Dragon Tree by Marsha Canham Page B

at once. A ripple of tension coursed through his body and
he nodded, pausing half a heartbeat to glance over at the bed
before he exited the chamber.
     
    ~~
     
    Amie noted the
knight's departure with no small amount of relief. His presence
unnerved her and tied her tongue in knots. When he had caught her
and held her in his arms, the press of all that solid muscle
against her body had made her more light-headed than the lack of
strength in her legs. She vaguely remembered being held in them
before, being cradled against that broad chest during the long and
painful ride to Taniere Castle. She remembered the smell of his
skin, earthy with the scent of leather and sweat. And she
remembered pressing her face into the crook of his neck where it
had been warm and comforting... and safe.
    She shook her
head a little to clear it and looked up in time to see Marak
approaching the bedside with a small bowl, the contents of which,
to judge by the smell of the steam rising off the surface, did not
bear thinking about.
    "The taste
might set your tongue to curling into the roof of your mouth, but
the next time you try to stand you will be able to do it without
toppling over."
    He held the
bowl out and waited while Amie freed her good arm from under the
blankets.
    It tasted as
horrid as it smelled, but urged on by a pale hand helping her to
tip up the bottom of the bowl, she finished it all. Marak smiled
his approval and began passing her small tidbits off the wooden
tray.
    "You mustn't
try to do too much too soon or you will undo all my good work."
    "I have to
leave here as soon as possible. My presence puts Lord Tamberlane's
quest for solitude in danger."
    Marak's
lips—the only part of him visible under the draping of the
hood—curved in a half smile. "Why do you assume he craves
solitude?"
    "You called
him Dragonslayer. I have heard mention of a knight so named."
    Marak reached
for the board and began breaking off pieces of cheese and meat and
handing them to her. "What have you heard?"
    "That he was
once a fearsome warrior, a Crusader who rode at King Richard's
right hand side."
    Marak handed
her a piece of leavened bread. "He is still a fearsome warrior and
if asked, I have no doubt the Lionheart would gladly have him fight
on his right again."
    "The
whisperers say he took up a sword and fought with the Mohammedans,
then ran like a coward when the tide turned."
    The hood
tilted. "What else do these whisperers say?"
    Amie shifted
uncomfortably. "They say he was excommunicated and banished from
the Templars in disgrace."
    "Does he
strike you as the type who would run from battle... or from
God?"
    "He mocked
God's purpose in the Holy War."
    "Questioning
something and mocking something are two very different things."
    "Would the
Templars expel him for merely questioning their theology?"
    Marak
chuckled. "Your mind is as quick as your tongue. I shall have to
drink some of my own possets to keep apace."
    Amie flushed
and bit into a small wedge of cheese. "I mean no insult to Lord
Tamberlane, and I know all too well how stories become distorted
passing from one mouth to the next. But I also know that to have
attention drawn down upon him now would only stir up memories I am
sure he would rather leave in the past."
    "I suspect it
may already be too late for that."
    Amie stopped
chewing and felt a chill pass along her spine, one that was not
eased by Marak's next words.
    "Two of the
foresters reported a large troop of knights and footmen encamped
just beyond the border of Lord Tamberlane's land. The camp is
heavily guarded and they could not get close enough to see the
markings on their tunics.”
    Amie's fingers
went lax and she dropped the piece of cheese. What little color she
had gained back into her cheeks drained away like blood from an
opened vein.
    "For the
moment, it poses no immediate concern. They have not yet ventured
across the river into our demesne and could be nothing more
sinister than a band of travelers making their way