As Palmer grasped at it with both hands, de Morville tightened the coil in a savage twist.
“No.” Theodosia raised a hand, as if it would stop him.
“You should watch your back, boy,” said de Morville. “Too busy fishing her out to see me coming.”
She tried to get to her knees but her legs wouldn’t respond.
Palmer’s face turned a dark, mottled red as he pulled in vain at his constricted throat. He kicked back, but de Morville stepped to one side.
“Not long now.” De Morville’s tendons strained into bumpy knots on the backs of his scaly hands.
Theodosia stretched out a hand to grab at his ankle, pull him over. But her senseless fingers slipped from his thick boots.
“And don’t worry about the girl.” De Morville brought his foul mouth as close to Palmer’s ear as their unmatched heights would allow. “Fitzurse will get her warmed up in no time. Like I will with my cock. It’s good and hard in readiness.”
Palmer swung his right hand down. Square on de Morville’s privates.
De Morville’s grasp broke, and he dropped like a stone on the ground beside Theodosia.
She jerked back with a scream.
As de Morville writhed in helpless pain, hands clutched to his crotch, Palmer flung the coil from his neck.
He coughed and wheezed hard as he pinned de Morville on his back with one boot pressed hard on his chest. “I’ll wager it wasn’t ready for this.” He bent down and grabbed de Morville by the hood of his surcoat. With one strong pull, he brought the skinny knight to the river’s edge, next to Theodosia.
“Mercy on me!” De Morville got a shriek out.
Sir Palmer. Do not do this. Her lips would not move with her thoughts.
“Doubt me as a fighter, would you?” Palmer flipped de Morville over onto his stomach. He put a large hand on the back of de Morville’s grease-slicked hair. Then pushed his head under the water.
The sight wavered before her as if it were not real.
De Morville’s skinny arms and legs thrashed and drummed on the bank as he fought for release. A couple of high screams echoed up through the streams of bubbles around his face.
Bent over him, Sir Palmer kept his iron hold. De Morville’s movements weakened to mere twitches. Then he was utterly still.
“De Morville?” Fitzurse’s angry shout echoed down from beyond the weir.
Palmer released the drowned knight but left him facedown in the uncaring torrent.
Wordless with shock, Theodosia watched as the murdering Sir Palmer turned to her.
Still hunkered down, he shook his head hard as he rested both elbows on his bent knees. “Faith, he nearly had me then.” The hoarseness in his voice made it like another’s. He brought a hand under her elbow. “Come. Fitzurse won’t be far behind.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“Sir Palmer. Sir knight. I insist you allow me some comfort.” Theodosia halted in the alleyway and pulled her soaked leather shoes off. For the third time.
Palmer took a quick look back the way they’d come, to check Fitzurse hadn’t caught them up. Not yet.
“You’ll soon have all the comfort you need, Sister.” He bent down and slipped her right shoe back on again.
The narrow, walled passageway they stood in led off one of Knaresborough’s cobbled main streets. Thank the Almighty the many shops and houses had still been closed up as he’d hauled the anchoress along. This part of the town had wealth. The hue and cry would definitely have been raised at his and Theodosia’s strange appearance. He hooked her other shoe back on as she warbled quietly to herself. But the shops would be opening soon, people would be stirring. He needed to find cover. And warmth.
Palmer straightened up and put a coaxing arm around her shoulders. “Now come with me, and we will seek out that comfort.”
“I do not think you should touch me.” She gave a simultaneous shake and nod of her head and lurched forward again.
Curse the river, curse the cold. Her woolen clothes soaked right through, her many minutes in the water. She showed all the signs of the dread disease he’d seen many times on winter campaigns. Men near frozen to the bone would lose their senses, pull off what clothing they had, claim to see things that weren’t there, hear loved ones who were half a world away.
Theodosia gave his chin a clumsy pat. “Your sins are in you, you know.”
She touched him readily. Faith, her wits were truly scrambled. He had to get her warm. It wouldn’t be long before she slid into unconsciousness and from there to certain death.
They carried on along the street as he sought out any shelter. He couldn’t allow it, she’d saved his life. Twice. If he’d carried on yammering like a knave to Fitzurse, de Morville would’ve stolen up behind him and carved him in two. Her strike at the coins had ruined that. Then she’d leapt to his defense, same as she had for Becket in the cathedral. Foolhardy again — she could’ve died. But also very, very brave. And for no reward. Not like him, with his foolish plan of ransom. There’d be no ransom now, even if she did live. By the knights’ code he held, her saving him released her. No matter. Her life was what mattered. He couldn’t have her die because of him and his fool’s judgment.