The Mark of Salvation Read Online Free PDF Page B

muscles. Her movements awakened Angela.
    â€œIs it morning?” the woman asked.
    Orelia straightened her clothing. “Yes, it is. Did you sleep well?”
    â€œNot really.” Angela sat up. “Has someone come to retrieve us?”
    â€œNo, no one is here. We are quite alone.”
    Angela said, “Maybe they are sleeping in the camp—they wouldn’t want to wake us.”
    â€œIf anyone had ridden into the camp, I would have heard them.” Orelia assured her.
    After all of John’s brave predictions that the English army would be victorious, here she was, alone, perhaps at the mercy of her enemies. Orelia hoped she’d made the right decision in staying with the wagons. What foolishness. Of course it was the right decision. Even if the Scots had won, John and the others would eventually return for the supply train.
    She fingered the small dagger strapped to her leg in the special sheath John had made. He had shown her how to use the weapon, had made her practice until he was satisfied that she could defend herself. He’d insisted on this when she’d decided to accompany him.
    Where was he? Why hadn’t he come for her? The knife felt reassuring there beneath the folds of her dress but she’d feel better if she knew the answers to her questions. Cautiously, she moved to the opening at the end of the wagon.
    Pulling aside the oilcloth just slightly, she blinked at the early morning light. All she could hear were the restless movements of the horses, still fastened in their traces. Poor beasts were probably as hungry and thirsty as she was.
    Dare she leave the relative safety of the wagon? How could she not? She pulled back the opening wide enough to slip through it, stuck her head outside, and shrieked with terror at the sight before her.
    A tall, dark-haired, kilt-wearing knight stood not five feet away with his hands over his ears, groaning as if in pain. She stopped screaming and reached for her knife. The feel of it in her palm calmed her and she held it in front of her.
    The man removed his hands from his head and reached for her.
    â€œStay back!” She jabbed the knife toward him and he yanked his hand back, moving quickly for such a large man.
    â€œI mean you no harm, lady.” The lilt of his voice was not as pronounced as other Scots she’d listened to.
    â€œThen leave at once. Before my husband returns,” she added. Perhaps he would think her man had only left to relieve himself and would soon be back. She could sense her companion coming up alongside her, and Orelia pushed at her, willing her to remain hidden. Apparently Angela understood because she made no further move toward the opening.
    â€œIs your man a Scot?” the warrior asked.
    Puzzled she said, “Of course not. He’s the Earl of Radbourne.”
    â€œWell, unless he’s turned traitor to England, he’ll not be coming back here any time soon. Now come out of the wagon and I’ll see you safe—”
    A muffled sneeze from inside the wagon gave away the fact that Orelia was not alone, destroying any hope of persuading him to simply walk away.
    He withdrew his sword from its scabbard. “Get out of the wagon, lady. And if your husband is wise, he’ll follow you.”
    â€œMy husband isn’t here, you barbarian.”
    â€œGet out, now!”
    The cold steel in his voice told her he was not to be trifled with, and Orelia spoke to Angela. “Come. We must do as he says.”
    Reluctantly they crawled out of the wagon and stood in front of the warrior.
    CEALLACH’S HEAD FELT MORE THAN A BIT FUZZY and his soul was burdened from his night of forbidden activity. His punishment for such behavior crawled out of this supply wagon—two hostile women. Englishwomen. The one with the knife might just know how to use it; she held it as if she meant to do him harm. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
    â€œWaiting for our husbands to