“Emelin, I give you my word, I will not hurt you.” He stopped raised both his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I am not with those outlaws. I came here to find you, to help you.” He continued in a calm and steady voice.
“How do you know my name?” she asked warily “And who has sent you?”
“I met a young minstrel named Garriden.”
“Garriden is alive!”
“Aye, he is.” Allard smiled reassuringly, “So put the stick down and I will tell you all that I know.”
She wanted to believe him but how could she be sure that he was telling her the truth. What if it was a trick and Garriden was already dead? She stared into his brown eyes. They looked sincere but there was no way of knowing. Still standing her ground, she slowly lowered the wood. He moved forward and stood in front of her. Emelin felt dwarfed by the stranger. His height and the broadness of his shoulders all added to her sense of being small and insignificant. She studied his face. It was a handsome face with high cheekbones, full lips and a determined jaw. Yet for all his beauty there was an underlying harshness, that echoed through his manner, his movements and his eyes. Emelin held her breath and waited to see what he would do next.
“Come lady, all will be well.” Allard said gently. “I am Allard de Gerril and I did meet your minstrel, Garriden, who is alive and well and on his way to my holding, Ravenswood.” Taking her hand, he led her over to a toppled log and gestured for her to sit.
She turned and faced him. “Sir, I am no lady of elevated birth. I am Emelin, the trinket seller’s daughter. No more nor less,” she said with a tilt of a defiant chin.
Allard arched his brow and amusement flickered briefly in his eyes. “Very well then, Emelin, the trinket seller’s daughter, whilst we are in this forest and in each other’s company we will only be known as Emelin and Allard. Agreed?” Again he gestured to her to sit. With a brief nod, this time she complied. “As I said, I have sent Garriden to Ravenswood to raise the alarm and bring assistance.”
“Then are we to follow?”
“Aye, I think it would be best. Help is three days walk away in nearly every direction. There is a tiny village about two days away but if we go to Ravenswood there are armed men who will run these devils to ground.”
“Then I agree, we’ll go to Ravenswood.” She stated simply “Shall we leave, now?”
Again amusement danced over his features. “Emelin, the sun is setting and it will be dark soon. We will rest here and leave at first light.” He said as he sat down beside her. “Once my men arrive, I shall send you to Ravenswood and I shall hunt Archer and his company down.”
“Allard, I wish to come with you.”
“Nay, you will be safe at Ravenswood and I have a score to settle. I will not have time to see to your needs. I want revenge, Emelin. It is no place for -.”
“What? A woman!” Emelin spat as she jumped up from the log. With her hands on her hips she faced Allard with a bright flash of temper in her eyes. “I want revenge as well or at least justice. I would see this Archer pay for what he has done.”
“I swear to you that Archer will pay.” Allard said quietly. “But you will go to Ravenswood.”
“Nay, I am coming with you!”
“Enough, woman! You will do as I command.” His voice was raised in exasperation. Allard stood up and looked down at her. “He killed my men and I will kill him - by my own hands.”
“He and his men murdered my entire party. We were a defenceless group of peddlers, servants, and ancient monks and yet Archer butchered all of them without mercy.” Images of their lifeless bodies flashed through her mind. “I too have a score to settle,” she cried passionately.
Allard took a breath and calmed his rising temper. He lent down and caught her gently by the shoulders and said in a soft voice, “You are not seeing the situation with clarity. You have been lost and terrorized most of this day and need time to recover and to mourn.” He lifted his right hand and caressed her cheek as if it was the most natural thing to do. Her skin felt soft like silk and for a moment he was lost in her beauty. “But, it is not your place to seek out Archer, it is mine.”
Her eyes widened with surprise and she backed away from his tingling touch. With a sad voice, she said, “You forget Sir, he killed my father.” She turned and walked to the edge of the little clearing. “And God willing, I shall seek Archer out and kill him with my own hands.”
~* * *~
Gargoyle found the bodies just as the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon. He had been following the erratic tracks of the minstrel, since fleeing from this morning’s attack the boy must have become disorientated and had circled back on himself several times. It was obvious; however as Gargoyle looked down dispassionately at his recently departed comrades, that all three had been killed by a sword. He felt a growing sense of apprehension. He had seen the bodies of the travelling party they had killed this morning, someone had tended to them. There must be survivors from the attacks, but how many? The boy had escaped but he could not be responsible nor capable of killing these three. Nay, someone else had done this. The words echoed in his mind. The knight and his men! One of them must have survived the ambush. He quickly mounted his little black pony and galloped down the track. He must make it back to the camp and warn Archer before they set off to Upper Wafteron.
~* * *~
He watched her sleep from the other side of the fire. She lay on her side with her arms pillowing her head. Their evening had been spent in near silence, he had built a small fire and they had dined on some hard cheese and dry bread all washed down with some cool water from the nearby river. She had tried to stay awake but the dark smudges beneath her eyes revealed the level of her exhaustion. He had watched with growing fascination as she fought against the waves of fatigue that washed over her. Emelin’s eyes would close, her head would droop and then with a jolt those blue eyes would flutter open and quickly look about the clearing for any sign of danger.
“Rest, Emelin, there is nothing to fear,” he had called softly over the orange flickering flames.
“Nay, I will stay awake and keep watch with you. I’m not tired,” she lied as she lowered her head. “But perhaps I might just lie down for a moment.”
Allard nodded and gave a crooked smile. “Aye, do that. You can still keep watch whilst lying down.”
“Hmmm. Oh and Allard, I am sorry that I hit you,” she murmured.
“Twas nothing.” Allard was distracted as a tawny owl cried mournfully in the dark. The melancholy cry sounded again and then in the near distance he could hear the beating of unseen wings. Turning back to Emelin he continued, “You were merely defending yourself.” He realised that he was only talking to himself as Emelin was fast asleep. Allard leaned back against the gnarled trunk of an oak tree and listened to the sounds of the forest around him.
As the night lengthened, Emelin’s sleep became more and more disturbed. She was restless and began to whimper and cry out for her father. Allard went to her side and gathered her up in his strong arms. He noted that there was a chill to her soft skin. Drawing his fine woollen cloak about them and held her tight. “Shhh. Be still,” he whispered half to her, half to himself. Instinctively she wrapped her arms about his waist and snuggled into his warmth. He heard her murmur something unintelligible beneath her breath and then she was still.
As he lay next to Emelin, he began to plot his next move to capture Archer. But as the minutes ticked by his thoughts betrayed him and no matter how he tried to control them, they began to dance and skip where they wished, with most of them settling upon the small woman who was lying trustingly in his arms.
~* * *~
Gargoyle rode briskly into the forest camp in the early hours of the new day. He nodded a greeting to the two men who stood on watch. As he approached the camp fire he saw half a dozen men asleep around its warmth, scattered about them were empty wine skins. He dismounted the black pony and handed its reins to the guard who stood on sentry outside
Archer’s hut. As he walked through the door Archer’s voice sounded from the other side of the room.
“You took your time.”
“Sorry, Archer, there were complications.”
“Did you find my wayward men?”
“Aye, but only their bodies.”
“The night is chilled. Let us go to the fire and there you can explain everything.” His tone made Gargoyle uneasy, as Archer was never more ruthless than when he appeared to be in a good humour and at ease. They walked back to the flickering campfire and Archer looked down in disgust at his drunken men.
Clearing his throat, Gargoyle repeated, “As I said, Archer, all three of them were dead.”
“Surely not by the boy they were chasing?”
“Nay, the boy was incapable of this. It took skill and knowledge. No, whoever killed them knew how to fight. They were killed with a blade, a sword.”
“I see.”
“I believe it is the knight or one of his men. He must have survived our ambush but I don’t see how that is possible. We strung them all up.”
“Not all. De Gerril was not among them! I should have made sure the bastard was dead, but when I saw him go over the cliff I assumed.”
“You know him then?”
“Aye, three years past the barons were fighting and jostling each other for power. I was in service as an archer to Sir Risean who in turn had sworn fealty to Baron Carriweddan. The other barons accused Carriweddan of treason and marched on his holding.”
“Was he guilty of the charge?”
“I know not but we were sent to defend Carriweddan.” Archer replied as he looked into the flames, seeing only the vivid images of the past. “De Gerril was there that day, fighting for the other side. Apparently he proved himself on the field and was proclaimed a hero – all I saw was a massacre. We were outnumbered and our defences did not last a day. The walls were breached and I ran for my life just like everyone else. De Gerril and his men captured a group of us. We were brought before Baron Rawley and he marked us for execution but De Gerril spoke up. He said that we were just doing what we had been ordered to do and because of it we should be shown some mercy. Because he was in favour, the baron heeded his words and we were given a choice -our hands or our lives.”
“But why?” Gargoyle asked in a hesitant voice.
“Because if you don’t have these then you can’t shoot a bow.” Archer snarled as he held up his right hand, the index and middle fingers were missing.
“Then he saved your life.”
“Hah. What life—my lord was dead, I was maimed with no profession open to me, homeless and begging. I watched my wife wither and die as did the child she carried within her. I cursed every one of them that were there that day, and God willing soon my hands will close around Baron Rawly’s throat.” He spat as a deep and burning hatred engulfed his heart. “And I wish to pay De Gerril back for his kindness.” He looked down at his disfigured hand. “Mayhap I’ll just take one finger before I kill him.”
“There is something else; I believe there must be another survivor from this morning. I rode past the bodies of the travelling party and someone had tended them. Would this knight, De Gerril do that?”
“What do you mean, ‘tended?'” Archer asked.
“Their eyes closed, their garments rearranged and some held crosses made of sticks bound by leather.”
“Nay – he would not. It seems that someone else has survived…someone with a gentle heart…mayhap a woman.”
“Then what are your wishes, Archer?”
“We ride at first light and we will hunt De Gerril down.” Archer hissed and kicked one of the men who lay at his feet. The man grunted but merely rolled over hugging a wine skin as he went. “Good for nothing, oaf!” he sneered as he quickly turned and stalked back to his hut.
~* * *~
Emelin woke with a jolt, the sun had not yet risen but the sky was beginning to lighten from silver grey to a vivid blue. For a moment she was disorientated but then the memories of the past day crowded back, pushing her down and smothering her. She sucked in her breath and tried to suppress the anguish of her father’s death. She tried to harden her heart and not let the pain in…she had to stay strong so she could avenge his murder. The air was chilled but Allard’s green cloak covered her, and she realised that she was alone in the clearing.
Her thoughts began to wander. They strayed to Allard and she wondered what sort of man he truly was. He had searched the woods for her and offered protection when he was not obligated to do so. But then she had become so infuriated with him when he dismissed her feelings as if they accounted for nothing. He was arrogant and high handed and part of her wanted to hate him for it but then she had noticed the way he looked at her and in truth, it made her tingle. Last evening she had cast secret sidelong glances towards him in the hope of studying him more closely. He seemed oblivious to her as he knelt and stoked the small fire. The glimmer of the flames illuminated the strong lines of his beautifully chiselled face and Emelin began to think that she could look at him forever. Without warning, he turned and caught her gaze and his eyes locked on hers. She felt her heart begin to hammer in her breast, her stomach felt as if butterflies danced inside it and the heat of embarrassment bloomed in her cheeks. Emelin wanted to break his gaze …to look away, but by some strange magic it was impossible. His eyes burned into her being and made her feel naked and exposed. Time appeared to alter as they watched each other in the twilight and Emelin was unsure if they stayed like that for an instant or an hour. It was Allard who broke the enchantment as he abruptly walked away. For the longest time she sat staring into the fire whilst a myriad of chaotic emotions washed over her. Embarrassment was mixed with liberal doses of apprehension, confusion and excitement, but above all was the hope that he would look at her in that way again.
Sitting up she wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and breathed in its scent, his scent…it smelt of wool, of forest and of spice. In the back of her mind her father’s words began to niggle until she could almost hear his beloved voice in her thoughts. He’s not for you. Emelin sighed, it mattered not if Allard’s gaze warmed her or his touch made her skin tingle. He was- he is- a knight and she was only a peddler’s daughter. Like married like and marriage between a lord and a peasant only happened in the tales the old storyteller regaled around the hearth on a cold winter’s eve. Alas, it could never be and she must set the thought of him aside. God willing she would find a good and dependable man who would marry her at the church door just as her mother had done.
Standing up she made her way across the clearing towards the river, her feet slipping slightly on the dew covered grass. As she wove her way through the tall green trees, she could hear the sound of the rushing water in the near distance. Emelin arrived at a line of poplar trees and standing in front of them was an outcrop of rocks which partly shielded the river from view. Water and erosion over time had carved out a tiny inlet and now the rocks stood at the edge of the shallow pool. The river’s white and gushing water raced swiftly on but the pond was placid and quiet as it lapped gently at its stony bank. On reaching the rocks, Emelin heard soft splashing from the other side, cautiously she peered around not really knowing what to expect. Allard was standing with his back to her, waist deep in the centre of the pool, she knew that she should turn away but something deep within her made her stay…watching. He sank under the water and after a few moments resurfaced; his hand ran over his face and pushed back his over-long black hair from his eyes. She watched with fascination as the water dripped slowly from his broad shoulders down and down his defined torso, he turned slightly and Emelin saw a large dark bruise forming on his left shoulder. Remorse flickered through her as she realised that it was she who had been responsible for marring his beautiful form. Again her mind told her to leave but still she held her ground and stared transfixed as he slipped once more under the dark water. She held her breath and waited for what seemed like an eternity. He broke the surface closer to t
he stony bank and to her horror looked straight at her. His lips formed into a wolfish smile and a devil light danced in his eyes. Without breaking her gaze, Allard slowly stood up – the water level just barely reaching his hips.
“Ah Lady, wouldst thou care to join me? The water is cool but invigorating.”
Emelin’s eyes widened and she felt her cheeks flush. “Forgive me. I…I was….” she stammered before she turned and fled back to the clearing, but the sound of Allard’s soft laughter followed.
~* * *~
Garriden lay hidden listening to the sound of something walking through the bushes; he didn’t know whether to fight or stay hidden and hope that it would pass him by. It only sounds like one horse. Mayhap I could surprise the rider, he thought. If only I possessed a little more courage. Slowly he crawled out from his hiding place and crept towards the noise, picking up a rock he edged forward. Taking three deep breaths, Garriden burst through the bushes and a smile of relief spread across his young face.
“Ah, Hebby, my old friend - I thought you were lost forever. It is a joy to see you again!”
The little brown horse eyed Garriden with disinterest before he dropped his head and continued to eat the sweet green grass. Garriden gently petted him and picked up the broken rein. “Come Hebby, we must make our way to Ravenswood. Sir Allard said if we follow the stream it will lead us in the right direction and in truth, it will be a blessing to have your fine company on this journey.”
~* * *~
Emelin had been trudging along behind Allard for what seemed like hours. Although she was a little tired she had to admit it was a blessing as she still couldn’t look him in the eyes. He had explained at the clearing that they must make their way back to the road then in a southeast direction until they came to a stream, this would guide them to Ravenswood. Since then neither of them had exchanged a word. They had stopped once by a large pine tree and he had offered her his water flask, she had accepted whilst looking at her feet. Stealing a secret glance towards him when she thought he wasn’t looking, she was vexed to see a smug expression of his face and a swagger in his step. Emelin was beginning to think that they were walking in circles when Allard suddenly stopped, turned, grabbed her and pulled her down beside him. She was about to protest when he put his hand over her mouth. He gestured her to be silent as he brought his finger to his lips. Her eyes widened with fear as she could just make out figures ahead and shouting.
The Trinket Seller's Daughter Page 3
