Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

“What’s he doing?” the lady asked, horrified.

“I know not! Shh!” Bjorn kept his horse in the shadows of a hayrick. The main gate was open, the portcullis not yet dropped for the night.

“Halt! You in the bailey! Who be ye?” one guard asked.

“Know ye not?” the magician asked.

“Speak up, man!”

“I be the voice of the Devil. Lucifer’s my name.”

“Holy Mother,” Cayley whispered, swiftly making the sign of the cross over her ample bosom.

“For the love of Christ, he’s either drunk or as mad as a dog!” the guard growled. “He’ll wake up the whole damned castle.”

“Who is it?” another sentry asked, and he, too, was lured into the inner bailey, where the magician, arms spread wide, began to bay soulfully again. In a rustle of feathers, a great owl hooted and landed squarely on the man’s outstretched arm. Bjorn watched in fascination as the wizard didn’t flinch when the curved talons bit into his skin.

“Come,” Bjorn ordered and kneed his mount. The horse took off like a thunderbolt, leaping forward, in its anxiety running toward the gatehouse. Cayley’s horse gave chase.

“Stop! For the love of God, what’s that?” one of the guards yelled.

“Who goes there?” another demanded as Bjorn’s steed raced under the portcullis, steel hooves clattering over the drawbridge.

“ ’Tis the prisoner! ’E’s escaping!”

“Nay, it couldn’t … God’s blood, there’ll be ’ell to pay now!”

Bjorn heard no more. Over the ringing of hooves, shouts of alarm, and that horrid, soul-scraping, keening wail, he heard only the sound of his own heart beating a wild tattoo in his chest. “Run, you bastard, run!” he yelled at the horse, who was already nearly taking flight.

Down the road they sped with only a ribbon of moonlight as their guide. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Cayley was tucked low, her black mantle billowing like a dark sail behind her as Cormick’s game mare swept across the night-darkened countryside. The wind whipped past them, bringing tears to his eyes, and Bjorn’s heart beat stronger, for this was the first taste of freedom he’d had in days, and oh, ’twas sweet.

The road forked, and they turned south, toward the nearest woods.

Zing!

An arrow hissed past his ear.

Thwack! Another landed in a tree to his right, and he heard the shouts of men on horses, already giving chase. A hasty look over his shoulder confirmed his worries; whatever advantage they had was surely fading.

“Bloody hell,” he grumbled. Without another thought, he turned off the road and into the blackness of the woods. Cayley’s horse didn’t break stride, and together they slowed, moving silently and doubling back, delving deeper into the woods as they crossed a stream and peered through the leafless branches to the starry sky. In a thick copse of pine, he stopped and grabbed hold of the reins of Cayley’s mount. Silently, he pressed a finger to her lips and felt her hot breath on his skin. The forest shivered with the rapid thuds of hoofbeats pounding over the frozen road. The soldiers passed not twenty feet from them, their horses galloping swiftly to the south, their torches held aloft, blinking like evil red-gold eyes before disappearing in the distance.

Once they could no longer be heard or seen, Bjorn pulled on the reins of his mount and headed north, to the camp near the old chapel where Wolf had said they’d meet.

“Oh, dear God in heaven,” Cayley murmured, her voice trembling. “They’ll find us.”

“Not if we shut up and hurry.”

“But they’ll send dogs and—”

“Just ride, woman. Do not cry, do not beg, and do not whimper, or I’ll leave you.”

“You wouldn’t!” she said, and he sensed her bristle. At the very least, she had some backbone.

“Not if ye behave yerself. Now, hush!” He felt her need to sputter and hiss at him, but she didn’t utter another word. “We’ll find Wolf.”

Wolf. The man he’d trusted with his life. The man whom he’d revered. The man who’d nearly sent him to his death. The man whom Cormick had considered his family.

Angry with himself, with Wolf, with the damned martyr of a magician, he glanced at the woman huddled on her steed. She trembled from the cold, and when she glanced his way, there was pain and anger in her gaze. “We should have left him not,” she finally said.