Warrior's Song (Medieval Song 1)

You will have to kill me first, Chandra thought. She tried to pull herself upward, but he grabbed her hair, wrapping it tight about his hand, making her scalp burn, and pressed her face down again. She saw the crimson of the sun setting over the sea. Please, she prayed silently, please be close by.

Alan Durwald clicked Sunnart forward toward the next rise, swiveling about in his saddle again to look back at the rutted path behind them. He was pleased until he turned forward again. Chandra felt him tense, and then he cursed, a torrent of Scottish oaths she did not understand, but she felt the fury of them to her bones. He whipped his horse about and rode back south, back toward the forest. He cursed again. He saw more of the English coming out of the forest. They’d been tracking him. Somehow the others had gotten ahead of him. What to do? He was pinned between the two groups.

Suddenly, Sunnart stumbled, and his great body heaved with effort, throwing Chandra up against the man’s chest. She gave a howl of fury and mashed her fist into his groin as the stallion reared. Alan grunted in pain, tried to control the panicked Sunnart. Chandra threw herself sideways, breaking free of his arm.

Her joy lasted only until she struck the rocky ground. The impact knocked the breath from her, and she rolled head over heels down a sharp incline. Jagged rocks tore through her clothes and flesh. She couldn’t stop herself, her fingers grabbing at rocks, at bushes, but she couldn’t keep a hold. Then her head struck a rock and she didn’t know when she finally rolled to a stop.

“Wake up, Chandra. Damn you, don’t you dare die on me.”

She slowly opened her eyes at the sound of his furious voice. Jerval? Her head felt as though it would explode, the pain was so bad.

“Look at me, you damned woman!”

She blinked then and looked up into her husband’s face. He looked angrier than she’d ever seen him. He looked ready to kill. She managed to wet her lips. “Did you catch him?”

“Good, you’re awake.” He paid her no more attention. He was feeling each of her arms, her legs. “Is there pain?” He was pressing his hand against her belly.

“No.”

“And here?”

His hands were splayed on her ribs. She winced.

“I don’t think they’re broken. By all the saints’ white teeth, you’re a mess.” Jerval lifted her slowly to her feet. “Can you stand?”

“Please, Jerval, did you catch him? He is their leader.”

“My men are chasing him, but he’s veered into the forest again between our two forces. I decided to see if you were alive.”

“You must ride after him, Jerval. You mustn’t let him escape.”

“Shut up,” he said and released her. There was blood on his hands, her blood. “Your head will hurt from that rock you hit, but you deserve it.”

He had believed he could forgive her anything if only he found her alive. He’d been wrong. He took a step back from her, knowing that if he touched her again, he would thrash her, mayhap even strangle her. He wiped her blood on his trousers.

She saw his fury, knew that fury of his was greater than it had been just the moment before, but it didn’t matter. She said, “He saw you coming after him and whipped his horse about, but his horse stumbled and I hit him in the groin and managed to jump. His name is Alan. That’s what his men called him. He is their leader. We must hurry, Jerval, before he gets too far ahead of us.”

Jerval stared down at her, angry cords straining in his neck. He was nearly incoherent with rage. He drew a deep breath, still not approaching her. He said, his voice as low and soft as a gentle mist, “Do you have any idea what would have happened to you if we had not seen the Scots surround you?”

“Of course I know. My father trained me well, if you would just but recognize it. I would have killed two of them, but then I would have been hurt or killed myself.”

It was true. He closed his eyes a moment, words beyond him.

“Thank you,” she said low. She lightly touched her dirty fingers to his shoulder.

“Do not touch me.”

He’d spaced each word apart. She dropped her hand. “Thank you for coming after me.”

“I should have let you fend for yourself.”

“I did fend for myself. I managed to get away from him.”

“I saw what happened. When he realized that he was caught between my men, his horse panicked and you took your chance, as I would expect anyone to. Now, you know what he intended, don’t you? He would have raped you, and then if he had not killed you, you would have been hauled across the border and held for ransom. By God, it might have been good riddance.”

“Aye, I know what he intended. I would have died first before I let him rape me. He thought you had used me as bait, that I was your mistress, that since all Englishmen were pederasts, it pleased you to dress me up like a boy.”

“Now I am a pederast,” he said, and then he laughed. “The truth of it is that you did make excellent bait. We had ridden past him, as you know. I doubt we would have caught him if he hadn’t come out to get you.” And he laughed more.