which diverted him from the destructive path he had been walking was a good thing. And, he did not yet know if the pair had done anything that deserved a death sentence. It could all be a simple misunderstanding. His family knew well the cost of such errors. They had fought a long, bloody feud over a mistake. A lot of good men had died before the whole truth had come out. Nigel realized that it might be more than curiosity that drove him when he was chilled by the thought of any harm coming to Gisele. Telling himself that any man with blood in his veins would hate to see a lass as pretty as Gisele harmed, especially over some misunderstanding, did not fully explain away the intensity of his distaste.
“Cease your dawdling, Nigel,” he scolded himself as he slowly paced back and forth in front of Guy’s tent.
No clever way to approach the pair came to mind, and Nigel cursed. Either there was no simple way to do it or his mind was still too clouded with wine to form even the most meager of plans. The direct approach was the best way, he decided, and, yelling out a greeting, he strode into Guy’s tent. The wide-eyed, agape looks the cousins gave him were so amusing Nigel had to smile. Guy’s reaction was far too slow to have saved them if an enemy had just entered, but the youth finally acted, anyway. Nigel just smiled more widely when Guy drew his sword, even as he pushed Gisele behind him. The young man clearly did not realize that his actions toward Gisele gave away her identity as a woman far more quickly than any good, hard look would.
“There is no need of that,” Nigel said in English, praying that they understood his language, for his French was so heavily accented that few could figure out what he was saying when he tried to use it. He held his hands out to the side slightly to show that he had no intention of drawing his weapon.
“No? Why have you thrust yourself into our presence if you mean no harm?” Guy demanded.
Pushing aside a brief pang of envy over the proof that Guy could speak English far better than he could speak French, Nigel looked at Gisele, who watched him closely from behind Guy’s broad back. She had wide, beautiful eyes of a green so true that he had only seen it once before.
“’Tis most odd that your page doesnae draw a sword and stand at your side,” Nigel drawled, laughing softly when Guy’s dark eyes widened briefly and the youth softly cursed. “Ye can make a lass look like a laddie, at least to those who but glance quickly, but ’tis verra hard to remember to treat her as one.”
Gisele felt the chill of fear, then grew confused. Her first thought had been that this handsome Scot had been hired by the DeVeaux, but there was no threat to see in his beguiling smile or relaxed stance. Although it took her a moment to see beyond the beauty of his dark, amber eyes, she could see only amusement and curiosity there. That look began to annoy her, for she could see no cause for amusement in her dire situation, nor was it something that some bored knight should be interfering in just to ease a sense of ennui. Her very life hung in the balance.
Despite her growing anger and the Scot’s untidy appearance, she was unable to ignore his fine looks. He was tall, and built with a lean, graceful strength, something revealed very clearly by the way his wet clothes clung to his powerful body. His hair was also wet, hanging in curling tendrils past his broad shoulders, but enough of it had dried to show that the golden color in his eyes was carried through