Wildewood Revenge (6 page)

Edmund ladled the last of the previous evenings stew into a wooden bowl and handed her a small knife for eating. She took it from him with shaking hands. She hadn’t eaten since leaving the house with Fly. Her stomach was empty and she continued to feel nauseous, and more than a little apprehensive.

“What about you, aren’t you hungry?” she enquired of the boy. She wondered why he wasn’t eating; looked at her bowl suspiciously. If they’d wanted to finish her off, they could simply have left her in the forest.

“I have eaten.”

“You look hungry.”

“I’m always hungry,” Edmund said simply. He grinned at her and gestured to the bowl. “Please eat
yer
fill, Miles will soon return.”

“Why is he not taking me home? What does he plan to do with me, Edmund?” She picked at the food. Despite her hunger, she had no appetite. The strong taste of the meat and the way it had been boiled within an inch of its life, made her feel queasy. She put down the bowl, slipped the knife into her pocket and ran her fingers through the tangled strands of her short hair picking out blades of straw in a vain attempt to regain some semblance of normality.

“I will take you to Kirk
Knowe
eventually.” Miles appeared suddenly in the doorway behind her. Propped casually against the doorframe, he added, “But first, I plan to collect some compensation for my trouble, from the bishop.” He smiled at her, a crooked smile with a glint in his eyes. He looked younger. Less weary; more dangerous.

“Do not concern yourself, you’ll soon be back in the safety of the convent and I will be a good deal richer. A satisfactory conclusion do you not agree?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Edmund put out the fire. Mademoiselle finish your food now, we must make haste.”

What was he talking about now? What convent? Which bishop? But there was no time to ask questions. She was swept up by him and manhandled out to the horses. Real horses just as he’d said. Well, he could forget that. The last time she’d allowed herself to be manhandled she’d almost ended up in prison. She dug her heels into the snowy ground.

“Let me go,” she insisted, as he made to lift her onto the horse.

“We need to make haste, the weather is set to turn again and we’ve a distance yet to travel.”

“Do you really expect me to go with you?”

Did he think she was a fool, had no will of her own? Well perhaps she did have a foolish streak, her behaviour over the previous year had rather proved that, but she also had an iron will.

He cocked his head quizzically and removed his hands from her waist. “I do.”

“I’d rather
not,” she said, in what she hoped was a self-assured voice, but came out a little less so and rather prim.

“You do not have the luxury of choice, Mademoiselle,” he replied as he turned and tightened the horse’s girth.

“You’re a stranger, I don’t know you, I’m certainly not about to wander off into the wilderness with you.” She didn’t appreciate having to address his back either. She resisted the urge to prod him.

Miles shrugged. “We have introduced ourselves, we are no longer strangers.”

“Nevertheless, I think I’ll just stay here, someone will find me eventually, someone who’s prepared to take me straight home to Kirk
Knowe
.” She took a hurried step away, as he turned quickly and she found him a little too close for comfort.

“You’re already found, I have found you.
What more do you want? This is not a well beaten path. There will be no more travellers this winter. If you wait here alone you will perish and no one will benefit from your ransom.” He raised one brow and smiled his crooked smile. “Seems a waste, don’t you agree?”

She hesitated, reluctant to go with this unknown man, to a destination, far from her home. Similarly, she had no wish to remain alone and injured in this remote place. He was cocky and arrogant, but was he dangerous she wondered, did he mean her harm? He was smiling now, a rather charming smile, but she hesitated nevertheless.

“I want to go home,” she stated flatly.

“And I want to go on,” he replied. “I have neither the time nor inclination, to retrace our steps through the storm.”

“I don’t care what you want.”

He narrowed his eyes and smiled a little slyly. “A foolish move, Mademoiselle, I would also suggest rather reckless to admit indifference to the wants of your captor. Better by far to feign interest until you are more favourably placed.”

Grace squared up to him, hands on hips, lips pursed indignantly. “Oh,
so now you’re admitting you’re not actually helping me. You’re kidnapping me. Well, you can forget that; it’s not going to happen.”

“How do you propose to stop me?”

“I’ll think of something,” she replied haughtily.

“We need to make haste, you can think on the way.”

He offered his hand, the skin was tanned, the knuckles scuffed. Had he been fighting, she wondered? Or suffered injury digging the grave of his last victim?

She felt control of the situation slipping away and couldn’t think of a way to recover it. He was waiting and the horses stamped their hooves impatiently.

She briefly considered the option of escaping, of evading his outstretched hand and starting to run. But the desolate moor stretched endlessly in all directions and she’d no idea where she was or how to get back. She tried to get her bearings, looked in vain for the unmistakable shape of
Simonside
, or the more distant Cheviot, but the low cloud obscured her view. Even with two good legs it would have been a foolhardy venture to set out into the unknown in this weather. Incapacitated as she was it was simply ridiculous. Even the short walk to the horses had brought tears to her eyes. She accepted reluctantly that for the time being she was tied by necessity to her battle-scarred captor. Perhaps she was overdramatizing. Maybe when they reached
Wildewood
, wherever that was, she would be able to get help; someone from the village would no doubt come and get her. Until then she would just bide her time, feign interest as he’d suggested. She could feign interest with the best of them.

When it became obvious to him that her resistance had crumbled, Miles affected a courteous nod, took her firmly by the waist and lifted
her effortlessly onto the front of the saddle.

“Are you in pain?” he asked as he tied his pack to the horse. He looked up when she failed to answer and for the first time since their initial meeting they looked each other in the eye. “Pardon?” he asked in response to her expression.

“Quite frankly, I don’t know where to begin,” she said, bewildered and frustrated. “Yes, of course I’m in pain, what do you expect? I have a hole in my thigh, you put it there. However, I’ll manage and when we get to
Wildewood
, will you tell me what’s really going on?”

“There is nothing more to tell. I will send a message to the bishop and when he acquiesces to my request you’ll be returned.” He smiled again and his eyes crinkled with amusement. “Think of it as a little adventure, Mademoiselle.”

An adventure! The man was mad. “But I don’t know the bishop and he doesn’t know me.”

“No matter,” said Miles, as he swung up behind her and clasped one arm firmly around her tiny waist. “He will not leave one of his little lost nuns in the clutches of a wayward knight. Who knows what might happen.”

Grace tried to loosen his grip, but he merely tightened it further and she felt the shudder in his body pressed hard against her back. He was laughing, laughing at her. This wasn’t really happening, it couldn’t be. Knights and nuns, what on earth was he talking about?

It must be a dream. That was the only plausible explanation. She must have bumped her head and at some point when she was good and ready she would wake up, hopefully in her own bed in her own home, but waking up in the forest where she’d fallen, would also be acceptable if need be. Anything would be better than this.

Trouble was
,
if this wasn’t a dream then she’d hooked up with a weirdo. So maybe she should hedge her bets and feign away until things worked themselves out. She wanted it to be a dream. It was definitely her preferred option when the alternative reality involved weirdoes who thought they were knights of
olde
. But it felt real, he felt real and the pain in her leg was very real. She turned her head to look at him.

“What year is this?” she asked.

Miles cocked his head. “It is February, my lady, in the year of our Lord 1275.”

Oh yes, this was definitely a dream. How else could she have walked into the woods in 2012 and come out in 1275? She smiled to herself, blessed relief coursing through her. As far as dreams went, it could have been worse. She’d always wondered why knights in shining armour got such good press, maybe if she stayed asleep for long enough she’d find out.

Then again, a weirdo would say anything and a crazy girl might just believe him.

She closed her eyes gave a final shake of her head and decided regardless of whatever weirdness had befallen her, she may as well go along for the ride.

Chapter Seven

The sun broke through the clouds briefly and the landscape was transformed. The snow, treacherously thick in places, glistened like jewels covering the myriad of rocks littering the high ground. The brightness caused Grace to squint and she released her hold on the saddle to shield her eyes with one hand. She felt Miles’ weight shift slightly behind her as he compensated for her unstable position. She’d dozed briefly, lulled by the gentle motion of the horse, but now she was awake and he was still there, large as life and not in the least dreamlike.

“It’s beautiful up here,” she whispered, despite her resolve never to speak to her captor again. Her voice was swept away by the wind across the moor and lost amongst the surrounding hills. She assumed she’d gone unheard until she felt his breath warm against her ear.

“Wait until you see the view from the top, it’s
breathtaking
. If the sun holds out and the snow holds off, you’ll see over the border and beyond into Scotland.”

She turned her head out of the wind and into the shelter afforded by his chest so she could be heard, but mainly so she could avoid the feel of his breath on her skin. “Shouldn’t I be blindfolded?” she taunted mildly, she lacked the energy for a fight. “What if I escape while you’re not looking and retrace my steps back to Kirk
Knowe
? What happens to your ransom then?”

Miles smiled.

“I can blindfold you if you like, or tie you up if you prefer.” He paused momentarily as she scowled her response. “But there is no need, beneath the snow, lie bog and marsh and deep crevasses which could swallow a horse. There are paths, safe paths known to those who need
to travel them. You would never find your way. You would be lost and perish up here.”

Grace knew the ancient lore associated with the high moor. This place high above the world, almost in the clouds had cost the lives of many unwitting travellers and it was said their ghosts travelled the moor at night looking for the right path. Some said the ghosts of Roman soldiers could be heard endlessly marching and drilling at the remains of the old roman fort at Chew Green. Locals knew the moor, knew where shelter could be had when the need arose, but even they were respectful of its ferocity and its history.

“Hmm, we shouldn’t be up here at all,” she muttered sourly. “Not while the army is on manoeuvres.” She recalled the red flags she’d so stupidly ignored. By her reckoning they were probably slap bang in the middle of the ranges.

“Whose army?” he demanded. He pulled the horse to an abrupt stop and Edmund narrowly avoided piling into the rear of it.

“Whose army do you think?” She shook her head, made allowances for the fact he was a little alternative.

He gripped her chin firmly and forced her to look at him. “Whose army?” he repeated fiercely.

Grace jerked herself free, with a frisson of alarm. “Our army, the British Army, they’ve been all over the ranges the last few days, haven’t you seen them?” How could he have missed them? The sound of their artillery rang through the valley on a regular basis.

“What do you know about soldiers?” he hissed.

“Nothing,” she squeaked. “I don’t know anything. They come and they run about and fire their weapons and then they go home.”

“How many?” he growled.

He was in her face, so close she could have counted the scars marking his brow. So close, she could feel his breath against her skin. It wasn’t pleasant, wasn’t meant to be. She tried to pull back further, but he restrained her with ease, making no effort to conceal the menace in his expression. Whatever he was, whoever he was, he was dangerous. She didn’t think it wise to reveal that hundreds of squaddies regularly played soldier on the moors.

“You’re scaring me,” she said finally. She pulled away with considerable effort and put what little distance she could, between them. Knowing full well, he could have snapped her back against him in an instant and snapped her neck just as easily.

“Good, it’s about time.
How many?”
He cocked his head, curled his lip slyly and waited.