The Saxon Outlaw's Revenge. Elisabeth Hobbes

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      He had considered letting the big man kill her. She had seen the temptation in his eyes before he had saved her. Aelric, the gentle boy who once had never wielded a sword. If she had not seen the scar Robert had given him she would never have believed the angry-eyed, bearded wild man could be the same person.

      The cart stopped abruptly. Someone fumbled with the rope, untying it from the rail, but leaving Constance’s hands bound. He took tight hold of her by her upper arms and hauled her to her feet. She wondered whose hands they were. Not Aelric—or Caddoc, as she supposed she must now think of him—she suspected he would have been gentler. Perhaps not, though. Her first hope on recognising him was that he would prove an ally. Now she was far from sure he was a friend to her at all, but his good grace was all that had kept her alive.

      She was lifted from the cart, placed on her feet and turned around. A bottle was put to into her hands. Her unseen captor helped her raise it to her lips and she drank thirstily, not caring what the contents were. It turned out to be beer. The weak, sour-tasting brew she remembered from when she had lived in Cheshire before. She pulled a face.

      ‘I supposed a fine Norman lady like you would prefer wine.’ The voice she recognised as belonging to Osgood spoke scathingly from somewhere off to her left.

      So it had not been him who had dragged her from the cart. She breathed a sigh of relief. Despite his harsh words he had stared at her with open hunger he did not bother to conceal and it made her flesh crawl. She was glad he had not been the one to touch her.

      She did not dignify his jibe with an answer, but the idea of a warm cup of wine had never been more appealing. She took another deep swig of beer out of pride before holding the bottle out for someone to take it.

      ‘Let’s keep going,’ Aelric said. ‘We’re leaving the cart with Osgood and going the rest of the way on foot.’

      A hand took hold of her elbow and began to lead her. Constance stiffened instinctively at the unfamiliar touch of a man. Memories of Piteur leading her to his chamber reared up unpleasantly, causing her to gag. She stuck her feet out nervously, not knowing what was in front of her, and took a few shuffling steps. Her foot squelched into a puddle and she pulled it out with a cry of disgust, causing her to lose her balance. The grip on her elbow tightened and a hand rested on her lower back, guiding her onward firmly. She succeeded in taking a few more steps until her foot snagged on something in the undergrowth and she stopped again.

      ‘You’ll have to walk faster than this,’ Aelric muttered in her ear. ‘The others are already far ahead.’

      So it was his hand at her waist. The knowledge sent disconcerting shivers down Constance’s spine.

      ‘I can’t. I need my stick,’ she said irritably.

      ‘I’m not giving you something you can use as a weapon,’ Aelric said with a laugh.

      ‘What do you think I could do blindfold and with my hands bound?’ Constance demanded.

      ‘I’ll help you,’ Aelric replied.

      His arm came around her waist. He held her close to his side and began guiding her, muttering instructions where to place her feet to avoid tangles. For the first time since the ambush she felt oddly safe. Her body relaxed as she leaned against him, but her mind whirled at the contact, sending her back into the past.

      The second time they met it had been spring, not many weeks later than it was today. A time after they had settled in Hamestan, but before the thegns rose against her people. A market day filled with rare laughter and music where Constance had believed they were becoming accepted, that they could live in peace alongside each other.

      There had been dancing and she’d watched enviously as the girls spun about the circle with their skirts flying, trying to ignore the stares and whispers.

      Aelric had been at the centre of the knot, a set of pipes to his lips and his red-blond hair falling into his eyes. He had paused his tune as he spotted her watching and threaded his way through the circle towards her and held out his hand. When she indicated the stick she leaned on his expression hadn’t been one of pity or ridicule like she was used to, but regret. Instead of turning immediately back to the dance he’d taken her hand and bowed, then walked with her through the marketplace, leaving his friends behind.

      She’d fallen a little bit in love with him at that moment and now his touch was in danger of awakening something long dormant.

      ‘Constance! What are you doing?’ Aelric muttered angrily in her ear, bringing her sharply back to the present.

      She realised she had stopped walking again. Disconcerted that she had been thinking of such things, she shook herself free of his hold only to find her hair tangling in a low branch. She reached her hands up, flailing around her head.

      ‘This is too hard,’ she complained. ‘I keep catching my feet and tripping. You’ll have to let me see where I’m going.’

      He spoke rapidly in a language she did not understand, but from the tone of the throaty, lyrical words he was swearing.

      ‘When will you cease trying to push my tolerance? I’ve told you no and I’ve told you why.’

      Constance stamped her good foot in frustration.

      ‘Unless we’re in the centre of Hamestan itself I doubt I’ll recognise where we are,’ she snapped, and then as an afterthought, added: ‘In fact, I probably wouldn’t recognise Hamestan either. I haven’t been there for seven years.’

      There was silence, then the cloth was pushed back from her eyes by callused hands. Even dusk seemed bright after the blackness she had been subjected to. She stared around. Aelric need not have feared that she would be able to lead anyone to them. The trees were broad trunked and towered over them with no sign of a pathway and every direction looking identical. They could have been anywhere.

      ‘Thank you,’ Constance said. She risked a smile, but Aelric remained stern faced. His eyes flickered to the side and she followed his gaze. The two other men were watching them suspiciously. Her stomach clenched as she saw the large man was carrying the body of his son. Unbidden her lip trembled. She held her hands up in front of her and raised an eyebrow at Aelric questioningly.

      ‘I’ll give you your sight, but your hands will remain bound,’ Aelric said.

      ‘Why?’ Constance asked. ‘I’m not going to run. I can’t and even if I could your friends would cut me down quick enough.’

      She raised her chin and looked at him disdainfully. ‘That would solve your dilemma, wouldn’t it? If I died and it was nothing of your doing, your conscience would be clear!’

      Aelric bared his teeth. He reached for the dagger at his waist and she feared she had gone too far, but he cut her bonds. Blood rushed into her hands and she rubbed her wrists vigorously until they stopped stinging.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said.

      Aelric ignored her. He whistled and the older man threw Constance’s stick to him. Aelric pushed it into her hands, nodding curtly. ‘No more delays.’

      He held out a hand for her to pass by and she walked in front of him to where the other man beckoned her. Though she had to grit her teeth in determination not to show the discomfort she was in she could not prevent a wave of relief cresting inside her. Aelric had done СКАЧАТЬ