The Bride Hunt by Margo Maguire Read Free Book Online Page A

her chin. The skin of her wrists was scraped raw, her fingernails were cracked and torn, and there was dried blood on them. She looked childlike in sleep but for her womanly form, barely concealed by the thin, damp fabric of her chemise. Her cheeks were hollow, and bruises covered much of her body. Anvrai turned away abruptly, before he could begin to feel any pity for her. He could not afford pity; nor could he invest anything more than getting all of them out of their predicament.
    He knew from experience the situation was likely to get worse. They had to move if they were going to find food, and they had to do so soon. He’d been near-starved ever since his capture, and his strength was quickly ebbing.
    Anvrai walked to the water’s edge and searched the shoreline for signs of a betterlanding place. ’Twould be preferable to go eastward, but even if he could row against the current, the forbidding cliffs in that direction prevented their landing. The escarpment continued west, but it curved slightly, so Anvrai had a clear view of what lay in that direction.
    “Can you see anything useful?”
    Anvrai turned at the sound of Isabel’s voice. All remnants of lust should have been beaten out of him, but when he looked at her, he felt its punch. She held her bodice together modestly, but the thin gown was damp and clung to the feminine curves of her body. The small cuts and bruises on her face and arms made her appear soft and defenseless, infuriating him.
    He was angry for all that had happened since that night at Kettwyck, for his own inability to protect the lady—and all the others who had been killed or captured. He was furious with Lord Kettwyck for gathering so many Normans together before his fortress was complete, making them all vulnerable to attack, and reminding him that it was all too easy to fail to protect those who needed it most—the women and children.
    “There is naught to the east,” he said in response to Isabel’s question. “Only this high escarpment as far as I can see.”
    Isabel stepped to the edge of the water. Thewind blew the hem of her chemise well above her ankles, and Anvrai turned away. She knew not how enticing she appeared, how difficult she made it for him not to care. Anvrai refused to be sucked into the morass of need, of dependency. He was a master of detachment, never allowing his emotions to rule. ’Twas too painful.
    “The water is moving fast,” Isabel said.
    “Aye. If we keep close to the shore and let the current carry us there—”
    “’Tis the wrong way,” Isabel protested. “We must go east and south.”
    Anvrai crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture he wished she would imitate. Then he wouldn’t be so tempted to ogle her breasts, full and high, with dusky nipples that peaked in the cool air. He pointed to a green area on the shore to the west. “We’ll ride the current to that cove. From there, we’ll be able to walk inland and find a path that leads south, and east.”
    “How do you know—”
    “I don’t. But it’s our only option.”
    He went back to the currach and pulled it away from the nook where Roger still lay insensible. Kneeling beside the young man, he pushed back his hair and looked at the lump on the side of his forehead. ’Twas the size of a chicken’s egg, colored purple and green.
    Anvrai lifted the lad’s eyelids and saw that naught was amiss inside…Since his eyeballs looked all right, ’twas possible he would survive the injury to his head if he did not succumb to any other complication.
    He left Roger and dragged the boat to the water’s edge. Righting it, he went back for Roger, concentrating on the tasks at hand. This was his forte—fighting battles, dealing with the practical aspects of survival. There was no point in worrying about Roger, or Isabel’s small injuries. She was well enough to stand, able to walk, able to row, and they were going to need all their combined strength and resources if they were to