The Bride Hunt Read Online Free PDF Page B

pushed away from the quay. The oars lay on the bottom of the currach, and he picked them up, sat down, and started rowing out toward the middle of the lake.
    “That way is south,” Isabel said, pointing to the far shore.
    Anvrai steered them in the right direction as Isabel leaned over Roger. The small currach started to tip with her movements. “Be still, Isabel. We’ll capsize.”
    ’Twould be sheer luck if they did not overturn. The currach had been made for no more than three or four men, and there were nets and other fishing equipment in the bottom. The small craft rode low in the water.
    “But Roger is hurt,” she said, lowering herself behind Anvrai.
    He felt her breath upon his back, warm and vibrant. “Just sit still and answer my questions.”
    A deep silence fell, and though questions hovered in his mind, suddenly Anvrai did not want to know what had happened to Isabel. He did not want to hear of any of the hurt or abuse she’d suffered. She was not his mother or sister,nor was she his wife. She would have to bear her troubles alone, for he was no woman’s guardian.
    The paddles moved in the water as smoke from the burning village billowed across the lake. Anvrai heard Isabel take a shuddering breath, then he felt her warm body press against his as she collapsed against him.
    “I killed him,” she said. “The headman. I gutted him, with his own knife.”

Chapter 4
    I sabel hoped she did not smell as bad as Sir Anvrai. Trembling, she pushed away from his broad back and turned to look at the smoke and flames engulfing the village. “I did not mean to wreak havoc on that village,” she murmured.
    She had killed a man.
    By all the saints, she had not been tutored in the rough ways of men or been given the knowledge she needed to protect herself against the lowest of them. Surely her father had intended to protect her from any mishap, yet he’d failed. ’Twas even possible he’d lost his life in the attack upon Kettwyck.
    She could not think of such horrors. ’Twouldtake all her efforts just to survive the coming night.
    “He fell,” she said softly to herself, as if seeking some new explanation for what had happened. “After I stabbed him, the chieftain staggered back and fell. He knocked over a lamp, and it caught fire…”
    Sir Anvrai continued rowing, as if he had not heard. ’Twas just as well, for she was not talking to the hulking knight, a man who could not possibly understand her need to speak of the atrocities of the night. Nor did Isabel herself really understand all that had happened. Her thoughts were oddly scattered, and there was blood on her hands.
    She reached over the side of the currach and scrubbed them, though she suspected ’twould take several washings before she felt clean. Drying them on one of the leather skins that lay at her feet, she could not help but think of what she’d stolen from the man she’d killed.
    The man she’d killed.
    She had stood as if paralyzed, staring at him, at the terrible wound she’d inflicted upon him and the blood that welled from the deep gash in his belly while flames engulfed his house.
    “Did I do that to him?” Her voice was just a whisper as she gathered the edges of her chemise together. The chieftain had ripped awaythe ties, and the garment gaped indecently. Her fine kirtle had been stolen from her some days ago, and she’d been forced to travel all the way to this Scottish clime clad only in a thin, chainsil chemise. It had once been a lovely undergarment but had been thoroughly spoiled…filthy and torn, ’twas hardly the modest garb she’d worn at the abbey.
    Isabel trembled with the cold as well as with dread. By the grace of God, they would escape. She prayed for deliverance but could hardly hope for a reprieve. Anvrai was injured and in too poor a condition to row them to safety. Roger lay groaning in the hull of the currach, clearly unable to aid in their efforts to escape, and ’twas too dark a night to navigate