Wolf Bride (9 page)

Nearly a dozen men poured after their leader through the gap in the hedgerow, swords already drawn, some with pikes and axes, helmeted and with leather instead of armour.

A poor defence against a crossbow, Wolf thought, but waited another moment until all the men were on the road before lifting his hand.

‘Fire!’

As soon as he gave the order, a series of hisses were followed by the thwack of arrows finding their mark, sending five of the unarmoured riders into the dust.

‘Again!’

Their attackers were in confusion, horses wheeling about, foam on their mouths from the hard ride, some rearing up and striking at the air with their hooves, while the leader yelled hoarse instructions to his men.

‘Attack, you cowards, attack! Follow me, they’re in the woods!’

The leader and four of the remaining horsemen spurred their mounts past Wolf’s position. They left the road, crashing through the trees to the left of his men, just wide enough to avoid their defensive line.

Wolf turned his horse in pursuit, cursing under his breath.

‘To me!’ he called to Ralf and Hal, and plunged downhill after the attackers.

Under the shady canopy of trees, out of the sun-glare, he could see the men more clearly. They were an ill-disciplined bunch, their faces coarse, clothing patched and ragged in places. Some rode and handled their weapons well though, suggesting training in the past. Renegades, perhaps, or mercenaries fallen on hard times. Not that poverty was any excuse to rob and murder travellers, he thought grimly.

The leader had seen the litter and had turned slightly, making for it across the loose slope. Hugh had not driven it far enough down the slope, and although Eloise’s elderly father had his sword drawn, and Hugh was on horseback beside the litter, the two of them could hardly hold off this pack of dogs.

One of the first men was careering towards the litter now, whirling a murderous axe about his head. Hugh pushed forward to meet him, sword raised to meet the punishing blow, and soon forced the man back.

Untrained he might be, but Hugh had natural strength and prowess. Whenever the king held a joust at court, Hugh invariably won through to the final bouts, and always showed his skill with a sword in close combat. Nonetheless, Wolf knew he could not last long against such desperate men.

‘I’ll have their heads for this,’ Wolf snarled, and urged his horse on harder.

No doubt the looters believed that a covered wagon, hidden amongst the trees, must hold some precious cargo. Gold coins, perhaps, or jewels. Though even a young woman could be valuable, particularly one for whom a hefty ransom could be demanded if they were bold enough.

Wolf caught up with the leader, pressing his mount hard into the man’s horse. The man roared, turning to attack. But the horse was hampering his sword-hand, and he could not seem to wrest it free.

Seizing his advantage, Wolf sunk his dagger into the leader’s side, thrusting the blade in deep. Then he shoved the man off his horse, watching as the animal dragged him several hundred feet into the woods; his feet were caught in the reins, his side a bloodied mess.

Wolf wheeled his stallion about and urged him back towards the litter.

‘Ralf!’

The young man, riding just behind him, hurried to help Sir John against his assailant. The other three horsemen had surrounded Hugh, hammering at him with their weapons, taunting the young man like the cowards they were. Hugh looked spent, his horse whinnying and rolling its eyes at every blow, almost unseating him in its fear.

Wolf pushed between the men, parrying the next blow, then thrusting hard under that man’s arm to disarm him. The man cried out in agony and fell back, dropping his weapon, his arm hanging useless.

The other two turned on Wolf at once, their lips drawn back in rage, seemingly unaware that their leader was fallen and their attack had failed. The clash of metal on metal rang from tree to tree, echoing about the dense woodland.

Birds flew skyward, chattering in alarm.

Then Hal was there too, his sword slicing one man across the throat, and at last the survivor realised he was alone.

‘Damn you all to hell!’ the man cursed them, falling back a few steps in angry exhaustion, then set spurs to his horse and made a clumsy attempt to reach the road above.

Breathless, Ralf glanced at Wolf. ‘Should I pursue the man, my lord?’

‘Yes,’ he agreed, waving him on. ‘Though don’t kill him if you catch up with him, carrion though he is. Bring him back to me. We need the name of their leader.’

He turned, concerned at once for the old gentleman. ‘Sir John, are you hurt?’

But to his surprise, Tyrell seemed unharmed and in good spirits. ‘Not a scratch on me,’ he exclaimed, cleaning his sword on the bracken. He gestured to Hugh instead, who had dismounted – or perhaps fallen from his horse – and sunk to one knee on the rough ground. ‘Our young friend here was more grievously pressed. I’d say he cannot ride, not without assistance.’

‘I’ll survive,’ Hugh said faintly, but the gash on his shoulder looked ugly and in need of binding. ‘By Our Lady, it was a good fight though. Who were they, do you think?’

‘Local men in search of easy pickings?’

‘Dead men now,’ Sir John remarked sagely.

The curtains to the litter were still drawn tightly shut. Wolf rode forward, bent and lifted one edge of the curtain with his sword. He met the furious gaze of his bride-to-be, and the working end of a dagger pointed towards his face.

‘You took no hurt in this skirmish, madam?’

Eloise raised her brows coldly. ‘No thanks to you, my lord. I thought you would have stayed to protect me yourself.’

‘I left you in capable hands. My men needed me to command our defence.’ He felt a stab of irritation at her ingratitude. ‘Master Beaufort is hurt and cannot ride. He will need to travel in the litter with you.’

‘There is no room,’ she exclaimed, then glanced out and saw Hugh, blood streaming down his arm, struggling valiantly towards his horse. Her mouth tightened. ‘But we shall make room, of necessity. Mary, come sit with me. Master Beaufort may take your seat and I shall tend his wound.’

Hugh was helped up into the litter, gritting his teeth against the pain. Having satisfied himself that the man was as comfortable as he could be, Wolf left Eloise busily preparing strips of material to staunch and bind his injury. She was not too dainty to tend a man’s wounds, he thought, noting her calm demeanour with interest. Perhaps she would make a good soldier’s wife after all.

But there was other work to do. Hastily, Wolf supervised the laying out of the dead men, out of sight of the road; he would have to stop at the next town and order the authorities to give the men a decent burial, ruffians or not. Then he rode into the woods in search of the man dragged away by his horse.

Wolf found the horse grazing quietly a few hundred yards into the trees. His rider was lying twisted on the ground nearby, coarse tunic soaked with blood, his back clearly broken. But when he dismounted, meaning to capture the horse and throw the dead body over it, Wolf saw that the man was still alive.

Kneeling beside the man, he offered him ale from his flask, but the man was too far gone to drink. His throat gargled with blood and his gaze flitted wildly about, before finally coming to rest on Wolf’s dagger.

His message was clear.

With a muttered prayer for the man’s soul, Wolf thrust the blade into the man’s neck. The big vein there pumped out his life in a matter of moments; he died with his head turned away, staring blindly into the trees.

Even if the ruffian could have survived these terrible injuries, Wolf thought, it would only have been to face the hangman. This swift death was more merciful.

Once the work of clearing up had been accomplished, he ordered the cavalcade to move on, and rode ahead of the litter, watchful for any further sign of attack.

But the road remained quiet on their way north, and soon his thoughts returned uneasily to the woman he had decided to marry.

Had he made the right choice, allowing Eloise to spend so many hours closeted with a handsome courtier like Beaufort? Women always felt more sympathy for a man when he was wounded. Perhaps he should have taken some minor scratch in the skirmish himself, just to see her eyes warm with pity at his hurts.

His smile was a savage mockery of his own weakness. Fool! What kind of thought is that?

Was this jealousy? Or mere possessiveness?

There could be no jealousy where there was no love, he told himself drily. He would feel the same for a prize hawk coveted by another man.

‘Keep your soft hands off my bride, Hugh Beaufort,’ he muttered under his breath, glancing back at the swaying litter. ‘Or I shall not be answerable for the consequences.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Eloise threw open the shutter and leaned far out, revelling in the fresh country air of Yorkshire. How sweet after the stench of court to be home and breathe deep again, even if it was sheep and the musty scent of the farmyard she could smell. From this narrow bedchamber, hers since childhood, she could see the northern gable and the stableyard, and beyond them the rolling hills. Lord Wolf’s land lay in that direction, for his was a vast estate grown larger since his father’s death, thanks to King Henry’s generosity. It was odd to think she would soon be mistress of that great estate, and odder yet to imagine herself a wife. It was barely ten days since her father had come to court, and she had found herself betrothed to a stranger against her will.

A nagging voice within her said, ‘Not against your will, not that.’

Eloise could not deny that she had given her consent to the match. But she had not wished to disobey her father, and indeed Lord Wolf was not the old man she had feared. Though perhaps an older husband would have been preferable, for Wolf was a virile man: she had no doubt what lay ahead. He would demand his rights, and even if she did not mean to grant them, he would soon seduce her.

‘Why can I not be stronger and find him loathsome?’ she moaned, leaving the window.

She threw herself face-down onto her tester bed, its bedding plump and newly restuffed for her return. The sharp feather quills in the mattress prickled her, so she rolled onto her back, staring up at the faded tester above her head. Lord Wolf knew how to tease and persuade a woman with his lips, that was for sure. Eloise hid her face in her hands and tried not to remember how she had shamed herself by kissing him back. The truth was, she longed to have Lord Wolf kiss her again – if not against her will, then certainly against her better judgement.

And he knew it, he knew it!

Hateful man!

She had seen the laughter in his face, his dry smile whenever she turned coldly away. What other reason could there be for such mockery except that he knew her secret desire?

At least she had taken some comfort from Hugh Beaufort’s presence on that last day of their journey north. His wound had kept him subdued, but they had read and discussed poetry together as the litter lurched over the mud ruts, and if Mary had looked upon their conversation with a disapproving eye, Eloise had ignored her maid.

What business was it of Mary’s, anyway? She was not yet Lord Wolf’s bride and was still free to laugh and talk with other men. Though she had no doubt that such freedoms would soon be severely curtailed.

She heard footsteps on the stairs and jumped up at once, straightening her gown and tidying her unruly hair. It would not be him, of course. His lordship had ridden on to his own estate once he had seen her and Sir John safely installed in their manor. But Eloise did not wish any of her father’s servants to catch her lying on her bed like a scared child. She was one of the queen’s maids now, soon to be a lady, and she must behave with proper decorum.

The door opened.

It was her old nurse, Morag, flushed with exertion after climbing the stairs but beaming with pleasure.

‘Eloise!’ she exclaimed, and held open her arms.

They embraced warmly, and then Morag looked her over at arm’s length. She drew a sharp breath, shaking her head. ‘Well, well. I thought being at court would make you happy, my lamb, with so many gentlemen to notice your spirit and beauty. Yet you have come home with such a sad look about you.’

‘The court is a hard place.’

Morag nodded. ‘Did I not warn you it would be? But you were so young, you would not listen.’

‘I know it now.’

‘And soon you are to be married to Lord Wolf! Whoever would have guessed it, for he rarely came to visit when you were a girl, and everyone thought he would marry some great lady of the court.’ Her old nurse studied her face closely, as though unsure what to make of that news. ‘It’s all the gossip among the servants, of course. An excellent match, and no doubt your father will not rest until he has told every man, woman and child in Yorkshire. But now you have met the man himself, and travelled with him, what do you think of your bridegroom?’

‘His lordship is . . . very . . .’

When she could not finish, Morag raised her eyebrows. ‘Handsome?’ she suggested.

‘I suppose he is, yes.’ Eloise resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at her old nurse. Morag had always known when she had found a man attractive, and had teased her mercilessly about it. ‘Though I was going to say forthright.’