Juliana Garnett by The Vow Page B

of men cursing, and a rattle of steel. The men were nervous and on guard. It was not a good night for Saxon wolves to be about.
    T HE LAMP GUTTERED and died. Ceara was tensely aware of Luc as she listened to his breathing slip into the even rhythm of slumber. It had seemed as if he would never tire. She was still trying to decide what to do when the mournful wail of a wolf mingled with the rising wind outside.
    Slowly, Ceara slid the stolen dagger from beneath her long skirts, breathing a silent prayer of gratitude that she had been bound with a rope instead of a chain. Since they had left Wulfridge, she carried the dagger fastened to her thigh with a garter. Now with her left hand, she sawed clumsily at the thick rope binding her to the cot, careful not to tug so hard that it would jostle the frame. Curse him for tying her right hand instead of her left. It made this twice as difficult.
    When she finally felt the rope fibers fray and part, she seized the freed end and wrapped it carefully around a heavy pelt. If he felt for her in the dark, he would find the rope anchored by weight instead of hanging loose.
    She fumbled for her cloak in the deep shadows lightened only by the torchlight from outside the tent, pulling it clumsily about her neck. There would be time later to fasten it properly. Now she was propelled by urgency. Stealthily, her progress accompanied by the pounding of her heart, she crawled to the closed flap of the tent. A sliver of light was barely visible between the flap and floor, and with trembling fingers she managed to unfasten the buckle holding it shut. As she lifted the heavy flap, cold air whisked over her face through the narrow gap. It smelled of smoke.
    Sprawled flat on her stomach, she wriggled beneath the stiff, oiled hide. Fallen leaves and dirt scraped her bare palms, andher legs tangled in the long folds of her skirt so that she had to hike it up above her knees.
    Once free of the tent, she glanced up warily. Soldiers lay near dyying fires and beneath brush shelters, still and quiet. The guards were posted in a circle around the camp at staggered intervals, and she paused to get her bearings. Already, she could hear the faint clink of mail and swords, and knew that they were restive. The wolf, no doubt. Guards would definitely be posted with the horses, and she must avoid going near the line where they were picketed. Fleeing on foot would hardly be easy, but she knew this country much better than did the Normans.
    Newcastle was not too distant. She and Wulfric had visited the city on numerous occasions. It had been a treat for her to go to market there, and once they had traveled east of the town to an ancient priory to visit old Father Waltheof, who had instructed them in languages, sciences, and history when they were young. Wulfric had gone on to higher education, but as a female, her further education had been in matters of the house. An unhappy decision that had resulted in her first real rebellion. The result of which had been Wulfric’s secret promise to teach her to use a sword. And it was a promise he had made good on until her mother discovered them practicing in the outer courtyard one afternoon. Ah, the furor that had ensued!
    What would her mother say if she could see her now? Lady Aelfreda would most certainly disapprove of some of the things she had done, but Ceara could not believe her mother would disapprove of this. Not after all that had happened. And besides, she had not given him her word.
    Keeping to the shadows, Ceara edged around the tent toward the river. Her knees were shaking, and she knew that disaster loomed if she were caught. But she must flee before the wolf reached camp. It was Sheba. No other wolf had that little break, the sorrowful sound like a child’s sob in the midst of the lingering howl. It was only a matter of time before the wolf found her. And what would the Normans do then? Past experiencehad proven to her that few men were rational in the face of