A flash of red snared her vision. A glimpse of colour between the drab brown, silent trunks. Then a giggle, swiftly stifled, carried down on the scant breeze.
‘Peter, you little wretch!’ Eva bounded forward. ‘Come here!’ She could see him now, darting in and out of the oak trees, his sturdy nine-year-old legs skipping over mossy rocks, red tunic flying upwards as he jumped down into a shallow ditch. But Eva was faster, stronger, than the small boy. The past had taught her, taught her how important it was for a woman to be fit and strong, to at least attempt to try to match the physical power of men, although she knew it was impossible. Katherine had mocked her gently, but understood: Eva’s need to take herself off every day, to walk and run, to keep her body strong. Now, her feet sprang across the solid ground, nimble and fast, the toned muscle in her thighs and calves powering her forward. Flying along the track, she advanced on the boy’s sprinting figure, stretching out her arm towards the bobbing tunic, the tuft of blond unbrushed hair.
‘Got you!’ Grabbing the frail bones of the boy’s shoulder, she spun him around, cheeks flaring with anger. ‘For God’s sake, Peter, why do you not come when we call you? Do you think this is a game? There are strangers about; we need to return to the castle!’
‘I’m sorry, Eva.’ Peter hung his head at her sharp tone, shivering slightly. Tears welled up in his eyes, leaking slowly down the side of his face. ‘I was having so much fun; I didn’t think.’
‘Nay, don’t cry.’ Eva wrapped her arms about his bird-boned shoulders, hugging him. ‘I shouldn’t have shouted. Let’s go back.’ Her linen head covering had come adrift as she had run; now she rewound the coarse material about her head and neck, throwing the loose end back over her shoulder.
‘Come,’ she said to Peter, extending her arm towards him.
He threw her an unsteady smile and took her fingers, gripping strongly. The shadows of the forest deepened steadily: individual trees losing their definition, trunks blurring together into one dark mass. Soon they would be unable to see without a light. Heart thumping, Eva lengthened her stride, dragging Peter along with her, the thistly undergrowth scratching at their clothes. At last they reached the fringes of the forest, the castle lights and town fires twinkling in the valley below. She sagged with relief at the welcoming sight. Of the horsemen, there was no sign.
They scampered haphazardly down the slope, leather-shod feet slipping on the icy grass. Eva lost her footing only once, sliding down on to her side, but quickly rolled to spring up into a standing position once more, pulling Peter with her. He was grinning, loving the adventure. She smiled back, reassuring, but inside her heart was tense, stricken with anxiety. She had had enough adventures to last her a lifetime; she had no need of any more.
A stone wall, four feet thick, encompassed Melyn Town and Castle, an extra line of defence constructed by Katherine’s ancestors out of hefty sandstone blocks. As far as most people knew, the only way through this wall was via the town gatehouse, manned day and night by Katherine’s house knights. But Eva knew differently. She headed for a clump of hawthorns clustered together at the point where the wall ended at the cliff edge, high above the churning river. Behind these thorny shrubs, laden with red berries, was a narrow door, a secret entrance known only to Katherine’s closest confidants.
Pushing back the curtain of ivy, Eva twisted the handle, forcing the stiff iron latch to rise. She clutched Peter’s hand. The castle was before them, a short walk away. The moat gleamed with glossy blackness, surface like grease-covered silk, weed-strewn depths treacherous even to the strongest swimmer. Eva’s stomach gave a queasy flip; she looked away. A guard walked along the battlements, his burning torch flaring down on to the water, a wavering light. The gatehouse with its two circular turrets loomed up before them, a wooden drawbridge crossing the inky waters of the moat. Even in this crepuscular gloom, Eva saw that the drawbridge was down. Katherine had chosen not to listen to her after all.
‘Careful,’ she whispered to Peter, crouching down so that her face was on a level with his. ‘I would stay here, out of sight for the moment. Only come when I call you.’
‘And if you don’t call?’ A faint whine laced his voice. He was tired and hungry, Eva knew that. But those knights might have come through the town gate already; she had to make sure the castle was safe.
‘Then run and hide,’ she replied, trying to keep her tone light, jolly. ‘I’m supposed to be looking after you and I don’t want your mother coming after me in a rage if something happens to you.’
Peter grinned. One of his top teeth was missing, giving him an impish air. ‘All right,’ he agreed, poking the toe of his boot into a tussock of grass. ‘I’ll stay here.’
Eva walked slowly up the path towards the gatehouse, heart thumping erratically. The stone walls rose before her, studded with moss, giving the façade a lumpy, diseased appearance. A climbing rose straggled out over the low, pointed arch, bobbing, adrift, ripped from its moorings in a previous gale and never secured again. The silence of twilight crowded around her; only the rippling sound of water from the moat and an owl’s lonely hoot hollowed out the dusk.
Fingers brushing stone, she rounded the bottom of one circular turret. The portcullis was up. She peered into the narrow entrance, slightly irritated by her over-vigilant behaviour; she had managed to frighten everyone, both Peter and his mother. Lit by a single torch, the cobbled passageway was empty, leading to two closed wooden gates at the far end that gave access to the drawbridge. A single guard leaned against the sturdy criss-crossed planks, chin hunkered down to his chest and his arms folded tightly, so that his gloved hands could tuck beneath each armpit for warmth.
‘John,’ she said, recognising him, stepping forward into the torchlight.
His head jerked upwards in surprise. ‘Eva,’ he exclaimed. ‘Finally. The Lady Katherine was concerned. She said you were looking for Peter. Did you find him?’
‘I did. He’s waiting outside until I call him.’ Her shoulders slumped in relief. ‘There’s no one else here?’
‘No,’ said John. ‘Those horsemen probably found an inn in the town. Or perhaps they were travelling further, maybe to Dodleigh.’
‘I’ll fetch Peter.’ Happiness, coupled with relief, bubbled up in her chest. Spinning on her heel, she strode out of the gatehouse.
Stopped. A hand flew up to her mouth in horror.
A group of knights clustered before the gatehouse, reining in their mounts. Metal bits and stirrups gleamed in the feeble light; chainmail shone. Their approach had been silent, stealthy; they must have slowed the animals to walking pace for the last few yards over the spongy grass. So they had come here, after all.
‘John!’ Eva called out, her voice stricken with panic. ‘John, come here, now!’
The lead horseman lifted his visor, his face lined with tiredness. White hair clung to his creased, sweating forehead. ‘Don’t be frightened, maid,’ he spoke slowly. ‘We come in peace.’ The three golden lions of the King decorated his red woollen surcoat, gleaming threateningly.
John moved alongside her, holding the flaring, spitting torch aloft. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘What do you want?’
The knight leaned forward in his saddle, gingerly, as if trying to ease some pain. The saddle creaked beneath his weight. ‘I trust we have reached Melyn Castle? The home of Lady Katherine de Montagu? The niece of King Edward?’
‘Aye, my lord, that is correct,’ John answered.
‘In that case, I have a message for the lady, written by the King, her uncle, and I have orders from him to deliver it only to her. No one else.’ The old knight produced a scroll of parchment from his saddlebag, and waved it at them.
His huge destrier snorted, canting to the right impatiently, revealing the five or six other horsemen behind him. The other men were much younger, bodies sitting lithe and easy in the saddles, not showing any of the
aches and pains displayed by their leader. Eva watched as another knight lifted off his helmet, resting it on the saddle before him, turning to murmur something to his companion.
Silver eyes shone below slashing eyebrows; a shock of brindled hair, wayward, vigorous. And the shadow of bronze stubble across a square-cut jaw. She recognised him instantly. A low cry, unbidden, ripped from her. Her heart smashed in fear against the wall of her chest.
It was the man who had made her life pure hell. The man who had stripped her of all her worldly goods, all her possessions, her livelihood. He had returned.
CHAPTER TWO
Terror loosened her mind, logic unravelling. The ground dropped away, tilted. She staggered back, her arms flying outward, clawing the air, battling some invisible attacker. Her limbs sagged, as if someone had stripped the muscles from her legs and replaced them with wet, useless rope. Shocked, reeling, a sob tore from her throat, a raw, guttural sound that split the air. No, no, not him! How could he have found out where she was?
Eva sprang away from the gatehouse, unthinking, darting back the way she had come with Peter. Pure animal instinct drove her; she had to run, escape. A shudder tore through her at the thought of him catching her again; he would surely kill her this time, after what she had done. She stumbled forward, boots snagging on lumps of tussocky grass, keeping her gaze fixed on the line of oaks beyond the town walls: the forest; her refuge and a place to hide.
Peter’s slight figure emerged from behind the shrubs where she had left him, a worried expression on his thin face, flushed red with the cold.
‘Go to the castle, now!’ Eva gasped out as she rushed towards him. ‘It’s me they’re after, not you. You will be safe!’ Reaching out, she gave him a little push, as if to emphasise her point.
‘I want you to come too,’ he whined, catching at her sleeve, slowing her step momentarily. His bottom lip trembled.
‘No! Do as I say!’ Her breath punched out in truncated gasps. Wrenching the fabric from his grasp, she pulled away, biting her lip at the brusqueness of her words. But it was the only way. Peter was a sensible boy; he would understand when she had time to explain the situation. ‘Go to the castle now!’ His mouth trembled as he turned and began to run. Watching his bobbing flight, her eyes watering against the icy chill of evening, she realised the knights hadn’t moved from the gatehouse, clustered around John, talking to him. Was there the smallest possibility that they hadn’t noticed her? But she couldn’t take the chance, not with that man; she knew what he was capable of. Eva spun on her toes and took off, her step light and quick, like a startled deer.
* * *
‘Who was that?’ Gilbert asked John, turning to watch Eva’s flying figure, her wimple white in the gloom. ‘I had no idea the sight of us all would be so intimidating!’ His mouth turned up at one corner, quirking into a half-smile. ‘I hope you believe me when I tell you we have no intention of causing trouble.’
‘She’s Lady Katherine’s nursemaid,’ John explained, stamping his feet against the cold creeping up his legs. ‘She takes care of the three children.’
Gilbert sighed, leaning to one side of the saddle to ease his aching hip, silently cursing his old bones. The muscles in his neck hurt, his spine tingled painfully, and he couldn’t wait to drop out of the saddle and into a hot bath. But the Lady Katherine would need her nursemaid for the journey on which they were about to take her. ‘Then I will have to fetch her back.’
‘Nay, allow me.’ Bruin eased his horse alongside Gilbert’s mount. ‘My horse is fresher than yours, and…’ he grinned, a teasing light entering his metallic eyes ‘…I’ll wager I will catch her in half the time it would take you.’
‘I’m not about to argue.’ Gilbert smiled wearily at the younger man, holding out his gloved palm in a gesture of defeat. ‘I’m too old to be gallivanting around the countryside. But for God’s sake don’t frighten her. I have no intention of riling Lady Katherine any more than we have to and that includes scaring her nursemaid half to death. Did you see the girl’s face? As if she had seen a ghost!’
Bruin rounded his eyes at him, an expression of feigned surprise. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Me, Gilbert? Who do you take me for? Some sort of mercenary who goes around threatening the lives of innocent people, terrifying them out of their wits?’
‘Precisely.’ Gilbert’s voice was gruff. ‘You know who you are, Bruin, what you have been. Your time at sea after—after what happened. It’s hardened you. But you need to forget that now and tame your ways. Go easy on the girl. She is not your enemy.’ He eyed the fleeing figure. The maid was already on the far side of the town wall, almost up to the treeline, a pale outline of flapping skirts against the swiftly darkening hillside.
No, thought Bruin, as he kicked his heels into his horse’s rump, wheeling the animal around, that girl is not my enemy. Reaching down, he plucked the flaming torch from the gatehouse guard, ignoring the man’s protest. Guilt flooded through him. My enemy is within, like a noose around my neck.
* * *
Lungs bursting, scrabbling for air, Eva reached the trees, leaning against the nubbled bark of a trunk to rest for a moment, gulping precious air back into her body. Blood roared in her ears, thumping horribly. Sweat trickled down her spine, her arms, gathering uncomfortably beneath the linen cloth wrapped around her neck. She had pushed her body onwards, forcing her legs to move faster, harder, and now they ached, the muscles sore and painful. But this was nothing, she told herself, nothing compared to what that man would do to her if he caught her. The urge to wrap her arms around the tree and sink downwards to rest was overwhelming, but she stamped on the feeling, jerking her head upwards, staring into the dark forest beyond. In there, she would hide.
A shout forced her to turn. Her legs shook with fear at the sound, strength sapping. A knight was in pursuit, cantering up the hill at an easy pace, a burning brand shedding a flicking, spitting light across the sparkling steel of his helmet. How had he managed to get through the gate so quickly? Surely his horse was too big to have squeezed through that slight gap? But it was the older knight, she decided, judging from his slow speed. He would never catch her. Whipping around into the shadows, she set off again, feet dancing along a path that twisted and turned through the silent oaks. The glimmer of moonlight gave her just enough light to see by, the track disappearing off between the massive trunks. But if she could see it, then so could he.
She dodged sideways, plunging into a bundle of scrub and brambles higher than her head. Thorns tore at her skirts, but she fought a way through, pushing aside the lacerating tendrils. She would find somewhere to hide, a place where she could crouch down, catch her breath. Sheltered from the icy air by the tree canopy, the forest floor was muddy, squelching and sucking at her leather boots. Breaking free of the snarling brambles, she emerged into a clearing, the ground mossy and sinking, and she stopped for a moment, listening.
No sound. Nothing. Maybe he had given up on her.
She strode on with renewed energy, with the faintest trickle of hope that she had lost her pursuer, intending to plunge into the darkness on the other side of the clearing. If memory served her correctly, she was at the highest part of the woods; from here the land sloped down gradually to meet the river. She would have to hide herself soon, otherwise she would be cut off by the impassable sweep of water.
Stepping forward, she failed to see the animal trap set beneath a drift of grey curled leaves. Her foot pressed down on an iron bar, releasing a spring on toothed jaws to snap them tight against the rounded muscle of her calf. Pain shot through her leg, burning, visceral; she dropped to the ground, slumping sideways with a howl of pain, clutching at the metal around her leg. Her head spun; waves of dizziness surged behind her eyes, light splintering across her vision. Nausea roiled in her belly. She bit down on her lip savagely, willing herself to remain conscious, tears of agony coursing down her cheeks.
It was well known that the townspeople left out the traps in the undergrowth to catch their food. How could she have been so stupid as to leave the track?
Pulling herself upright, leaning forward, she tried to prise the metal jaws apart, aghast at the blood soaking through her stocking. She tugged ineffectively at the cold metal; her arms seemed to have lost their strength. At her own puny weakness, a sob of sheer outrage spluttered from her lips; her hands dropped to the mossy ground and she laid her face against one upraised knee, weeping softly in sheer frustration. If she were quiet now, then maybe he would never find her.
But Bruin had heard the cry, carried on the wind. A wavering shout, keening, animal-like. The woman he pursued. Wrinkling his long, straight nose, he turned his head from side to side, trying to decipher the sound’s direction. Where was she? He had left his horse at the woodland edge; the heavily muscled animal would struggle to make any progress through the dense trees. Springing down, booted feet sinking into the spongy earth, he had followed the track, his long-legged stride light and fast, despite his weighty chainmail hauberk. His hair was bright, a flame against the dark trunks; he had given his helmet to another knight for safekeeping and now relished the freedom from the cloying metal.
Raising the burning brand high in his fist, he whipped the torch around as he walked, searching for traces of the maid’s flight on the ground, in the bushes alongside the path: a broken branch, a disturbed scuffle of mud. Piles of decaying leaves deadened his step. He paused, listened, ears tuned to the silence, with an instinct honed from years of fighting, of tracking enemy forces. After that single drawn-out scream there was nothing, nothing but the crackle of the torch, the frantic squeaking of a disturbed mouse as he passed by. In the distance, he could hear ducks calling on the river, the compressed sound strident, disjointed. But although there was nothing to turn him in one direction over another, he sensed the girl’s presence, the tense curtailment of her breath as she waited for him to pass. She was hiding nearby, of that he was certain.
Marriage Deal With the Outlaw & the Warrior's Damsel in Distress & the Knight's Scarred Maiden : Harlequin Historical August 2017 (9781488021640) Page 24
