by Shea,Lisa
It would be too risky to carry those items with her now and chance losing them in the woods. Her father would storm and rage once she had gone, but then he would settle down to practicalities. It was a pattern she knew all too well. In a few weeks she would come back and reason with him. Together they would find another husband who suited both of their needs.
Her thumb went to her ring, spinning it gently on her finger, and her breathing eased. She would find a husband she could tolerate, and life would flow on.
Laura sat patiently on her meager bed, pulling aside the thick curtains by the lone window and waiting for the sun to set. The hours came and went in steady progression. Laura maintained her vigil patiently, gathering her strength. The rosy orb slipped lower, sliding down to meet the horizon, and darkness spread across the realm.
It was time.
She stood and turned, pulling hard on the lumpy mattress to bring it away from the wall. Lifting a loose floor board in one corner, she pulled out a small wooden token. She reset the room to its proper state.
Carefully tucking the coin into the leather belt at her waist, she gave one last glance at her small cell before swinging her legs over the window ledge. She steadied herself for a moment before beginning the three story descent to the ground below.
Inch by inch she worked her way down the outer stone wall, her strong fingers and leather boots finding the ledges and nooks to ease her way. She had learned the handholds and footholds of that wall over many years of nighttime escapades.
Once on the ground, she breathed a sigh of relief. The hardest part of the escape was behind her. She worked her way through the shadows to reach the stables. She slipped through the main door slowly, careful to lift as she pushed to avoid the squeaky hinge’s usual protests. She took her time in coaxing her favorite mount out of his stall as quietly as she could. Her thick cloak was hanging, as always, on a peg by the door.
No stable boy or servant stirred as she made her way through the courtyard to the main gates.
Once she reached the guards, she showed her wooden token without a word, keeping her face hidden in the shadows. The guards barely glanced at her cloaked form before allowing her to pass. Lord Walker was infamous for his after-hours traffic; horses were often coming in and out of the compound at odd hours. As long as the bearer carried a token, they were passed through without comment. Laura had learned that trick long ago, and had made good use of the knowledge many times.
And then … freedom.
Chapter 2
Laura rode her mount hard through the moonlit night, her auburn tresses streaming out like a victorious knight’s banner over her heavy, black woolen cloak. Fall foliage had come early this year; although it was barely the end of September, the richly colored autumnal landscape was spread before her, brightly lit by the full, orange moon. Her breath released in sparkling billows as she thundered along the meadow path.
She urged her horse to even faster strides, riding with breathtaking speed across the gently undulating landscape. She needed to put as much distance as she could between her and North Walsham, the only home she had ever known.
The forest covering the southwestern part of her father’s domain soon enveloped her in a shadowy embrace. The vibrant colors of the leaves faded into a muted blur. The musky aroma of moss and peat filled her nostrils.
As she moved into the darker recesses of the woods, she pulled her horse in to a trot, then slowed to a walk. She finally allowed herself the luxury to brush the tears from her eyes with one long sleeve, taking in several deep, steadying breaths to calm herself.
Laura had known for years that her father had marriage plans for her. He had brusquely denied the proposal offerings of several local nobles. Most notably, he had turned down his ne’er-do-well merchant partner, Much, who had been lecherously eyeing her since she was twelve. Much had been quite persistent in presenting his suit the moment she had come of age.
Her father’s constant refusals of his friend’s requests confirmed her fears. He planned to use her maidenhead as a bargaining tool, to be sold whenever he felt it would be most valuably played. She had confronted him on the topic several times, but her father would not tell her his thoughts. He would only remind her with stern admonition that it was her duty to abide by his wishes.
Still, to marry her to James Falcon!
Laura was amazed at her father’s outright audacity. The Falcons and the Walkers had been fighting, as far as she could tell, since time began. The western border of her father’s land had slid back and forth at least ten times in the past few years alone.
Lord Falcon was known as a ruthless adversary; a bloodthirsty warrior with a heart of cold marble. It was said he took on large and small groups of enemies with equal fervor. It was not simply his border rivals he pursued with this level of passion. His ferocity toward even the most mild wrong-doers was legendary.
Did her father really believe for a minute that Falcon would be willing to negotiate with his lifelong enemy? If Falcon did agree to accept her, would it be for any reason other than to humiliate and abuse her? Laura knew her father was capable of sacrificing her happiness for his monetary gain. She took that as a given. However, this went beyond even her single-minded father’s usual mercenary actions.
There was no question about it. Her father was scheming, and was somehow planning to use her to end the rivalry once and for all. She doubted the marriage was his end game. It was just one part of some larger, darker plot. Laura was sure he did not care if she was broken – or slain – as long as his goal was achieved.
Laura spun her ring again, her lips pressed together with determination. Whatever her father’s twisted machinations, she would have no part of them.
She walked her horse slowly along the quiet path, the oaks waving leaves of gold as she went. She deliberately ignored the natural beauty, instead focusing her eyes on the road ahead, her mind resolute. Her father manipulated friends and foes alike with the skill of an experienced chess player. She would not allow herself to become yet another pawn in his expansionist schemes.
With a steady hand she directed her horse to carefully pick its way down the darkened forest path for a long while, her mind churning over the events of the past few days. What was her father plotting this time? There had always been idle talk of a truce with the Falcons. Usually her father bandied the idea around just before the latest, most devastating attack was launched. How would he use the marriage plans to rain a final destruction down on his enemy’s head?
A glint ahead caught her attention, and she looked up. The forest opened up ahead of her, the moonlight streaming in to light her way. A small pool lay silent, the dark water surrounded by a ring of swaying brown reeds. The trees encircling the oasis waved their branches sleepily in the quiet wind, the low, whooshing sound gently soothing to her ears.
Laura wearily dismounted and tied her horse to an ancient oak, then stooped with cupped hands to drink some of the cool water. The night’s crisp air provided a chill reminder of the approaching winter season, but after her long, hard ridden journey, it felt refreshingly brisk.
As she stood from the water’s edge she threw her heavy cloak back and dusted down her body to release the road debris. She wore the simplest of cotton shirts and pants for her escape; her guard outfit would have made her far too easy to spot. Her weapons were of far higher quality than her clothes. On her left hip hung the finely-made long sword, sheathed in a sturdy, well-cared for leather scabbard. The precious, treasured gift from Sarah. On the opposite hip was a bare, short dagger, one she kept on her person at all times.
Feeling slightly refreshed, Laura slowly scanned the clearing, her hand falling automatically to rest on the sword’s hilt as she did so. Her eyes lit on the horse, noting with a sigh that he carried only a small pouch of emergency rations hanging to one side of the saddle. She had taken next to nothing with her on her flight from home.
The meagerness of her situation made her again ponder how this had all come
to pass.
In a way, it was funny that her father should expect her to give in so easily to his marriage demands after he had ruthlessly trained her for her entire life to fight and challenge. There had been nobody else for her to turn to for support or comfort as she grew from child to adult. Her mother had died when she was young; she barely remembered the day of that tragic riding accident. Her father had chosen not to remarry, instead focusing his energies on building up his wealth and land holdings through carefully planned border skirmishes.
Her mouth twisted into a sour grimace. And, of course, he made ample time for deflowering any female who entered his field of vision.
Given her father’s debauchery she supposed she was lucky not to be surrounded by bastard sisters and brothers. For better or for worse, despite his lechery, she remained an only child. There had been no sisters to confide in, no baby brothers to coddle. She knew it was a tiny consolation to the women he had abused.
She rolled her shoulder, seeking to release the strain that had settled there. Her position as sole heir had not made her special in the eyes of her father. Quite the opposite. She was currently dressed in clothes that even a typical farmer might find unkempt. She had put on the worst she owned to help with her escape, but none of her clothes were of luxurious material or design. Her father believed in frugality in most things related to her care.
Laura shook herself from her memories, glancing around. Here she was. Perhaps she was a bit hungry, but she was free and clear from her father’s influence for the first time in her life.
“Now what do I do?” she asked her chestnut bay with a thoughtful tone, giving him a pat on the neck as he nibbled the grass. She felt no trepidation at her lonely plight. Her newfound liberty was almost overwhelmingly refreshing - and her prospects were far from grim. She was a skilled swordswoman with a reputation for hard work and honesty. With the current problems with bandits she had no doubt she could find employment for the weeks ahead. Even a woman fighter was better than nothing in these rough times.
She had often considered that the nunnery in the far northeast of her father’s lands would gladly take her in as a highly appropriate guard. She had even spoken of it with a few of her soldier companions. Maybe she would turn in that direction once she had put more distance between herself and the keep.
Laura nodded to herself, a plan forming in her mind. She slid her hand gently down her steed’s mane, drawing from his calm. Her horse was weary; it would take him a while to be ready for another leg of the journey. Still, it was wise to be prepared. She cinched the well-worn saddle with an easy motion, then put one hand on the pommel, reaching for her provisions.
A dull clunk of metal on leather echoed from a distance behind her. She froze in place, automatically closing her eyes. Her world narrowed to a pinpoint focus on the sounds around her. A long moment passed with only the gentle rasp of her horse’s breath and the quiet chirp of a cricket breaking the night’s silence. Still, she waited.
There it was again – the softest of footfalls from the other side of the pond. As they grew closer, she could pick out the individual noises the men made. There were four of them, slowly closing in.
She opened her eyes again, looking with weary resignation into the large, liquid-brown gaze of her steed. Fleeing was not an option – the men undoubtedly had mounts of their own nearby and would overtake her in moments. It would be better to stand and fight where she had room to maneuver.
She turned and drew her sword in one smooth movement, then tossed the weapon into her left hand as she plucked one of her three throwing knives from her leather belt. Across the pond, four shapes separated themselves from the dark forest. The men were rough, bearded, dressed in tattered leather tunics. All four carried a short sword at the ready.
Laura steeled herself. Bandits. It would not be pleasant if she allowed herself to fall prey to them. She had fought bandit groups since her first days on patrol, but never on her own, and never with these odds.
She forced her voice to be strong and sharp. “Leave now and I shall allow you to live,” she commanded, tossing her head back in challenge.
The men let out a low chuckle. “You are a feisty one,” spat out a balding, heavy-set ruffian as they continued to approach. “We will be sure to leave your dead body somewhere it can be found, once we are through with you.”
That was enough for Laura. Taking in a deep breath, she slowly let it out and sent her right arm forward with a sharp movement. The throwing knife sped unerringly across the distance, burying itself in the open triangle at the man’s throat. He fell back in shock, gurgling his dying breath.
The remaining three men let loose with a howl of fury and descended on her. She threw the remaining blades as they closed, but although the knives hit their targets, the men did not slow their rush. She barely had time to swap her sword into her right hand before the blows were raining down on her. She acted without thinking, moving by instinct.
Block high left, letting the blade slide.
Swing sharply toward the exposed waist.
Leap back to avoid the hissing blade tip.
Stay on balance. Stay on balance.
Laura had no shield to protect her left side. Blocking attacks from three directions was quickly becoming a losing proposition. She knew she could not keep up her frantic efforts for very long.
She glanced behind her to see where her mount was. The steed, battle trained and hardened, was standing wild-eyed but ready about ten feet behind her. If she could make that distance, then even if she could not flee, perhaps the horse’s hooves could take down one of the men and even the odds to something more manageable.
It was a risky move – it would leave her vulnerable while she mounted. Her arm flagged as the blows continued to rain down on her from all sides. She had little choice.
Making up her mind, she grit her teeth and poured her energy into a sweeping spin, driving the three men back a pace. Turning, she sprinted desperately for her mount, reaching his side with a thrill of triumph. She put her foot into the stirrup -
A blow landed solidly on the back of her skull. She lost her footing, flinging her arms wide as she fell back toward the soft ground. Distantly, she knew her sword was leaving her hand, thrown by the impact to some far off location. Then the ground struck her and her world spun to pitch black.
* * *
Laura groggily awoke to the slow swaying and jerking of a covered horse–drawn cart. She could plainly hear the squeak of the wheels, and by the rough movement she knew the wagon was not one of her father’s. If he was anything, he was a stickler for well-maintained equipment. No carpenter in his realm would risk the beating that would result from less than fully functional gear.
Exhaustion soaked into her bones, but she opened her eyes with weary deliberation. Above her, the cart was covered with a tattered canvas ceiling. She was lying amongst small wooden boxes and piles of roughly woven black cloth. The place reeked of dust and sweat.
A sharp, throbbing pain in her neck reminded her how she had come to be in this predicament, and she reached to massage the bruise. She stopped short in surprise. Her hands were bound behind her back! With a quick tug she ascertained that the rope holding them in place was strong and secure. She struggled to get herself into a sitting position.
A nasal voice came from behind her. “Feeling better, eh?” She turned to find a thin–haired, reedy, sallow man watching her with eager interest. His clothing was torn in several places. His leer widened as he ran his eyes over her body, idly flipping a small coin in one hand as he did so.
A shiver wracked her, although she maintained a stony face for her captor’s benefit. The recent events flooded back in a rush. She had been taken by the bandits. Countless villages had blazed into hellacious infernos due to this vicious group of lawbreakers. If the wolves’ heads did not plan a ransom for her, her death would be long in coming and deeply seasoned with humiliation.
Would they know enough to bargain for her, though?
She had been far from the keep when she was caught. From the morning sun shining through the slit in the back of the wagon she could tell they were heading west, further away from home. Her clothes, old and worn from rough use, hardly spoke of a highly valued prize.
By the way her guard was eyeing her, Laura realized she had better speak up quickly. Her vow of chastity had kept her own experiences pure, but her father’s exploits ensured she was quite aware of what could happen between an innocent woman and an unprincipled man.
Laura had no desire to end up under some bandit’s legs. She needed to convince them she was of noble birth, of an elegant class. She had not actually lived that life of luxury, but she could do a fair turn at troupe-quality acting, to present the proper appearance to her captors. She drew herself up with a stiffened spine, pitching her voice into a nasal, clipped tone.
“I am a young woman of great renown,” she proclaimed imperiously. “I demand that you allow me to speak with your leader immediately.” She was gratified when the guard, though suspicious, poked his head out of the wagon to call to one of the riders.
Laura tried to get a glimpse of her escort group, but as she moved toward the half-open curtain she was roughly dragged back inside by the guard. She shook him off, then settled against the opposite wall.
It was hard to tell by the hoofbeats, but it seemed there were five or six horses accompanying the cart. Perhaps this was a small raiding party, heading back to camp to join with the main group. She wondered with sadness which small village had borne the brunt of the assault this time. How many more had perished?
In a moment the cart staggered to a groaning stop and the curtain across the rear was thrown open. A shaggy bear of a man took up the opening, blocking out the sunlight. His voice boomed into the small wagon, gravelly and loud.
“What is this I hear of you being worth some easy cash? Speak up, girl. Keep in mind that, if you are lying, we can make you thoroughly regret your mistake.” His twisted grin provided evidence that he would enjoy personally being in on the punishment.
