Behold the Dawn by K.M. Weiland Page B

and flecks of red appeared in the bubbles of saliva at the corners of his lips. “Hold me— Hold me up !”
    Annan slid his arm beneath the earl’s shoulders and held him until he could breathe once more.
    When finally William opened his eyes, he lay in Annan’s arms, panting. His eyes found Annan’s face, and he groped until he could touch Annan’s hand where it crossed over his chest in support. “I am dying,” he said.
    Annan nodded.
    “There is—” He wheezed and barely managed to quell another cough. “I must beg a boon of you.” He swallowed, eyes drifting shut. “Mairead— Roderic and Lord Hugh will continue to pursue her after my death. I fear my marriage to her only increased her danger.”
    Annan’s brows came together. “Hugh de Guerrant?”
    “He— a Norman— the bishop’s lieutenant.” William sucked a full breath between his cracked lips. “He forced undue attentions on her— I believe with Roderic’s blessing. I married her to save her shame. But now Roderic has placed a price on our heads. All of our heads.”
    Annan grunted.
    The earl’s eyes opened and behind them burned more energy than could possibly be left in his tired body. “Roderic will find her and give her to Hugh if she is unmarried, if only to punish me further.” His grip on Annan’s hand tightened; the cords of his wrist bulged. “Perhaps the Baptist would have you join his battle to wreak vengeance on the bishop. But I am a man dying a hopeless death, and I must ask for something else.” He wheezed, groaning with the effort to keep air in his lungs. More blood spotted his lips. “You owe me—nothing, lad. Except friendship, perhaps.”
    Annan’s mouth tightened. If there were one man on earth to whom he owed anything, it was the Earl of Keaton. “I will keep her safe. I swear it.”
    Lord William closed his eyes and bobbed his head in a nod. “There is a convent in Orleans—St. Catherine’s. The entrance fee has already been paid. I feared—that this would happen.” He relaxed against Annan’s arm and slumped back on the pallet. “I would ask that you cover her with your name for the journey. She wishes to live in the convent… you need not take her to wife. But give her the protection of your name.” He squinted. “ Your name.”
    Annan stared down at him. He could turn and walk away, he could leave it at the promise to keep her safe. The earl asked too much, just as had the Baptist—and Matthias before them.
    But he didn’t walk away. He nodded his head just once, and Lord William’s eyes closed again. “Thank you. Now—send her to me. And the priest. She will tell you— when I have died. We have arrangements for the escape.”
    Annan said nothing. He slid his arm from beneath the earl’s shoulders and settled him back onto the pallet. William did not open his eyes, but before Annan let go of his shoulder, the man gripped his hand once more. It was both thanks and farewell.

Chapter VII
    THE EARL OF Keaton’s serving lad came to Annan as the gray of dawn began to seep into the eastern sky.
    “The countess bids me tell you that Lord William is dead.”
    Without a word, Annan lifted himself from his damp pallet and once more crossed the camp to the earl’s tent. No one stirred as he threaded his way through the maze of litters, but afar off, infidel tongues began to murmur and hooves began to clatter.
    His hand clenched the air above his left hip where his sword should have been. So it was true. The Christians had slaughtered their hostages. And now, Saladin was coming.
    This Norman King Richard had the honor of a pig. Annan quickened his stride. If he was to escape, it must be now, else his own head would be rolling in the sand ere noon. The Moslem sultan, renowned though he was for the verity of his word, would never allow such an offense as Richard’s to go by without reprisal.
    The hoofbeats grew louder.
    Shoving aside the door flap, he entered the tent. The fire was only a mewing glow