LITMIR.BIZ

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with the other children.”

      Serine refused to meet Margot’s steady but sympathetic gaze. “Surely they haven’t taken him back to Sheffield already. Regardless of Old Ethyl’s boast, there still may be some danger.” She tried to look back into the hall over Margot’s shoulder. He must be there, somewhere. Any minute he would awaken and come running to her and the night’s work would not have been in vain.

      “Serine, come and sit with me.” Margot led her to a wooden bench. “Ursa tells me that some of the children were taken aboard the larger vessel before we were able to steal them back.”

      Serine nodded. “Yes, that could be true. I remember how the little boats went back and forth. Some of the children could have been taken.”

      But not Hendrick, her heart cried out. Not Hendrick! She knew he had been on the shore shortly before she started rowing for the ship. She had heard his voice. Heard him challenge the Celts like the lordling he was.

      She could feel Margot gripping her hands. She did not want to hear the woman’s next words, but they must be heard. Serine took a deep breath. “Go on,” she ordered.

      “Hendrick is not here.”

      “Perhaps he went back to look for me,” Serine suggested.

      Margot shook her head. “The Celts have him.”

      It was a statement of fact, and as such, beyond refutation. Serine turned her face toward the crumbling wall to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes.

      “From all that the women have been able to glean from the children, Hendrick was taken to the ship shortly before the fire.” Margot continued without releasing her grip on the younger woman’s hands. “You have done a very courageous thing, Serine, and the people of your village will be forever grateful, but Hendrick is gone.”

      Serine gave Margot’s fingers a little squeeze and pulled away. “Then I shall go after him,” she said. “How many others are missing?”

      “Over a dozen children,” Margot admitted, “along with Gerta and her babe.”

      “I will go after all of them,” Serine vowed. “I’ll go after them and bring them back.”

      “I understand how desperately you want to find Hendrick and the rest of the children and bring them home, but you don’t know where the Celts have taken them. It could take you months, or even years to find them.” Margot tried desperately to dissuade Serine from undertaking an impossible task. “Old Ethyl believes they came from Ireland, but there are Celts in Brittany, Wales, Scotland and even France. Most have become quite civilized, but these men must be renegades. You could search the rest of your life and never find their village.”

      “Perhaps some of the children overheard the Celts say something that would tell us where they came from,” Serine suggested. “You can question them when they awaken. I’ll take Old Ethyl and go back to the area where the Celts landed and see if they left anything that would tell me from whence they came.”

      “Serine! You know as well as I that they left nothing behind,” Margot pleaded, knowing in her heart that this brave young woman was headed for heartbreak and disappointment.

      “Not so, Dame Margot.” Serine drew herself to her full height, her eyes hard with determination. “There is one thing they left behind that could give us a great deal of information, and that is the wounded Celt.”

      “But the man was sore wounded,” Margot gasped. “Like as not he is already dead.”

      “If he is still on English soil and there is breath in his body, I will keep him alive until he can tell me where they’ve taken Hendrick,” Serine vowed, and without waiting to hear more of Margot’s objections she hurried off to find Old Ethyl, knowing all too well that the chances of success were slim.

      But even a slim chance was better than no chance at all.

      * * *

      “M’lady! Slow down a bit,” Old Ethyl panted. “I can’t keep up.”

      Serine glanced back over her shoulder, gauging the lengthening distance between herself and the other woman. “Don’t fret yourself, Ethyl,” she said. “Just keep me in sight and there’ll be no problem.”

      “There be a problem already,” Old Ethyl called after her. “No lady in her right mind would go looking for a needle in the hay. You’ll find yourself sorry, you will. Mark my words, there’s naught but grief left on those shores.”

      But Serine did not slow her steps, and the old woman somehow managed to keep but a few paces behind her, for all her grumbling.

      The coast looked deserted as Serine viewed it from her vantage point among the rocks on the high cliffs.

      “You see?” Old Ethyl came up behind her. “I told you there would be nothing here. The Celts have taken their fallen comrade and gone their way.” She tugged at Serine’s arm, her one eye scanning the coastline cautiously.

      Serine caught her breath. “The ship is still here,” she said as she ducked behind the rocks, pulling the old woman with her.

      “It will not sail again. The Celts have left it to rot. Now come along. This is not a good place to linger.”

      Serine shook her off. “I’m going down there to look around. Perhaps they left something that will tell me the name of the village from which they came.” As Serine spoke she spied a scrap of cloth along the shore. Her heart turned painfully in her chest and pounded against her ribs like a falcon fighting to fly free.

      She jerked away from Old Ethyl’s restraining hands and ran down to the beach. Only when she reached flat ground did she slow her steps and approach with some semblance of caution.

      The Celt was not where they had left him. She had noted the bush carefully, for it had been her point of refuge the night before, and there was no body lying beside it. If the Celts had not come back and taken him, he might yet be alive and have moved away from the sea. Again her heart lurched at the thought of life pulsing from his body, and she found herself almost as greatly troubled by the thought of the man dying along the water’s edge as she was by the loss of her son.

      She bolted through a cluster of rocks and almost stepped on an outthrust arm.

      It took all her control to keep from screaming as Old Ethyl slammed into her back.

      The older woman peered around her lady, glaring malevolently at the man on the ground. “Guess I didn’t place the arrow as well as I thought,” she remarked as she nocked another shaft.

      “No.” Serine pushed the bow aside. “There will be no killing.”

      “What do you mean, no killing?” Old Ethyl challenged. “The man is a Celt! He’d just as soon rape and kill you as look at you. You can’t mean to let him live!”

      “I mean to make him live,” Serine told her. “To make him live, and make him tell me where his people have taken my son.” A tiny smile touched her lips. “And then I mean to make him take me there to demand the return of Hendrick in exchange for the Celt’s life.”

      Old Ethyl shook her head, but she lowered her bow. “I don’t know that Celts work that way,” she said thoughtfully. “But I guess it’s worth the chance. Especially since it seems to be the only chance we’ve got.”

      “I only hope he lives long enough to tell me where they’ve taken Hendrick.” Serine dropped at the man’s side, appalled at his color, or lack thereof. “That is, if he’s alive even now.”

      “Oh, he’s alive enough, I’ll warrant.” Old Ethyl quickly assessed the situation. “In fact, I’d wager he heard every word you said, didn’t you, laddie?” She nudged his leg with her foot.

      “How can you be so certain?” Serine looked up at the old woman and did not see the Celt’s eyelids flicker. “A moment ago we both thought him dead.”

      “That

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