Renegade Heart by Kay Ellis Page A

course for him. Not because some old man he has undoubtedly never heard of asks it of him.”
    “You are the rightful king of Barrowhearth,” Graydor protested, although he lowered his voice, afraid the boy would hear him even in his deep sleep.
    Trobard shook his head. “I am nothing more than ancient legend, my friend. The boy is already a hero among his people. I would say that makes him even more important in the here and now than even me.”

When Enola emerged from her shelter the camp was a hive of activity. The sun was high in the sky and it embarrassed her to think she had slept so late. Automatically her eyes scanned the camp, seeking out her young son. She smiled as she saw him on the other side of the clearing, darting in and out of the trees and brandishing a wooden sword one of the renegades had made for him.
    In the middle of the camp Magnosa sat by the campfire with Fairac, so deep in conversation their bowed heads were almost touching. Oblivious to the intensity of their discussion, Krisha stood close by stirring a steaming pot of vegetables over the fire. Elsewhere, Taola and the other girls flitted in and out of the makeshift shelters as they nursed the injured men.
    Movement caught her eye in the trees and her treacherous heart skipped a beat as Lark stepped into view, his arms filled with wood for the fire. Enola watched him move across the camp and wondered at the feelings he stirred within her. She could not deny she found him attractive and that alone was enough to confuse her. There had never been anyone for her but Wolf. She had left her home in search of him, dragged her son into the forest to find the father he had never met. She had never imagined she would meet someone who could make her question her love for Wolf.
    Suddenly Hawk charged through the camp and with a wild cry he stabbed his wooden sword into Lark’s thigh. As Lark yelled in pain and surprise and dropped the wood to the ground to clutch at his leg, the renegades mocking laughter rang out across the clearing. The men cheered and clapped as Hawk ran back to them, beaming proudly.
    Furious, Enola strode over to her son and snatched the sword from his hand. Ignoring his outraged wails of protest, she dragged him back to their shelter where she sat him on his blanket and forbade him to move so much as a muscle until her return. Leaving him there she turned to look for Lark, unsurprised to find he had disappeared back into the forest.
    Aware of the eyes of the renegades burning into her as she crossed the camp she followed Lark into the trees. Let them think as they pleased. How dare they use Lark in that way? What nature of man employed a small child to do his bullying for him?
    A soft sound to her left and she changed direction, emerging into a small clearing. Lark sat on a fallen tree trunk with his back to her, his face buried in his hands. Enola stopped, suddenly uncertain. Lark had been humiliated enough for one day without having her witness his tears. Before she could slip away unseen Lark either heard or sensed her there. He spun around to face her, angrily brushing the heels of his hands across his wet cheeks.
    “Even Wolf’s son hates me,” he said bitterly.
    “Hawk is my son too!” Enola replied stepping over the fallen trunk to perch beside him. “And he doesn’t hate you. Hawk is a child. He was only doing what a bunch of cruel and stupid men told him to.”
    Lark buried his face in his hands again with a heartfelt groan. “I will never be allowed to forget this,” he whispered dolefully. “Made to cry by an infant! What kind of man does that make me?”
    “A sensitive one. I see no shame in that.”
    “I’m a renegade! Renegades are not sensitive. Is it not enough that I can’t ride or fight like a renegade? Wait until Wolf hears about this. Wait until…”
    Impulsively, Enola clasped his face between her hands and silenced him with a kiss. It surprised her as much Lark. It was not as though she was