Ruthless (15 page)

"'Tis dangerous to hunt without a dagger,"
she said as she turned back to Magnus. "You took my father's from
my belongings."

"When ye have need of one, I will return
it."

"Hold on, lass, afore ye mount."

Muriele peered around Magnus to see Grunda
hurrying and waggling her hands at a burly rooster. The old woman
carried the healing supplies tied in a bundle.

"Get away, ye silly creature." She hopped to
the side as the fowl flapped his wings to lift off the ground, its
head extended, beak open for a quick peck.

When the pesky fowl kept up his antics, she
stopped and pointed a gnarled finger at him. He flapped and
squawked until she fixed him with squinted eyes and muttered
beneath her breath. The rooster let out one deranged screech and
scurried away as if a torch was singeing his tail feathers.

"'Tis one thing to hunt with skirts when ye
are alone, but wear this so these randy varmints' dinna get ideas."
Grunda took an old plaid from around her shoulders and handed it to
Muriele.

Magnus nodded his approval and strolled away.
Muriele's gaze followed and watched as his long legs carried him
over to a strange horse. It didn't surprise her, for only a fool
would hunt astride a mount as rare as Odin. No warrior wanted his
warhorse gored by an angry boar. When Magnus put his left foot in
the stirrup, his muscles pulled taut, accenting their slim muscled
strength. When he threw his right leg over the horse's withers, his
kilt flew in the breeze, revealing a tantalizing view of naked arse
and legs.

She forced her gaze away while she and Grunda
wrapped the yellow and black plaid loosely around Muriele's hips
and tied it in a knot at her waist.

"Mount now and ye can spread the wool to hide
yer legs," Grunda said and patted her shoulder.

Gille came and cupped his hands, his eyes
diverted as he aided her to swing up into the saddle. He turned his
back while she draped the cloth around her like a blanket. When she
was done, he tied the healing supplies to her saddle. When she
glanced up from helping him, Grunda nodded at the spot where she'd
anchored the plaid near Muriele's right knee.

Muriele smiled her gratitude. Grunda had
hidden something in the cloth.

"Dinna take all day, else dawn will see the
best game gone."

The bailey was crowded with knights and their
squires carrying their master's favorite falcon. They would hunt in
one section of the dense forest while other hunters would look
elsewhere for the smaller animals. Magnus, leading the last group,
would go deeper into the woods.

He had not bothered to tell her what their
game would be for the day. The falconers clattered over the wooden
bridge out into the cleared field, then turned sharply southwest
where the best grouse hunting was available.

Each group of hunters had their special dogs.
Some were valued for their scenting abilities and their skill to
run the prey down. The men who trained the most robust dogs to hunt
wild boars kept them separated from the other packs. Pages too
unskilled to be in on the kill carried extra quivers of arrows,
spears and cudgels. Varlets and squires hefted boar spears and
regular spears.

While Magnus looked over everyone in the
bailey, she adjusted the wool as if afeared it would come lose and
expose her flesh. She sighed with relief finding Grunda had sewn a
pocket on the underside where she'd hidden a dagger near as long as
Muriele's had been.

She felt a thrill of excitement when Magnus
motioned the dog handlers to start out of the castle. He beckoned
her to join him. Though Bolt had seemed too old to be in the hunt,
the beast brightened and eagerly trotted close to Magnus. When he
reached out to butt his nose on Magnus' leg, she tried to hold him
back. He didn't allow it. To her surprise, Magnus reached down and
scratched the graying hair between Bolt's eyes and murmured to him,
then thumped his neck and motioned him forward. Bolt's head rose
high and he pranced like a young stallion trying to lure a shy
mare.

o0o

Quite some time later, Muriele raised a grimy
hand to push the hair out of her eyes. Though she had secured it
with a leather strip, each time she brushed against it reaching for
an arrow, curling locks made their way free.

A stream of carts and wagons went back and
forth. Varlets placed the kills on small carts. Once it contained a
goodly number of hares and other small creatures, the driver headed
back to the castle. If the carcass was a large animal, they
wrestled it onto a low, flat wagon and sent its driver on his
way.

Before noon, the hunters gathered at a large
clearing beside a stream where servants placed bread, rounds of
cheese, hard cooked eggs, a plentiful supply of fruit and dried
fish on a long cloth.

'Twas fortunate injuries had been minor and
needed only cleaning and binding. Muriele had no need to use her
needle and practice her stitching. Freeing her unruly hair, she
gathered it again to bind it more securely. She shoved her sleeves
up her arm and knelt by the stream. As she splashed her face and
neck, the cold water refreshed her.

Since the fall of Blackbriar, she'd never
felt better. Using the end of the worn plaid, she dried herself.
Though Magnus knelt beside her, she ignored him. He looked like he
had eaten soured fruit for his mouth pinched in at the corners.

She stretched and near snickered when she
overheard one of the men saying she was as fast at spotting a hare
as the beagles were. No one had properly trained the men to hunt
the creatures. They preferred bigger game. But hares had been an
important part of the food stocked in Blackbriar's kitchens. She
supposed they were as important at Kinbrace. Today, she'd bagged
more hare than anyone, even more than Magnus had.

"Dinna dawdle, woman. The men are taking the
dogs to the best deer hunting area."

She nodded and grabbed an apple, a hunk of
cheese and a mug of cider before going over to sit with her back
against a gnarled oak tree. Squirrels ran for safety to the highest
part of the tree, not trusting the weary hunters below.

Every time she took a bite of food, she felt
eyes watching her. If it was not Magnus, then it was Sweyn. Gille,
a chunk of dark bread and some strong cheese in one hand and a boar
spear hugged tight to his side, glanced around. The boy's shoulders
slumped when none of the other squires spoke to him. He shifted
from one foot to the other, undecided whether to sit or stand.

She raised her hand and beckoned to him,
inviting him to sit with her. Her heart softened seeing his relief.
The poor boy likely missed the people in his village. This must be
his first hunt. Though it always stimulated her, he might be a
little alarmed by the dangerous riding.

Too soon, it was time to start again. When
Gille helped her to remount, she thanked him and warned him to be
cautious.

Days before, castle hunters had noted where
the male deer were. Since it wasn't mating season, they'd be in
segregated herds. Within three leagues, the large dogs led them to
two beautiful harts, the red male deer. Each had ten tines on their
antlers. Muriele avoided looking at their beautiful eyes, hating
they were fated to fill peoples' bellies.

Once they felled a deer, they sent it back on
the wagons. The hunters rode on through an especially dark section
of the thick forest. When the dogs began even more excited baying,
the riders hurried to catch up to the handlers, who had cornered a
magnificent hart.

They formed a semi-circle and waited as the
handlers tried to call off the dogs. They whistled and called their
names, cursing when the dogs ignored them. Finally, the handlers
grabbed the more stubborn dogs by their thick collars and attached
rope leashes to haul them back. This huge hart bore fourteen tines.
Though three arrows pierced its flesh, it reared and beat its
hooves at the dogs.

Magnus was already out of his saddle.
Something wasn't right. As he approached the deer, his sword ready,
the hart ignored him, its eyes focused on the forest to its
left.

Hackles rose on Muriele's nape. She scanned
the dark bushes and sensed something lurked there the hart feared
more than man or dog. With one quick slash, Magnus put the creature
out of its misery. He turned away from the trees and headed toward
his horse.

Muriele's hand whipped up to notch an arrow.
She bent the bow to its maximum capacity and let loose her arrow at
something about to burst from the bushes. It whizzed past Magnus'
left shoulder, its feathers near brushed his ear.

Magnus face turned grim as a hangman securing
a noose around a murderer's neck.

His eyes blazed at her. His lips thinned.

"Seize her!"

Magnus' shout bellowed over the clamor of the
dogs and the piercing scream of a wild pig. Sweyn backhanded
Muriele, knocking her off her saddle. She hit the ground and
rolled. Still crouching, she glimpsed a large boar about to erupt
from the darkness. Unaware, men and dogs scrambled after the first
beast where her arrow protruded from its eye. Magnus' sword pierced
its side, putting an end to its rampage.

She snatched the boar spear from Gille's
hand. She did not have the strength to throw it hard enough to
pierce the boar's thick hide. Warbling a pagan cry as wild and
eerie as a Banshee's wail, she ran, the spear aimed at Magnus.

Nearly at his side, she tightened every
muscle, slammed the wooden shaft into the ground and braced it with
her feet. Behind Magnus, a beast burst out into the opening, its
beady eyes maddened. It lowered its head, its tusks aimed at
Magnus' back. Too late, it sensed the threat and tried to leap. It
impaled itself on the spear. 'Twas silent.

"Ooof!" The force knocked Muriele to the
ground.

The screams of lost souls in Hades could not
have been louder. Men were shouting and near falling over
themselves.

She landed on her side, thankfully on a thick
carpet of leaves.

Gille ran over to his master, so agitated
Magnus couldn't understand him.

"My lord! Her spear stopped the boar." His
thin arm came up as he pointed behind Magnus.

For the first time, Magnus felt a mighty
weight on his plaid and backed up. No spear pinned his clothing to
the ground. The boar's tusk held it firm. Muriele's spear was
lodged in the beast's heart clear through to its cross guard.

For the first time in his life, a woman had
bested Magnus. He didn't like the feeling! He'd thought at first
she'd aimed her arrow at his neck, for its feathers scratched his
flesh as it whizzed past. Before he knew she'd aimed so precisely
to skewer a running pig, he'd ordered her seized.

If that wasn't humiliating enough, she'd kept
a maddened boar from sinking its tusk into his blarsted arse!

Had he become too aware of her breasts
swaying and straining against her clothing? Her delighted laughter
when a hare scurried up behind a hunter, had coaxed a smile from
his lips. Hades! He
never
smiled.

The hart had acted fearful, but he'd failed
to pay heed. And after the pig charged, even a foolish hunter would
have kenned there would likely be a mate for the damned pig! 'Twas
Muriele's fault. She distracted him and made him careless.

Two men had piled atop her, locking her to
the earth.

"Get up, fools," Sweyn ordered. "She has done
naught wrong."

The men sprang up and helped her to her feet,
sheepish smiles on their faces. Magnus narrowed his eyes, studying
them. They'd both made free with their hands, for their cocks
tented their plaids. Muriele waited calmly, as if she knew they'd
taken leave of their senses but would regain them soon.

Sweyn quietly searched her for hidden
weapons. When he found the knife concealed in the old plaid, he
shook his head.

"I didn't believe you to be so foolish,
lady," he said.

Magnus scowled. From whom had she stolen it?
And why had she felt the need of a special weapon? She hadn't meant
to use it on him. She could have relaxed on Bolt and let nature
take its course.

He waved his hand at Sweyn, who moved back.
Magnus stepped so close the toes to his boots crowded her feet. He
ground his teeth together knowing he was a fool to have brought her
on the hunt.

He hadn't been himself since lusting after
her in the darkness before dawn. Unfulfilled passion made a man
careless. All he'd thought about was his raging cock and sinking it
deep into her hot body.

"Where did ye steal the knife?"

Indecision flashed over Muriele's face. When
she didn't answer, he took the knife from Sweyn and turned it
around in his hand. He gave a brief nod, recognizing it as the old
seer's.

He held it, blade upright, close to her face.
He waited. His gaze bored into her eyes and willed her to
speak.

"As ye slept, I took it from Grunda's
hut."

"I would have woken had ye opened the chamber
door."

Muriele snorted. "
If
ye had heard
me. Ye snore so loud the noise would drown out a rooster's crow.
Grunda, too, sleeps soundly. She didna hear me when I took it from
her gardening supplies."

"Mayhap I failed to hear ye leave. But
returning?" As he widened his stance, his eyes narrowed, gauging
every little change in her features.

"I waited outside the door until I was sure
ye were still grinding out noises sounding like the grating of the
drawbridge chains."

"For certs ye tell the truth?"

"Aye!"

He rocked back on his feet, his face hard.
Triumphant.

"Since ye come and go with such stealth, 'tis
best I keep ye closer of a night."

His smoldering black gaze traveled over her
body from head to toe then back up to hold her gaze. He nodded,
making up his mind.