A Knight in Central Park(77)
Sir Joe took his pendant from around his neck, held it outward and let it dangle from his fingers, swaying to and fro.
George rocked in rhythm to the pendant’s movement. And then, as quickly as if an arrow had sorely struck him, he fell into a heap upon the ground.
“Is he dead?” Udolf asked.
“Judging by his shallow breathing and the greenish tint to his face,” Sir Joe said with a shrug, “my guess is that he suffers from a new plague devouring the people within these hills.”
Udolf’s face paled as he took backward steps, unable to pull his sword from its sheath.
“It’s contagious,” Joe warned. “If you have an ounce of intelligence you will run like the wind. And don’t ever stop because I will find you. And when I do, I won’t let you off so easily a second time.”
Without any care as to his horse or his things, Udolf ran, stumbling as he went. Sir Joe stepped over George to get to Garrett. He used his knife, the same knife he’d made disappear, to cut the ropes from Garrett’s hands and the ties that gagged his mouth.
Alexandra had many questions for Sir Joe, but no words came. Seeing him this way, made her see she knew naught about Sir Joe. She watched with pride and wonder as he aided her brother, concern on his face as he helped Garrett from the horse and led him to Udolf's jug of water left on the ground.
Her brother drank eagerly before he rubbed at his arms where the ropes had been.
Sir Joe came to her aid next. Strange, she thought, that he no longer resembled the soft, tender knight she’d come to know. The man with the saintly manners had withdrawn for the time being, his eyes dark and emotionless behind his mask as he came toward her with drawn knife and swiftly sliced the bindings from her arms and legs.
His touch gave away his inner gentleness as he soothed the red welts on her wrists. She pulled her hands away and placed them tenderly on both sides of his jaw, then reaching behind his head to remove his mask. “You came for me,” she said, her voice a whisper.
“Of course I came for you.” He took her by the waist, pulling her from the horse. Her legs felt as stiff and awkward as a newborn colt, leaving her with no choice but to let him hold her weight until her legs recovered. Pulling her close, he held her tight. His heart beat fast.
Sir Joe was about to say something, for she could feel the movement of his mouth, but any words he meant to say were cut off by her scream as she pushed away from him.
Joe turned about in time to see Garrett stumble backwards, away from George, who was deeply drugged but no less dangerous, for he had been awake enough to get to her brother and plunder a knife into Garrett’s side. Garrett dropped to the ground in a sitting position, holding both hands to his side to stop the flow of blood.
Everything moved in slow motion. Alexandra was shouting, but her voice sounded miles away.
Joe shook his head, tried to regain focus. The man who had done this to Garrett came into view first; his face flush with satisfaction at seeing the boy suffer. Blood rushed to Joe’s head. He hadn’t felt this helpless since he was a little boy, after his mother died and his father left him with a neighbor. The woman would force Joe to put his hands behind his back while she smacked him, one hand, then the other. For his own good, of course. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d cowered under her stern words and biting hand. He’d always hoped his father would return and take him away, but he never did. Not even after Joe wrote him a long, painful letter, begging him to come home.
Joe’s blood surged as he shook off the stale memories and took long, purposeful strides toward George. Joe felt nothing but deep fury as he kicked the knife from George’s hand, then grabbed a handful of his tunic and dragged George to the nearest tree, ignoring his insistent whimpering as he pleaded for his worthless life. Joe silenced the idiot with one thump of the man’s head into the solid trunk of the tree. As the bastard slunk to the ground, Joe turned to see Alexandra holding her brother in the same way she’d held her grandfather in what seemed a lifetime ago. Only this time Alexandra was covered with blood, and her face was etched with a pain he could hardly fathom.
Garrett had lost a lot of blood, his face pale. Turning back to George, Joe ripped the tunic from his body, tearing the cloth into strips. He moved swiftly to Udolf's horse, grabbed a sheepskin and put it to the ground. Next, he moved Alexandra and Garrett, making sure Garrett was warm while he examined the boy’s wound. The dagger had left a wide enough gap, but the knife hadn’t hit any major organs. The cut wasn't as deep as he feared. It could have been worse. Much worse.