He eyed her, wondering if he had angered her without intending to. “Did I say something wrong?”
Sorcha smiled. “No, Griffith; you did not create this system. I just hope I am one of the fortunate women who are well-loved by their husbands.”
“Well, consider Elizabeth, our queen,” Griffith pointed out. “Unmarried, and yet beloved and powerful. All of Europe looks to England for guidance.”
“True. She is the hope for women everywhere. And an inspiration.”
Sorcha suddenly reined in her chestnut to a stop, then turned her around to face the way they had come. Griffith followed her lead, gazing hard across the moors. Yet, he saw nothing but blue hills and rocky crags. No movement, no riders, only a hawk sailing on the light breeze as it hunted.
“What is it?”
“Someone is back there,” she replied absently, her eyes narrowed slightly. “It may be your people.”
“I hope so.”
Yet, being a wanted man, Griffith decided they should take precautions. He pointed to a nearby hill that had a few pine trees clustered on its crest.
“Let us ride up there,” he said. “The trees will hide us until we know for certain who is following.”
“I agree.”
Nudging their mounts to a canter, Griffith and Sorcha climbed the steep hill, their horses’ rear quarters propelling them upwards in powerful lunges. Dismounting within the small grove, they tied their horses and the mule, then worked their way to the hill’s edge, where an outcrop of rock allowed them to stay hidden. Crouching, Griffith gestured for Sorcha to also keep her body low. They lay on their stomachs in the pine needles.
“Now we wait.”
Studying the green and purple moors to the south of their location, Griffith saw no hint of riders. Not even dust rising from hooves. Time passed slowly, and he had just decided they should continue on when Sorcha clutched his arm.
“There.”
She pointed. A band of riders crossed the line of hills at a slow gallop. They carried no banner and were too far away to discern what badge, if any, they may bear on their surcoats. Griffith narrowed his eyes as he rubbed his bristly chin.
“Those could be my men,” he said thoughtfully. “They are too far away to recognize faces.”
“Then I suggest we wait,” Sorcha replied. “If they are not, we are well hidden here, and can simply permit them to ride on by.”
Yet, within a short period of time, the band drew closer, and Griffith recognized the leader. He laughed. “It is Sir James,” he said. “Shall we ride to meet them?”
Mounting their horses, they rode down the hill, letting themselves be clearly seen by the approaching band. Joyous whoops rose from the group as Griffith galloped toward them, Sorcha at his stallion’s flank. Sir James waved his arm over his head as though Griffith had not already seen them.
Reining in on level ground, Griffith waited, sitting in his saddle, and glanced sidelong at Sorcha. “How did you know someone was coming?”
She shrugged. “My sight. One moment I felt nothing, then next, I knew someone was behind us.”
“Simply knew?”
“It works like that sometimes.”
Laughing, Sir James reined in to bow, and the five henchmen also halted in a half ring behind him to offer Griffith their respects. “You led us a merry chase, my lord,” Sir James commented, nudging his horse forward to clasp Griffith’s arm.
“That is not surprising as I have nearly all of England wanting my head.” Griffith gestured toward Sorcha. “This is Lady Sorcha Eldon. Sir James Brockton.”
Sir James bowed. “Your esteemed father informed us you were with Lord Garstonshire, my lady. It is my pleasure to meet you.”
Sorcha returned his smile. “And I you, Sir James.”
“We still have a few hours of daylight to ride,” Griffith said, reining Brutus around. “Tell me, has anything new transpired since we last parted company?”
“Only that the queen has put a price on your head,” Sir James replied. “One hundred gold crowns.”
Griffith’s body tensed in shock, his hands tightening on the reins so that Brutus sidled, and snorted nervously. One hundred gold crowns! A hefty sum, enough to tempt the most loyal of men.
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The Queen's Traitor
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Eleanor Keating knew from a very early age that books were extremely important to her. She would read for hours every day, lost in the wonders of the pages. Growing up, her time was then divided between writing her own stories and continuing her reading schedule. Nowadays, she is rarely found without a book in her hands, or her fingers glued to a keyboard. Even though she enjoys several genres, she has a particular affinity for the regency historical world.
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