“French,” Beast spits out.
“They do not appear to be harming the farmer or his wife.”
“No, just raiding their food stores to feed their own troops.” He turns to me and smiles. “We will stop them.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “No, we won’t. We cannot pick a fight with every soldier we see between Nantes and Rennes!”
“We cannot just leave these poor people to be bullied by our enemies. Besides”—he shoots his maniacal grin my way—“that will be five French soldiers I will not have to kill later.”
“We cannot risk something happening to you over foodstuffs,” I hiss back.
At an impasse, we stare at each other. Then his horse lifts its leg and steps forward, breaking a small branch under its hoof. A loud crack echoes through the air, and the shouting stops. “Who’s there?” a voice calls out.
I glare at Beast. “You did that on purpose.”
He scowls in mock annoyance. “It was the horse. But now that our presence is known, we have no choice.” He removes the crossbow from its hook on the saddle and pulls three quarrels from the quiver.
I resign myself to our fate and decide to get it over with as quickly as possible. “I must get closer. When I am in place, I will hoot like an owl.”
Now it is Beast’s turn to frown. “I am not sure that is safe.”
I roll my eyes as I dismount. “You are not my nursemaid. Remember, I am rescuing you.” I loop the reins around a nearby branch and begin to move quietly through the trees toward the house.
The leader is ordering one of the goose-chasing men to go in search of the noise they just heard. The woman is wringing her hands and crying about her new down pillow, but I block all of that out as I pick my spot next to a tree that is partially covered by a thick shrub. I pull out my knives and take careful aim at the soldier closest to the farmer and the one most likely to harm him. As I hoot like an owl, I send the first knife flying.
With knives, the two best choices for a kill shot at this distance are the throat or the eye. My aim is perfect and the knife catches him in the throat. The farmwife is made of sturdier stuff than the miller’s daughter, for she does not scream, simply jumps out of the way of the splatter of blood.
My second knife and Beast’s three crossbow bolts make quick work of the rest of them. When they are all dead, the three of us emerge from the trees. The farmer and his wife approach us, their greeting effusive. “Praise be to Matrona! She has sent you to deliver us from certain disaster.”
“Well, you were not in mortal danger,” I point out.
The farmwife bristles at this. “Not in mortal danger? What is starving to death, then, if not mortal danger?”
The farmer glances uneasily at the road. “Do you think more of them are coming?”
Beast follows his gaze. “Not immediately, no. But we’d best get the horses and bodies out of sight.”
“You will do no such thing.” I angle my horse to block his. When he starts to argue, I urge my horse closer and lower my voice. “If you do not have a care for yourself, then at least give a thought to what the duchess and my abbess will do to me if I arrive with nothing but your lifeless body.”
An odd, pained expression crosses his face and I think that at last he understands my peril, if not his. “Besides, it will take all of us working together to get you off that horse and laid down somewhere where I can tend your wounds.”
The farmwife’s hand flies to her cheek. “Was he injured?”
“’Tis an old injury, but a bad one. Is there somewhere we can settle him?”
The farmwife nods. I leave Yannic and the farmer to help Beast from his horse and let the farmwife lead me into the house. As I enter, I look around in surprise, for outside, the farm seemed to me somewhat poor and rundown. Inside, the house is anything but. The farmwife meets my eye. “’Tis not by accident. Living so close to the border, and with so many wars and skirmishes over the years, we have learned to conceal our prosperity. When we are lucky enough to have it.”
She stops at a small storeroom, takes a key from the ring around her waist, and unlocks the door. Two boys spill out, wearing fierce glowers. “Next time let us stay and fight,” one of them says. He is on the cusp of true manhood, all gangly limbs, clumsy feet, and too-large nose.
“Mind your manners and greet our guest.”
For the first time, both of them notice me. Even though I wear three days’ travel grime instead of my finest jewels, their gaping admiration does wonders for my spirits.
The farmwife clucks her tongue. “Go on now, go help your father and the others get rid of the bodies.”
“Bodies?” They perk up, then clatter out of the house.
“My husband is old and no threat to the soldiers, but I could not trust these hotheads not to do something foolish.” The farmwife rolls her eyes, but it does not disguise the pride she feels in her sons.
The farmhouse has a large kitchen and a great room with a long table and benches. While looking for a spot for Beast to rest, I also try to note any exits. We may need to leave suddenly, for there is no guarantee the French will not send others to check on their comrades. And if the French can stumble upon this place, so can d’Albret and his men.
Besides the front door, the three windows with wooden shutters are the only way in and out. And certainly there is no place big enough to conceal Beast.
I nod to the area in front of the hearth. “That will work. The fire will keep him warm and allow me to mix the poultices I need for his leg.”
Her face creases in concern. “How bad is it?”
I meet her intelligent brown-eyed gaze. “Bad enough. If I had any surgeon’s skills, I would consider removing it, but luckily for him, I do not. A prayer or two on his behalf would not go amiss.”
She nods. “This whole family shall pray for him,” she says, and I know I can consider it as good as done.
Chapter Twenty
THE FAMILY IS SO GRATEFUL for our intervention, and so wonderstruck at being saved by the mighty Beast of Waroch himself, that once the floodgates of their gratitude have opened, it is impossible to stop it. They insist on slaughtering the goose so they may reward him with a feast fit for a hero of the realm. (“May as well start working on that pillow now,” the farmwife points out.) Since we are all of us in need of a decent night’s rest and would not begrudge a good meal, we accept their kind offer.