Silverhawk by Barbara Bettis

shoulders, through his arms.
    The wedding ceremony was set for tomorrow. That meant he must move tonight.
    Yet where could he take Lady Emelin? He knew no one in this God-cursed country. To the convent? No. The good nuns had no defense against Sir Garley’s demands. The brother would have her returned, wed, and dead.
    Giles could think of only one place she might be safe. Chauvere. This time his growl of frustration echoed through the garden. Lord Henry would get what he wanted after all. Giles’ help. In return, Henry must vow to keep Lady Emelin safe from Sir Garley.
    As for Lord Osbert of Langley? The lying seducer would see another sun, after all. Giles had waited twenty-eight years. Another few days made little difference. Let the bastard live a while longer before he finally discovered he could have had the heir he longed for, long ago.
    And that heir would be the last thing he saw before he died.

Chapter Eight
    The cool air in the bailey braced his mind as Giles stalked through the darkness. At this hour, Lady Emelin would be abed. How could he steal her from her chamber, down the stairs, and through the great hall cluttered with sleepers?
    He moved swiftly, slipping into the large chamber where the floor was, indeed, littered with men and women. Some lay on pallets pulled from storage along the walls. Other people lay where they’d fallen after hours of drinking.
    Giles inhaled the rancid smells of stale food and drink, stale breaths, stale bodies. The noxious fumes burned away any uncertainty, focused his thoughts. He’d discover a way to spirit his lady from the keep.
    He guessed her chamber lay in the opposite direction of Osbert’s. Now he just needed to determine which direction that might be. The knowledge would prove valuable later.
    Odd. He’d thought he would feel more hatred for the man, more victorious now the end drew close. Instead, he felt only resolve, as if an onerous task neared completion.
    Would he feel relief later? Pity Langley wouldn’t suffer more. Giles knew a dozen ways to kill a man slowly and painfully—too bad he wouldn’t use one.
    Still, perhaps a quick kill would be too easy, the revenge too brief. After all the agony and disappointment the man had caused, what would harm him the most? Arrogance fed on possessions. With the loss of Lady Emelin, he’d also lose the chance at the object he wanted above all else.
    A son.
    Satisfaction put a slow curve to Giles’ mouth. Of course. When the lady disappeared before the ceremony…He chuckled with anticipation of Osbert’s fury. Let the old man simmer over the coals of uncertainly and frustration.
    The thought energized Giles even more. Time to move. The first hurdle—to extricate the lady from her chamber. She wouldn’t come quietly. His smile widened at the thought of how he might silence those tempting lips.
    He’d crept to the far wall where he could make his way easier, when a movement near the stairs sent him into the shadows.
    Flickered torchlight lit the figure. His quarry. Hah. His luck held. She worked toward the door, picking her way carefully through the sleepers.
    Giles rocked back further into the shadows and watched her progression. As she disappeared into the maw of dark night, he followed. She was out of sight by the time he reached the door. But if his hunch were correct, she’d headed for her favorite hiding place.
    The Lady’s Garden was bright with moonlight. She sat on the same earthen bench the couple had occupied earlier. He knew the moment she sensed him. Her shoulders squared and her chin lifted.
    “Why are you not in bed at this hour?” he asked.
    “I couldn’t sleep.”
    “Brave of you to navigate all the revelers.”
    Her startled glance met his. “You were in the hall?”
    “Yes.”
    The silence resounded with what she did not say.
    Quiet steps took him closer. He loomed over her.
    She glanced up and frowned. “Oh, sit down and stop circling me like a bird for the kill. You don’t frighten