Wildewood Revenge (25 page)

“Thank you,” she cried, breathlessly. “Thank you so much, I thought she’d never stop.” He watched as she attempted to catch her breath. She was shaking, her hands almost frozen to the reins she’d been hanging on so tightly. She beamed her gratitude at him.

He returned the greeting with a wolf-like smile. Nudging his horse closer he looked down on her from the taller beast. “Are you hurt, Mademoiselle?” He spoke with the slight French accent of a Norman lord.

“No, just a little out of breath,” she replied. “The filly is young. I thought I could handle her. I was wrong. She’s stronger than she looks.”

She was an unusual little package, thought Guy, as he took in her petite features and heaving bosom. He could see how Mayflower had been seduced by her and he could easily appreciate what Miles saw in her too. She was different from the women he knew from court with their elaborate coiffure, their silks and dazzling jewels. She was unfinished. The wind and rain caused her pink streaked hair to stick up, and her fringe to flop untidily over one eye. Her clothes were a crime but there was no contrived coyness, no fluttering of lashes.

She may have been scared atop the bolting pony, but she certainly wasn’t the quivering wreck he expected. She was alive, vibrant,
exhilarated and he found her very tempting indeed. He wondered how she would feel beneath him. She pushed her fringe back from her face with an unsteady hand and an almost apologetic look. As if regretful of any trouble she may have caused. He found that even more tempting, in the way that a wolf is tempted by the succulence of a fresh lamb. He licked his lips and leaned closer.

She had beautiful eyes and long lashes, and when she smiled openly at him again he knew she was his. She’d absolutely no idea who he was. Edmund had not alerted Miles. This was going to be the easiest job he had ever undertaken.

“You are a long way from anywhere, here in these woods. Where are you headed, my lady? I would escort you to ensure your safety.”

Grace took another breath. “I’m meant to be at
Wildewood
, only I’ve managed to get myself lost. I was looking for the children and I’m afraid I’ve got a terrible sense of direction.”

“You’re a long way from
Wildewood
, my lady.”

“Am I?” Grace looked about her, taking notice of her surroundings for the first time.

“It will soon be dark,” said Guy. “We are headed for
Ahlborett
Castle, it is not far. I suggest you accompany us. We can have a message sent to
Wildewood
if you’re concerned they will miss you.”

Grace faltered, one hand straying to her damp hair as she twisted the strands nervously. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea actually.”

Guy raised his brow questioningly. “You will be made very welcome.” He thought of the very special welcome awaiting her and smiled.

“I’m sure you’re right. It’s just there’s been a bit of a falling out between
Wildewood
and those at the Castle and I’m not sure Miles
would be happy for me to visit.” She stopped herself with a hand across her mouth, “Oh dear, you’re not Gerard are you?”

Her rescuer smiled again, genuinely amused now. “No, I am not Gerard. I hear he can be a little tyrannical, but as a host he is second to none.” He thought of Gerard’s most recent guest. Walter de
Sweethope
had complained rather loudly about his incarceration. He nudged his horse onward through the wood taking Grace’s pony with him.

Grace looked around her. “Be that as it may, I think Miles would rather I went straight back to
Wildewood
.”

Still the horses continued.

“And Miles is your...husband...brother...?”

She paused and he watched as she struggled to find the correct term. “Miles is my friend...my protector.”

Guy wondered if she really was as naive as she appeared. If he kept her talking they would be at the castle before she realised it. “In that case I’m sure Miles would want you to be safe.”

Grace leaned away from him and attempted to look back over her shoulder at the way they had come. “Well that’s the thing, I’m not sure I would be, not at the castle, you hear such stories.”

Guy nudged his horse closer causing the filly to skitter sideways and ensuring Grace’s attention on their forward progression. “You do, my lady. Stories to titillate the masses, some folk lead such drab lives they feel the need to spice them up. Rest assured I will be there to protect you, should the need arise. However, I’m sure any difference of opinion between Miles and Sir Gerard would not extend to you. They are both honourable men and have a code to uphold.”

The horses continued and Grace tried again. “All the same, I wouldn’t like to intrude unannounced.” She glanced behind her again
and his men slunk some way back. She shifted her gaze to the surrounding forest warily. Guy saw the growing apprehension on her face.

“My men are good honest soldiers. We will ensure you are returned to the safety of your home, once you have rested.” He waited with heightened anticipation, for her reaction when she finally realised the situation.

Grace hesitated. “I really am very grateful for your help but I’m fine now, and I do think perhaps it would be best if I just made my own way home, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Perhaps you could just point me in the right direction.” She attempted to take back her reins but he held them fast.

Cocking his head to one side, Guy smiled at her. For a long moment he said nothing and let the uncomfortable silence hang between them. “I’m afraid that’s impossible...Lady Grace,” he finally said. He studied her face, the widening eyes, confusion and then the fear and he felt the warm glow of satisfaction ignite in his belly.

“You see, my lady, you have the devil’s hair and our mutual acquaintance,
Philibutt
of Mayflower has unfortunately marked you as a witch. I have my orders to take you to
Ahlborett
Castle for trial. Sir Gerard awaits us.”

He marvelled at how her pupils dilated with shock, and the way she fearfully moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. It gave him an urge which he toyed with. Did he have the time, he wondered, to take her, here in the forest? It seemed such a waste not to; after all if she were found guilty she would burn regardless.

“Of course if it were up to me,” he added with a sigh, “I would endeavour to save you from the flames, but alas I am merely a tool of
my lord.”

She tried to snatch the reins back once more but he retained a firm grip and merely shook his head and
tutted
at her.

“Now that’s not going to work, is it?” he said patiently. “I’m bigger and stronger than you.”

Grace glanced about her frantically and Guy watched as her panic rose along with his arousal.

“At the end of the day, my lady, you will be coming with me. What you must decide is whether we leave the forest as friends or enemies.” He leaned towards her conspiratorially. “A word of advice, Gracie - may I call you Gracie? It has a certain ring to it. Anyway, as I was saying, friend is always better than enemy. I’m sure Miles would vouch for that. He knows first-hand what happens to my enemies.” He smiled at her. “As friends we could amuse each other, I could even offer you a character reference when the bishop and his inquisitors come a calling. But as an enemy, well as an enemy, I am sorry to say I would be more inclined to light the pyre beneath your feet when they tie you to the stake. Take it from
me,
friend is more useful to both of us.”

Grace stared open mouthed, as the colour drained from her cheeks.

“Our ecclesiastical friend Mayflower tells me you’re warming Miles’ bed, if it is pleasure you seek then you need look no further. As a friend I can guarantee you a far more exiting ride than you’ll get with your protector Miles. I confess, I prefer a more voluptuous maid, but I find you refreshingly different and it interests me to know what Miles finds attractive in you.”

Grace took a ragged breath.  “After that little speech I assume you must be Guy, the man who bullies little boys. Miles did mention you.” She glared at him but he merely grinned.

“Is that not what little boys are for? Little boys grow into little men unless their mettle is tested as a child. I merely provide them with adequate tuition.”

“You are evil,” she declared.

“Oh yes, definitely...,” he replied with a smirk. “Deliciously so...”

“Let me go, now. Miles will not be far away and when he finds you, I’ll not be responsible for what he’ll do.”

Guy laughed out loud. “Do you hear that boys? Miles is coming to get us....Are we fearful?” He turned back to Grace. “I have already beaten Miles once. Perhaps he neglected to tell you that?”

“He told me you came in the night like a sneak thief. Were you scared to meet him face to face, Guy?”

Guy narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “It’s called cunning, knowing thy enemy, and anyway, I still beat him. And while we’re on the subject of your lover, have you ever seen a knight with more scars? It rather begs one to question his prowess on the battlefield. I shall be generous and we shall call him a trifle clumsy.”

“If you’d beaten him he would not still be alive,” snapped Grace.

Guy snorted dismissively.

“If you had beaten him he would not be standing behind you now.”

Guy turned instinctively and in that instance Grace swung out with her makeshift whip and struck him across the face. She yanked at the reins and the filly squealed angrily, but still Guy held on and with a howl he turned and she took the full force of the back of his hand across her cheek. The blow was enough to unseat her and she tumbled backwards from the saddle, landing in a painful heap on the forest floor.

Guy dismounted slowly and stood over her where she lay in the dirt. The angry red mark of the whip marred his perfect face. His smile gone,
his eyes were cold and cruel. He shook his head in disbelief at her daring.

“You should not have done that, witch. Did you not understand my explanation of friends and enemies, about making the right choice?” He shrugged and began to unfasten his belt.

“No matter.
Enemy works for me.”

Chapter Twenty Eight

The ground was damp beneath her. The smell of leaf mould and decay filled her nostrils, permeating her senses and dragging her back to the time in the wood when the arrow had claimed her. Grace felt her heart rate hike, and nausea born of fear churned inside. She remembered Miles’ words: don’t let him get you on your back. She tried to wriggle away before he dropped his weight upon her.

“Hold her.” Guy barked the command to his men who covered the distance from their horses to grab her arms and hold her down. Grace swallowed the screams that welled from deep inside. She instinctively knew that revealing her fear would feed Guy’s warped fantasy and incite him all the more. She was defenceless against one, never mind three, but she struggled nevertheless, terror lending strength to her puny efforts.

“Let me go,” she snarled. “Let me go, or you’ll really find out if I’m a witch or not? Do you want your pricks to shrivel and drop off?”

The men holding her arms immediately let go and jumped back. “For God’s sake she’s no witch,” shouted Guy in frustration. “She’s a little whore with paint in her hair.”

*  *  *

“Let her go.” Miles’ voice rang out clear and strong immediately behind Guy.  Grace almost sobbed with relief. “Let her go and step away, Guy,” he repeated. Guy took a step back, his hands in the air.

“Are you well, Grace?” Miles asked calmly. “Has he hurt you?”

Grace struggled to her feet.  She was dishevelled and her right cheek
had begun to swell but she favoured him with a brave smile. “I’m fine, Miles,” she answered weakly.

He momentarily slid his gaze from Guy and assessed her. What he saw reassured him and strengthened his resolve. He felt the sliver of something decidedly bad begin to weave its way through him and he tightened his grip on the bow. He had an arrow aimed at the back of Guy’s head, the string of the bow taut, the arrow ready to launch. He steadied his breath. She had scared him and he hadn’t been scared for a long time. Hearing the commotion as the pony bolted he’d been too late to stop Guy. Instead he watched and positioned himself with one arrow ready, but knew by the time he released it and readied to fire another, he would be taken down by one of Guy’s men.

“Get behind me, Grace,” he called and Grace gingerly stepped past Guy.

“You can’t take all three of us, Miles,” taunted Guy. “And when you go down, be assured your little whore will follow.”

“You tried to put me down once before, Guy. You couldn’t do it then, and you certainly aren’t going to do it now.” Miles flicked a glance at Grace. She was moving too hesitantly and remained far too close to Guy. Her fear was palpable. She was still in danger.

Guy locked eyes with Miles and inclined his head suggestively. “Does she whimper in your bed, Miles?”

“You will whimper, Guy,” snarled Miles. “You will whimper and beg, before I’m finished with you.”

Guy shifted his gaze to Percy whose hand hovered over the knife at his belt. He raised a brow and Miles amended his aim. The arrow struck Percy in the chest and he thudded to the ground.

Taking the opportunity of Miles’ distraction, Guy made a grab for
Grace, pulling her against him, one arm tightly round her waist, the other at her throat, his own knife now in his hand and pressed against her soft skin. He spun round to face Miles, but he was no longer there.