The Conqueror
On they came, the soft clop of hooves turning into a sucking sound as the horses waded into the edge of the wide mud pud
dle that had sent Crack flying. She locked her eyes on de Louth, riding two paces before the others. Five against one.
“My lady Guinevere?”
His voice carried in an eerie echo through the darkness. They were about twenty paces away. “My lady? Lord Endshire sent us to seek you.”
“You may tell him,” she said in a breathless pant, swirling her skirts around her ankles as if straightening them, “that you found me in good spirits, and do thank him for his concern.”
The knight paused, checking his horse momentarily. The others stopped behind him, dark mirrors. Their eyes were almost invisible under their helms, their noses covered by the trunk-shaped nasal that fell down from the steel.
De Louth cleared his throat. “He sent us to assure your safety.”
“Be assured, sirrah, Lord Marcus sent you to assure his wealth.”
De Louth touched his heels lightly to the horse’s side and began moving forward again. She swallowed a ball of fear. That would never do. Hair plastered to her mud-streaked face, she lifted her chin.
“I am well safe, sir, and would appreciate being left alone to be on my way.”
The men checked their progress again, exchanging glances.
“What foolishness, this, my lady?” De Louth’s voice was pitched around surprise. “We have left the king’s court behind where such pleasantries count for something. You are alone, unhorsed, on a deserted highway. And you think yourself safe?”
She shifted her weight and mud squished out of her slipper. “Safer than with your lord, methinks, and I will stay here until my horse returns.”
The knight chuckled, a low, amused sound as the five advanced further through the fog. “Do you know, my lady, there was rumour only yester morn of one of Henri’s spies inhabiting this very stretch of highway? What do you think he would do if he found one such as you upon it?”
“Mayhap the same as you? Truss me up on the back of a horse and take me where I don’t want to be?” She pushed her sleeves up her arms. They slid back down to her wrists, wide, embroidered things that were more irritating at the moment than was warranted. “I have already been enlightened as to what awaits me with my lord Marcus, and prefer to take my chances with the Norman rogue.”
“’Tisn’t a chance of what the baron will do, Lady Guinevere.” His steel conical helm was closer now, and mist-laden words rose out from beneath it. “’Tis quite certain, if you gainsay him.”
“Only if you bring me back.”
The small group fell silent, standing off in the mists. De Louth guided his men forward carefully, reining to a stop every few paces as if she were a wounded animal they were set to trap. The hooves of the huge warhorses settled in the mud, slid a few inches, then lifted again with sickening, sucking sounds.
A thick stand of trees extended on her left and right, an outcropping of forestland. Looking frantically over her shoulder, she saw only an empty road and darkness. No buildings, no people, no escape.
Wild-eyed, she scooped up a handful of rocks and retreated a pace. They came on. Backing up again, she ran smack into a tree.
“This isn’t going as you planned, is it?” asked the tree.
Fear oozed down her spine. She lifted her face to behold a towering caped figure. Sheer black against the mists, his square-shouldered silhouette with trailing cape was like a mythical beast. She moved her mouth, but no sound came out. From eight inches above, his eyes were fixed on d’Endshire’s men.
“Step behind me, lady.”
“What?”
“Step behind me if you would be safe.” Grey-blue eyes flicked down briefly and she saw the outline of a fixed jaw and straight nose before he lifted his head again. “Why do they want you?”
“Do you know who they are?” she murmured through utterly dry lips.
“I do.” His voice was low, rumbling and unruffled.
She looked at the halted line of soldiers. They were staring in amazement at the sudden apparition and she felt the first inkling of reprieve. A bit of moisture seeped back into her mouth.
With one arm the apparition flung back his cape and stepped in front of her. “Why do they want you?” he prompted calmly.
“They don’t. Lord Endshire does.”