The Knight's Fugitive Lady. Meriel Fuller

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      ‘Did she indeed.’ Lussac didn’t believe one word of it. A face like a pearl? The lad was delusional, suffering from the after-effects of hitting his head, or he was deliberately making the whole story up to cover his own embarrassment at having his horse stolen. He had probably fallen off his animal of his own accord and the horse had run off, following the others.

      ‘The other soldiers—did they see any of this?’

      The lad had the grace to look faintly embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry, my lord, I was lagging behind, and they didn’t realise. I’m...I’m not used to riding with all this heavy armour.’

      ‘You’ll get used to it,’ Lussac replied tartly. ‘Which direction did they take? Can you remember that, at least?’

      The boy lifted his arm, pointed towards the cloud of dark-green trees to the north. ‘That way, they went towards the forest.’ He lowered his arm, fixing Lussac with a resolute stare. ‘And the angel followed them.’

      ‘On your horse.’ Lussac threw the lad a tight smile as he swung himself back into the saddle. The leather creaked as he leaned forwards, gathering the reins, the split side-seam of his tunic falling open to reveal long legs encased in shining chainmail.

      ‘On my horse,’ the soldier repeated, staring up at him. ‘I know you don’t believe me, my lord, but it’s true. An angel stole my horse.’

      * * *

      Irritation clenched at Lussac’s gut as he raised one arm to push away a low, overhanging branch at the entrance to the forest. Where had Isabella found these mercenaries to fight on her behalf—in the madhouse? The only saving grace was that they had all gone in the same direction—north—Mortimer’s men, and the ‘stolen’ horse.

      The forest was quiet, still, the thick belt of trees diffusing the power of the wind that had raced across the flat river plain. Sunlight, diluted, subdued, flickered down to the sandy mud of the forest floor. The half-light was easy on the eye, a welcome relief after the stark, searing light of the beach, the sunlight bouncing harshly off the sea. Lussac inhaled, deeply, rolling his shoulders back to ease the tension in his muscles, a clean, fresh scent rising from the ground as his horse’s hooves ground into the pine needles strewn across the track. The smell yanked him back, back to the southern pine forests of his youth, those carefree days when he had ridden bareback through the trees, laughing and joking with his friends, when he had swam in the cool lakes and eaten fresh walnuts from the trees, in those idyllic days, when he had had a family to go home to.

      There was no one there now. His family home was empty, half-burned to the ground. His mother and father and sister were dead, dead from smoke inhalation, their prone bodies clasping, reaching out to each other to die on the floor of the locked solar. Where he had found them.

      A sudden sweep of wind brought down a shower of leaves, beech leaves, spinning around his helmet like burnished feathers, adding to the undulating carpet of dark-green pine needles across the ground, jolting him back to the present, to the quiet stillness of the forest.

      A sound—a single sound carried towards him on the breeze.

      The jangle of a bridle. Amidst the startled shriek of a blackbird, the sough of the wind high in the tree canopy, and the slow whisper of leaves dropping to the ground, he heard it. And heard it again. He spurred his horse on, pushing the animal from a trot to a canter, hooves flying over the soft ground, in pursuit of that delicate sound. The sound of an angel? He smiled, but the smile failed to reach the steely turquoise depths of his eyes.

      * * *

      Fortunately for Katerina, only one clear track was discernible through the trees: the only path that could possibly have been taken by those brutish soldiers. She prayed Waleran wasn’t too frightened and would realise that she had every intention of rescuing him. As he had rescued her. The other members of the circus troupe joked about Waleran and her being joined at the hip, and maybe it was true. Her friend since childhood, he had taught her the tricks and turns which, at that time, she had never realised she would come to rely on. Waleran had offered her freedom and she had seized it as a drowning man grips on to a floating raft.

      Following the path with an easy trot, she held her seat comfortably in the rigid, upright saddle, fingers slack around the bridle. Every now and again, the horse would shake his head violently, mane fanning out like a chicken’s-tail feathers, the bit between his teeth jangling. It was almost as if he were protesting at having a woman on his back! But all the head shaking and eye rolling didn’t worry her; she had grown up around horses and could handle them without fuss, however temperamental they wished to be.

      Katerina could have moved faster; the track was wide enough, but she had no wish to barge straight into those thugs. Nay, she would have to be more cunning, for they would overpower her in a moment and the element of surprise would be lost. She intended to spring Waleran from their clutches by a far more subversive method. At this precise moment she had no idea what exactly that method was. Caught in her musing, she failed to hear the thump of galloping hooves until they were almost upon her.

      ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve!’ A low, powerful voice struck her in the back.

      Panic shot through her, hot, visceral, sucking the strength from her limbs. Instinctively she crouched forwards, as if expecting a blow, at the same time digging her heels sharply into the horse’s sides to speed him away from any attack. Seizing the reins, she felt her hands shake with fear, adrenalin hurtling at breakneck speed around her body.

      ‘Oh, no, you don’t!’ From behind, two massive arms clamped viciously around her shoulders, wrenching her slight weight up and off the horse. The treacherous animal moved away from under her and she was left dangling in mid-air, her attacker, unseen, at her back. Almost immediately she began to struggle, to kick her legs this way and that, feet flailing, trying to make her attacker drop her, trying to twist her body out of that hateful grasp. Fear spurred her on, forcing her to fight, for her freedom, for her life. Would these strangers kill you, for stealing a horse? She had no wish to find out. Katerina thrashed out, heels catching back into the soft flank of his horse, as she used all the muscles in her body to throw it to and fro, trying to break the fearsome grip.

      ‘Let go of me!’ she shrieked, her voice rising with hysterical anger. She had to force him to drop her and then she could run. She was fast, she could outrun any man. Her captor’s arms were like iron bands around her upper body, squeezing the air from her lungs, but his bare hands, lean and sinewy, were inches from her chin, fingers linked. Bare. Skin. Inches from her mouth. Inches from her teeth. She bent her head down and sank her little white teeth into the fleshy part of his hand, between thumb and forefinger. Drew blood.

      ‘Why, you little...!’ For a tiny moment, the moment that she expected, his grip eased by a fraction. This slight loosening was enough, all she needed to wriggle violently from his grasp, to slip from those brawny arms, to hit the leaf-strewn forest floor and take off. And then she ran, ran with every last ounce of strength in her frame, away from the path, snaking through the densely packed trees with her light, dancing step. The horse would be unable to follow and the lumbering soldier, slowed by his cumbersome armour, would simply give up. He would never catch her now.

      Lussac plunged from his horse, angry now. The little brat had bitten him! And now the bobbing hood and coarse-woven tunic disappearing through the trees mocked his sword and shield, his armour, the trappings of war. The varmint obviously thought he had the means to outwit him, Lussac. Just wait until he clamped his hands once more around his scrawny little neck! The wretch might think he was nippy on his feet, but Lussac was much, much faster. The advantage СКАЧАТЬ