The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(6)

“Is that so?” he asked slowly. “I did not realize Melrose Abbey was a popular pilgrimage destination.”

“Perhaps not as popular as Whithorn or Iona, but popular enough for those who revere the lady,” she said, crossing herself reverently, and he frowned. Melrose, like all Cistercian abbeys, was dedicated to the Virgin Mary.

“And you travel by yourself? That is quite unusual.”

Genna had had a dog like him once. Once he got hold of a bone, he wouldn’t let it go. She just needed to find a way to get him to drop it. But first she had to make sure Marguerite was safely away. “In my country, no. Only someone possessed by the devil would harm a bride of Christ.” She paused innocently, letting him contemplate that. His face darkened, and she continued, “There is a group of pilgrims we passed on their way to Dryburgh Abbey,” which was only a few miles away. “I hope to join them for the rest of the journey. Perhaps you will be so kind as to show me the way?” Without waiting for him to answer, she pulled Marguerite into a hug. With any luck, Marguerite would be gone before he realized what she’d done. “Goodbye, Sister. Godspeed on your journey,” she said loudly, then whispered in her ear so that only she could hear, “Go … quickly … please.”

The girl opened her mouth to argue, but Genna’s hands tightened on her shoulders to stave off her protests.

Marguerite gave her a long anxious look, but she did as she was bid and started to walk away. She tried to slip through a gap between two of the horses, but the leader stopped her. “Wait there, Sister. We have not finished our questions yet. Have we, lads?”

The way the men looked at each other made Genna’s pulse take an anxious leap. They were enjoying this, and it was clear that it was not the first time they’d been in this position. Could these soldiers have something to do with the group of nuns who’d gone missing late last year?

She looked around for help. It was the middle of the day—mid-morning, actually. Surely someone would pass along this way soon. However, although the village was just behind them, the thick trees that shrouded the road like a leafy tunnel prevented anyone from seeing them. And even if they were seen, would anyone interfere? It would take a brave soul to stand up to four mail-clad English soldiers.

Nay, it was up to her to get them out of this. She’d tried appealing to the leader’s vanity and that hadn’t worked. Nor had appealing to his honor, which appeared distinctly lacking. The man was a bully, who liked to prey on the weak and vulnerable—which, fortunately, she was not. But he’d shown discomfort when she reminded him of her holy status, so she would concentrate on that.

A quick glance at Marguerite made her heart sink with dread. God help them, fear was bringing on one of Marguerite’s attacks! Though it had happened only once before, Genna recognized the telltale quick gasping of breath.

Genna didn’t have much time. Having lost patience with the soldier’s game, she rushed over to the girl and pulled her under her arm protectively. She murmured soothing words, trying to calm her down, all the while glaring up at the captain. “Look what you have done. You have upset her. She is having an attack.”

But the words seem to have no effect on the man. “This won’t take long,” he said. “Bring them,” he said to his men in English, presumably so she wouldn’t understand.

Before Genna could react, she and Marguerite were being dragged deeper into the forest, her staff lying useless in the leaves behind them. Marguerite was clutching at her frantically and let out a desperate cry when the soldiers finally managed to separate them.

Genna tried to appear calm though her heart was racing. “Don’t worry, Sister,” she said confidently, “this will all be sorted out quickly. I’m sure these good Christian men mean us no harm.”

It was a sin to lie, but in some cases, she was certain it would be excused. Genna didn’t need to understand the soldiers’ words to guess what they planned. But unfortunately, she understood every one of them, so she heard the chilling details.

“The old one is prettier,” the captain said, switching again to English to speak to his men. “But we’d better start with the sickly one in case she doesn’t last. I want to see those tits.”

Genna forced herself not to show any reaction to his words, but anger, and perhaps a twinge of fear at hearing them talk so matter-of-factly about rape and the death of her friend, surged through her. She had no intention of allowing that to happen. And seven and twenty was mature, not old!

The situation was deteriorating, but Genna had been in lots of sticky situations before. This might be stickier than most, but it wasn’t over yet.

The soldiers didn’t bother taking them very far, almost as if they knew no one would dare interfere. Bruce might control the north of Scotland, but the English reign of terror was still in full force in the Scottish Marches. The English operated with impunity—except for the occasional raid or ambush from Bruce’s men. The English were no more than brigands with authority, Genna thought. But soon Bruce would send them running back to England. She had put herself in this position to help ensure that happened.

They entered a small clearing in the trees, and the men released them with a hard push. Both women stumbled forward, Genna barely catching herself before falling to her knees. Marguerite wasn’t so fortunate, and Genna watched in horror as her gasping intensified. She couldn’t seem to get off her hands and knees, as if the effort was too much for her.