Snow in July by Kim Iverson Headlee

pardon, my lord. In my earnestness to help the Lady Kendra, I forgot my station.” Alain turned to address the outlaws. “I am certain I can convince my master, Sir Ruaud d’Auvay, to offer his life in exchange for Lady Kendra’s. The king will make it well worth your while to return both of us, I assure you.”
    While the outlaws drew aside to debate the issue, watched by the thane’s men, Waldron laid a hand on Alain’s shoulder. “You may not own the trappings of a knight, lad, but you do possess the heart of one.”
    Alain acknowledged the praise with a brief smile. “If they accept this proposal, my lord,” he whispered, “Sir Ruaud and I shall not go meekly.”
    Waldron glanced at the outlaws, who were still murmuring and gesturing among themselves. He regarded Alain for a long moment, expression wistful. “’Tis a pity Kendra is promised to Sir Robert. I suspect she could come to like you.”
    “I would be most honored to earn her favor.” And her love. Alain chewed the inside of his lip to keep his smile from broadening. “But it is my fondest wish that my lady Kendra find happiness and love with Sir Robert de Bellencombre.”
    “Fairly spoken, squire.” Waldron gave Alain’s shoulder a squeeze. “I pray you can speak as fairly to Sir Ruaud.”
    Alain understood the implied command, bowed, and departed the hall. The outlaws, too deep in their deliberations, paid him no heed, but he detected an air of cautious respect emanating from some of Waldron’s men as he strode past them.
    Outside, he broke into a dead run.
    He burst into Ruaud’s chamber, panting from his dash across the yard and up the manor house’s stairs. Ruaud was sitting on a stool near the hearth, his back braced against the wall and his hauberk draped across his knees. A pot of sand stood within easy reach.
    “Well come, squire.” Ruaud grinned, brandishing a fistful of sand. “You have been remiss in your duties of late.”
    Alain slammed the door. “Lady Kendra has been captured by outlaws. They have demanded fifty in gold. There is a chance they will agree to take both of us in exchange for her life.” He advanced into the room and lowered his voice. “There is also a chance they belong to the band I have been commanded to investigate.”
    “What?” Ruaud threw the sand down. Most of it missed the pot and hit the floor rushes with an angry hiss. Without bothering to dust his hands, he heaved the mail aside, stood, and stalked up to Alain. “Bleeding wounds of God! Are you mad or just stupid?”
    Arms crossed, Alain parried Ruaud’s glare with his own. “Neither.” He hoped. “There are only three—”
    “Three.” Ruaud snorted. “Plus the bastards guarding Lady Kendra at Glastonbury or wherever the hell they have taken her, and their sentries, and God knows how many more.”
    “We can take them all, I know it.” Alain’s conviction had never burned hotter.
    “Take them? With what? Our bare hands?” Ruaud plucked at his tunic. “We would be lucky to be left with the clothes on our backs.”
    He refused to let Ruaud’s skepticism quench his resolve. “Our bare hands if we must. Our heads most assuredly. We will have to stay alert to the slightest opportunity and follow the other’s lead without warning. I doubt they will let us do much talking.”
    Ruaud thrust his head to within a finger’s length of Alain’s face, squinting and sniffing speculatively. “You do not seem drunk, but that is the only reason I can fathom for this lunacy.” Giving a dismissive wave, he withdrew to his hauberk’s mound of woven steel rings. “Come back after you have slept it off.”
    “I am not drunk.” Fists clenched, Alain took two paces and stopped. Any closer and he might succumb to the temptation of throttling his friend. “I shall not stand idle while my”—lest someone overhear, he reined in his voice—“while Lady Kendra remains in peril. Since you are not with me in this, I shall go after her