Falconer's Prey

by April Hill

  “Aye,” Will scowled. “But the name is all I know of him. Alice appears to be in his thrall, though and has likely slipped away to join him. But how did you?”

  Robin grinned. “As clever a fellow as I undoubtedly am, it must be confessed that we discovered all of this by a small stroke of luck. The dunderheaded Arthur boasted of his mission on the lady’s behalf to Bartholomew, who, in turn, told half the camp, of course. We’ve been close on your heels for three full days, and now, I see by your look that all is not well.”

  “What has Arthur to do with this?” Will asked.

  “It appears that Master Postelwaite left Sherwood carrying a message for this mysterious Geoffrey – at the Lady Alice’s request. God’s teeth, Will, were we this stupid at that age? In any case, the lady must have insufferably bad manners to abandon you along the public highway like this. Were I you, my friend, I would find myself a stout switch and attend very soundly to her bottom when she is finally recovered.”

  “Soundly will not be the word,” Fletcher said grimly. “The lady will be fortunate to sit again in a fortnight. Tell me, what more do you know of this Geoffrey?”

  “Only what Bri’n managed to wallop out of the screeching young Bartholomew before we left camp,” Robin replied irritably. “The man claims to be French nobility, which should in itself earn the sweet Alice a blistered rump. I have nothing against the French, in small doses, but there is a limit to my patience. As it turns out, though, the man is no more French than I am. Even the name is false. Marian assures me that there is no second Baron of Reynaud, nor a first, come to that. Your escaped dove is to join the mock Frenchman at an inn called the Red Swan, if what the boy told us is to be trusted.”

  Will Scarlett fingered the small beard on his chin thoughtfully. “From the vehemence of his shrieks and the color of his rump after our good blacksmith finished with him, I, for one, would wager that every word from the lad’s mouth is absolute truth. And there is an inn of that name ahead, Will... at Hockworth.”

  Fletcher frowned. “From all this, do you believe Alice to be in real danger?”

  Robin abandoned his cheerful manner. “Aye, Will. I fear there is more to this than runaway lovers. Arthur failed to return to camp or to his home in Wickham.”

  Will shook his head. “I’m a blind fool! I should have known something was amiss when she changed from shrew to docile maiden.”

  Robin touched Fletcher’s shoulder. “The lady planned all this very well, my friend – too well, it seems. She’ll be fortunate not to pay dearly for her deceit and not with just with the excellent whipping she’s earned, but with her life, if we’re unable to find her.”

  * * * * *

  Later, at Hockworth, a reluctant groom at the Red Swan was persuaded (after his head was submerged for a period of time in a slime–fouled watering trough,) to volunteer the information that a raggedy, sorry–looking wench and a splendid gentleman in red, of obvious means had departed just after dawn in a coach. Indeed, the woman’s soiled and shabby appearance had seemed most peculiar in the company of so finely dressed a gentleman as Mister Yarrow. Having gained what information was to be had, Little John hauled the sputtering groom from the trough by the scruff of the neck and dumped him on the ground.

  “We’ve come near to drowning this fellow,” Little John observed, giving the choking groom a mighty whack on the back to clear his lungs. “But he’s spoken truly, of that I’m sure.”

  Robin chuckled. “Had young Alice overheard how this fellow described her, she’d have his balls on a platter.”

  Vehicles on the highway were still uncommon at this season, and the still muddy road leading away from the Red Swan showed the tracks of only three – two of them heavily laden single axle carts, and the other – with luck – the one they sought. A coach with a team of two, probably carrying no more than two passengers and bound southward at great speed.

  With no other trail to pursue, the four friends spurred their horses to a full gallop, praying that the man they knew only as Geoffrey had not yet done his worst.

  Meanwhile, Alice and Arthur, working together feverishly, had managed to free his wrists. From there, it was only moments until he had undone the ropes at his ankles and Alice’s bonds, as well. Free to move about, though, the distressing fact was they were still confined to a building with thick stone walls.

  “It once held chickens,” Arthur whispered, up on his knees now and pointing a finger upward at the dimly visible wooden roosts. Recognizing the smell now, Alice wrinkled her nose and wiped her hands distastefully on her soiled skirt.

  “Do you suppose these chickens have such a thing as windows?” she asked curiously.

  Arthur looked around, and shook his head. But Arthur Postelwaite was a farmer’s son, and almost at once, another possibility occurred to him. Dropping to his elbows and knees on the filthy floor, he crawled around the base of the building in the dark, and within seconds had found a small, boarded aperture on the opposite wall, perhaps a foot from the floor. A minute later, he had pried open the tiny hatch, and one at a time, they crammed themselves through the hole, crawled carefully down the splintered wooden ramp, and into the still dark barnyard. On the horizon, streaks of pink and blue light announced the cold dawn.

  After a quick look around, Arthur took a firm grip on Alice’s hand, and ran for the nearby woods, with Alice snatching up her wet skirts to keep them out of the way as she stumbled along behind. There was a wide, open field of deep grass to cross before they made the shelter of the trees, and no way to tell if they had been seen, but Arthur dragged her resolutely forward until they reached the crumbling fieldstone wall bordering the wood. He swung one leg over the wall and pulled himself over, then hauled Alice across the rough stones by one arm. She fell the last few feet, in a heap on the far side, breathing heavily. Arthur dropped to one knee to help her up.

  “Forgive me, Mistress!” he cried. “I’ve hurt you!”

  Alice grinned, and pecked his cheek with a quick kiss. “You may have saved my life and yours, too, sweet Arthur! Had I the power, I would dub thee knight! Now, what shall we do next? I don’t suppose you came armed? With a longbow and arrows, perhaps, and two or three sharp knives?”

  He looked around them, and shook his head. “I know not what to do, Mistress. Whichever way we run from here, the chance is that we will be seen. If we remain close to this wall, and crouch very low?”

  Alice nodded. “Then do so, Arthur, and I shall be behind you. Do you see the main road?”

  He shook his head again, but pointed back toward the area from which they had just come. “No. I believe, though, it may very well lay in that direction. The truth is, dear lady, I may have slain us both.”

  She raised her head to peek over the top of the wall. “Nonsense, Arthur. Better to die here than in some befouled chicken coop. I see no one coming this way, yet. Choose a direction, right or left, and we will simply follow the wall to its destination, wherever that may be.”

  “And what if I should choose badly?” Arthur sighed.

  “Then, we will have had a better chance than we had before,” she said firmly. “Choose!”

  Arthur looked over the wall, and his then face paled. “Someone comes, Mistress… on horseback! It is but one rider, but he follows our footsteps through the wet grass!”

  “We must go, Arthur! Choose a direction!” Alice whispered, and when he pointed left, they scrambled quickly along the base of the wall in the direction he had chosen, praying fervently for the horseman to choose differently.

  And suddenly, as though their common prayer had reached heaven with astonishing speed, the rider stopped mere feet before reaching the wall, and turned back. Someone was shouting to him, from the house.

  “Pray, don’t look back, lady!” Arthur whispered nervously as Alice raised her head again to peer over the top of the wall. “You’ll be seen!”

  What Alice saw was Geoffrey, recognizable at this distance by the deep crimson of his cloak. Accompanied b
y two other men, he was apparently abandoning the coach in which he had brought her to this place. The kidnappers leapt from the coach in great haste, and appeared to be fleeing in fear from the relentless approach of a small band of men on horseback that was galloping down the narrow road leading to the house. This unknown second group was still a good distance away, but riding hard and very fast. As Alice watched curiously, one of the kidnappers fled on foot away from the coach, while Geoffrey and one of his companions dashed to the side of the house, only to reappear seconds later on horseback. They wheeled their mounts in the courtyard, spurred them forward and began a dash through the very field she and Arthur had crossed minutes earlier. In helpless terror, the two fugitives crouched behind the wall and watched as Geoffrey and the second rider bore down on them at a speed that would bring them to the wall very, very quickly.

  “What will we do, Mistress?” Arthur cried, and before she could think of a good answer, he had leapt onto the wall and begun running along its top, away from their hiding place. In a heartbreaking attempt to draw the attention of Geoffrey and his companion, the brave young Arthur continued to run, waving both his arms frantically and screaming to Geoffrey and to the other rider, both of whom were closing the distance between the house and the hiding place far too rapidly for Alice’s taste. Arthur continued running and screaming, stumbling every few steps on the uneven surface and nearly falling from the wall twice. Seeing the fleeing boy on the wall, Geoffrey and his companion changed course abruptly and spurred their horses on, bearing down on Arthur at tremendous speed. Unable to think of what else she could do to prevent his inevitable capture or death, Alice crawled to the crest of the wall and scrambled to her feet, waving her arms frantically. Perhaps two hundred yards away by this time, still moving down the wall, Arthur screamed to her.

  “No, Mistress! In God’s name, NO!”

  As Alice shouted helplessly, the horse bearing Geoffrey thundered through the tall grass until it neared the spot where Arthur stood on the wall, then turned to lope alongside until horse and rider were inches from the wall, and almost touching it. Arthur didn’t move, but stood there, trembling from exhaustion, and frozen with fear. There was a moment’s pause, while the two men appeared to speak, and then Alice watched in horror as Geoffrey de Reynaud raised himself in his stirrups, drew his broadsword and drove the gleaming blade through Arthur’s chest with a force that flung the boy’s thin, limp body flying backward from the wall and into the grass. Alice screamed, and dropped to her knees on the top of the wall, weeping.

  Then, waving his companion forward as well, Geoffrey turned his horse and loped along the wall toward her – Arthur’s blood still visible on his sword.

  For one moment, Alice went cold with terror, but then, scrambling halfway up, she dislodged the largest stone she could reach and clambered to her feet holding the stone above her head.

  Geoffrey slowed his horse to a walk, and began to laugh. “Ah, my sweet, stupid Alice! Could it be that you, after all, will be the angel that rescues me?”

  Suddenly, the rider alongside Geoffrey spurred his horse viciously. The animal reared, then sped toward the wall, gaining speed until it tucked its front hooves under and sailed over the wall. As his companion galloped off at full speed, Geoffrey swore, but then moved toward her again. He turned quickly to note the exact location of his pursuers, who were just reaching the courtyard now, still some five hundred yards distant.

  “The man is a coward,” he said coldly, pointing at the back of his fleeing cohort, “as were the other fools my dear Mother hired to accomplish this task. But never mind, my sweet. You and I shall ride safely away, without his puny help. Drop the foolish rock, Alice, and come with me.”

  “I will die first!” she shouted, raising the rock aloft. “And smash your ugly head like an overripe melon before I draw my last breath, you damned, traitorous swine!” With that, she threw the rock with all her might, managing to strike his startled horse on the rump. Geoffrey laughed again as the horse shied, which drove an enraged Alice to leap the short distance from the wall to where Geoffrey sat astride the nervous animal. With Alice still clinging to his neck with one arm and trying to smash his handsome temple with a somewhat smaller rock, Geoffrey tumbled from the horse and rolled to one side as she struck at him again. Pinning her struggling body beneath his, he managed to stand up and secure Alice, kicking and screaming, under his arm. He slid a knife across her throat, pressing into the flesh of her neck until small droplets of blood appeared along the length of the blade.

  “Desist!” he bellowed. “If you call off that pack of would–be rescuers following us, dear Alice, I may refrain from cutting your heart out where we stand,” he said coldly. “Whoever these men are, they will be within longbow range in seconds! Wave them off, and do it now!”

  “No!” Alice cried. “And I hope they tear every inch of flesh from your stinking bones before they put a knife in your evil belly and twist it!”

  Suddenly, Geoffrey remounted his horse, and pulled her up into the saddle in front of him. “Wave them off, Alice!”

  “I know not who these men are!” she protested, writhing to squirm free from his grip.

  “Nor do I, but their demeanor suggests a poor result for me, and a worse one for you if you permit them to come nearer!” he shouted. “WAVE THEM OFF, damn you!”

  When Alice refused his command, and buried her teeth firmly in his forearm, instead, Geoffrey whirled the horse to face the oncoming riders, and yanked Alice closer, until her body formed a shield between himself and the four distant horsemen. They were racing through the deep grass now, closer, almost within arrow range. He screamed over her head to the man at the front of the pack.

  “Come closer, and the bitch’s steaming entrails will be on the ground at my feet!” he shrieked, swinging his sword in a vicious arc above his head. In an instant, the horsemen came to a stop, milling about in the field four hundred yards away – too far, even Alice knew, for an arrow to reach them.

  From this distance in the light fog, she could make out no distinct faces in the group, and in any case could think of no person who knew of her current whereabouts. Even the lone, deceived Will Fletcher was probably searching for her, if he had bothered to, further south, on the road to London.

  “Stand down!” Geoffrey screamed, louder this time. “And ride away, or I swear by heaven I will slit the bitch’s pretty throat from ear to ear, and impale her dripping head on my sword! If you follow us before an hour has passed, whatever becomes of me, you will find the lady’s heart ripped out by its roots and tossed by the roadside!”

  Geoffrey did have a way with words, Alice thought bitterly, as she listened with disgust to his bloodcurdling threats. The taste of his blood was still in her mouth, and Alice knew she would have ripped his throat out with her teeth had she been able to turn around before he slipped the dagger between her ribs.

  For several minutes, all was quiet and Alice took these moments – perhaps her last – to ask the question that still bewildered her. “Why, Geoffrey?”

  “Why, step–sister? Because my own dear Mother Isobel must have you dead to inherit your Father’s fortune, that is why! Insanity would have sufficed, had that meddling old priest of yours not bollixed matters up as he did. To have you die in the Abbess’s custody would seem suspicious to Henry Burden, so Mother, in her infinite stupidity, summoned me from London, to play the part of your mysterious suitor and to arrange for your escape. The plan, of course, was to blame it on your beloved uncle, who would go to prison, or even to the block – without heirs. All of which would make my dear mother even richer than she already is – although there is some dispute about that bit of greed! Your battered body was to have been found near Burden Manor, along with the remains of that bloody little simpleton, Arthur – victims of the villainous Robin Hood, perhaps, with whom your uncle is known to consort. The new arrangements made necessary by your delay in meeting me at the Red Swan will be a bit clumsier, but the outcome will be the s
ame – for you, I’m afraid. You were kidnapped for a handsome ransom. Even as we speak, Henry Burden is reading the note. Alas, your captors will take your life, in their haste to escape.”

  “But Isobel is father’s widow!” Alice cried. “Surely, the law?”

  “Ah, yes… the law!” Geoffrey sighed. “Alas, before warming her new bridal bed, dear, stupid Isobel neglected to dispose of my own father, who was, as may be apparent by now, not entirely dead. Not dead at all, actually, but drunk in a gutter somewhere, as he has been for thirty years. Despite the fact my beloved Mother spread her legs for every half–witted jackaknape and flea-ridden peddler she could find in Nottinghamshire, she was unable to beget herself an heir to replace you – certainly not with your own father, who was already in the death grip of the poisons she had been slowly administering in his nightly beverages. Tell me, step–sister, does this tale not bring fresh meaning to the phrase ‘son–of–a–bitch?’ “

  “And ‘spawn of the devil, as well,” Alice screamed.

  Geoffrey nodded. “Yes. All too true, Alice dear. But now, lest your rescuers decide to risk your life and attempt to come close enough to strike with a long–bow and arrow, you and I will leave and complete this family drama elsewhere.”

  He had returned his sword to its scabbard and begun to turn his horse, when out of the fog, unseen by either of them and heard only as a whisper or a soft whistle, came a single arrow, which sliced through the very center of Geoffrey’s throat, front to back, causing little more than a small look of surprise on his handsome face. The next arrow went cleanly through his heart, and even before his eyes closed, he had released his tight grip on Alice, who slipped slowly, unharmed, to the ground, unaware as yet that her newly discovered step–brother had been slain.

  Geoffrey sat where he died, still astride his horse, which lowered its head and munched contentedly on the wet grass as the sun came up and the fog began to lift.

  Alice sat for a dazed moment in the wet grass, and then, as the riders approached, made her way through the grass to the wall, to find Arthur’s body. Behind her, Geoffrey’s horse moved just slightly as it grazed, and Geoffrey slipped from the saddle and onto the ground.