Snow in July by Kim Iverson Headlee Page A

myself.”
    He spun and headed for the door, mind reeling. Ruaud’s refusal meant having to track the outlaws instead. Burdened with Waldron’s gold, they would return to their lair. Then he would need to devise a way to get past these three, plus the lair’s sentries, Kendra’s guards and, as Ruaud had speculated, God alone knew how many others. Minuscule odds, at best.
    So be it. He grasped the door’s handle.
    “Alain, wait.” Not a command but a plea. Upon releasing the handle, Alain turned to find Ruaud studying him, an odd pairing of resignation and pride fighting for domination on his ruddy face. “You think she is worth the risk?”
    “Without question.”
    “Bloody fool, I knew you would say that. But I believe you.” Ruaud stooped to lift his mail. “Come and lend me a hand.” His tone sounded unusually subdued.
    “You will surrender, then?”
    “Against my better judgment, yes.” Holding up the mail, Ruaud nodded toward the pole leaning on the wall, and Alain retrieved it. Together they worked it through the armholes and set the pole and mail on the rack beside Alain’s. Ruaud gazed at their armor and weapons. “Someone must guard your back.”
    Alain’s elation was brief. Ruaud’s help increased his chances of success a hundredfold, but a hundred times minuscule was still minuscule. “You do not have to do this.”
    Laughing, he slapped his belly. “I have grown lazy with William’s peace. Soft. A little exercise will do me good.” He elbowed Alain’s ribs. “You too. Being taken captive will enliven the sport.”
    Hastings had taught Alain never to view killing men as sport, but he understood that his friend meant to cheer him. He gripped Ruaud’s shoulders. “We may regret our decisions ere this is over.”
    “Hah. At least you have not taken complete leave of your senses.” Ruaud rolled his eyes. “First the squire ruse, now this. What next? Shall we shave our pates and pose as bishops to visit the Pope?”
    Alain had to laugh at the ludicrous image. “I doubt you would pass muster in a tonsure. But I do appreciate your help.” Visions of Kendra, alone and terrified, battered his brain. The mental assault fortified his resolve. “So will she.”

    WITH SNAKE in the lead and Rat holding Hilde’s reins, the party plodded south across the valley toward the tallest point on the ridgeline. As the darkness advanced and the ascent grew steeper and rockier, Hilde began to stumble more often. Finally, Kendra dismounted to complete the trek on foot.
    What Snake had called shelter revealed itself as the ruins of a temple. Many of the columns had fallen from what she guessed to be generations of neglect. Why the stone hadn’t been carted away for building materials she attributed to the temple’s remoteness. Faded, chipped mosaics of bare-breasted women being chased by prancing, horned, goat-footed men-creatures with unconcealed genitalia proclaimed the temple’s pagan origins. What rites had been performed atop such bawdy floor decorations she had no desire to ponder.
    Snake sent Rat to draw water for the horses, an order the other man grumblingly obeyed. Apparently unconcerned by the vulgar mosaics, Snake drew tinder and flint from his saddlebag and knelt below one of the larger holes in the roof to start a fire. The small stones ringing a patch of blackened tiles proved this wasn’t an original idea.
    She studied the roof, trying to determine where she would be best protected from the weather overnight. Some of the curved red tiles, each as long as a forearm, had fallen through gaping holes, and fragments littered the floor. Though careful to avoid the large shards, she felt scores of smaller ones grind to ochre powder underfoot. She selected a spot at the base of the waist-high altar and hunkered inside her cloak while Snake collected twigs to feed his infant flame. Since she couldn’t trust Snake as far as she could heave him, and Rat half that far, she appreciated the solidity