‘My, my, my,’ announced Trevallyan, a triumphant note in his voice as he dismounted clumsily, with a great deal of puffing and panting. He eyed Katerina up and down, absorbing the masculine details of her attire. ‘And dressed as a lad, who’d have thought it?’ One grimy thumb grabbed at her chin, painfully, forcing her to look into the bloodshot whites of his eyes. ‘You’ve been lucky, my lady, that you’ve been able to evade us for so long. But now it looks like your good fortune has run out.’ Katerina knocked his hand away, hating the greasy touch of Trevallyan’s fingers. Why couldn’t it have only been him who had found her? She could have outrun him easily. But it was the other, younger soldier, and the huge hound at his side; the pair made her wary, afraid. The dog followed her with his big brown eyes, strings of saliva falling from his lolling mouth. He would have her between his teeth in an instant if she tried to flee. ‘You can’t make me go with you,’ she protested furiously, ‘I am a free woman, I have rights!’
‘Correction,’ Trevallyan viewed her slim figure nastily, a smug smile plastered across his pudgy face. ‘You are a woman, which means you have no freedom, and no rights to speak of within the law of this country. You have to do as your father says until you marry, at which point you have to do what your husband says. You’re going home, Katerina of Dauntsey.’
* * *
Sitting on the damp ground, staring out across the mirrored surface of a wide, slow-moving river, Katerina looped her tied wrists over her bent knees, hugging them close. They had spent all afternoon following the muddy, rutted tracks north from Ipswich, until the point when the sun began to slip towards the horizon. As the light faded from the sky, her captors had decided to set up camp for the night.
‘Here.’ Trevallyan threw a blanket in her direction, narrowly missing the dog’s nose.
‘You cannot expect me to sleep like this.’ Katerina lifted her wrists with derision.
‘You will sleep like that,’ Trevallyan stated, yawning widely. De Courtney laughed, a rough, sycophantic sound, pandering to the older man’s authority. ‘You’ve evaded us for long enough; I’ll take no chances with you.’ He levered himself down on to the rug beside the spluttering fire, his expression as eager as de Courtney, who, already sitting, unwrapped a package of what she suspected was food. Obviously, they were not going to share it with her.
Despite her bound hands and feet, Katerina managed to pull the blanket around and over her, curling over to lie on her side, turning her back to the soldiers, and the dog, pretending to sleep. But in truth, her mind worked furiously, plotting and planning an escape; she had no desire to wake up in this spot tomorrow morning.
* * *
Time elapsed slowly; she had no idea of how long she had lain on the cold, knobbly ground. The tempting sludginess of sleep crept along her eyelids, pulling them down, desperate to carry her off into the depths of unconsciousness. But she fought against the seductive feeling, determined, working steadily at her wrists with her teeth to undo the rope. As she persevered consistently, quietly, so as not to alert the soldiers to her actions, the sun’s warmth slipped from the air, a veil of mist rising above the river’s silky flow. The light disappeared to the west and, against the dark velvet nap of sky, the moon rose, mottled-cream, three-quarter’s full, edged with a milky-blue haze. Katerina tugged once more with her teeth; the length of rope slithered from her wrists like a white snake, coiling on the ground. Rubbing her wrists beneath the cover of the blanket, she drew up her knees carefully to release the rope around her ankles. The bump of her heart picked up a notch with the anticipation of what she was about to do. Very, very slowly, within the confines of the coarse, prickly rug, she rolled over to face her captors and their fearful hound, her eyes sweeping the darkness to pinpoint their location.
The dog lay a few feet away, large bristly head resting on outstretched front paws, body slumped sideways in what she hoped was sleep. But the dog opened his eyes immediately, alerted by the small noise she had made in rolling over. He lifted his head, the chain attached to his collar rattling faintly. Fear skittered through her veins. Beyond the hound, tucked up in blankets around the glowing embers of the fire, lay the two men, both snoring heavily, both confident that the dog would alert them instantly if she tried to escape.
Tentatively, she stretched one hand out towards the dog; in his relaxed form, the animal appeared much less threatening. If she could stroke his head, or scratch behind his ears, maybe he wouldn’t make any sound when she left the camp. A low growl, accompanied by a dangerous curl of his upper lip, made her snatch her hand back, heart thumping. Lifting her head, she judged the distance to the river. Not far—she could probably make it in four long strides. Both soldiers still wore their chainmail; if she reached the water before them, the heavy mail would prevent them swimming after her and drag them down before their feet even lifted from the river bottom. But this dog? She had no idea how far, or for how long, this hound would pursue her once the soldiers released him from the chain. It was a chance she was willing to take.
Vaulting up, casting the blanket to one side, Katerina sprang towards the river, throwing herself full length into the gleaming, slick liquid. The water was cold, much, much colder than she’d anticipated, and she gasped, her lungs contracting in shock, before striking out with a strong, confident stroke. Adrenalin fuelled her movements, driving her on; she refused to turn, to look behind. As the water swirled around her, she heard the frantic barking, the shouts and bellows of the men from the shore. The movement of her limbs became jerky with the cold, but she swam with the current, cutting a diagonal path across the centre of the river, where the water ran far deeper, exerting a powerful pull on her legs.
Without warning, the dog was upon her, at her back, huge teeth catching at her clothes, her tunic, nipping savagely. Hot tears of frustration sluiced down her cheeks; she battled to twist away, spiralling in the water, thrashing the glittering surface to push herself free. But the dog advanced, incisors clamping down heavily on her left shoulder, teeth driving like spikes into her soft flesh. She screamed in pain, kicking out furiously, blindly at the rough, wiry coat. To her surprise, the dog released its jaw, tiring, starting to sink with the effort of keeping afloat and keeping a grip on her. Katerina seized the moment to disappear, taking a deep breath to drop below the surface, scissoring her legs to push herself towards the other bank. The wound in her shoulder burned; she ignored it, realising the cold water had a numbing effect on the pain. Although satisfied that the dog’s energies had slackened, that he would give up, she knew she had to climb out as soon as possible. Trevallyan would simply follow the river until he found her again.
Her lungs seared with the effort of holding her breath; she rose to the surface, carefully, treading water, moving her arms either side to keep herself afloat. The fresh air, sweet and vital, surged into her lungs, filling her chest. She blinked the water droplets out of her eyes. The opposite bank rose before her, a steep muddy incline on a sharp curve of river; further down, the flow became more gentle, widening out into a patch of reeds. The wind sidled through the stiff stalks, tawny pale in the moonlight, rippling the surface of the water into a series of ridges. Turning her gaze upstream, she searched the darkness, for the dog, for her captors. Nothing. Everything was quiet, unnervingly quiet, except for the rapid jerk of her breath and the fear bumping wildly against the wall of her chest.
She headed for the reeds, clambering through the sharp stalks, crawling through on all fours, head down, the grass scratching at her face, her clothes. The temptation to lie down in the reed bed, to sleep, was overwhelming. As her clothes dripped forlornly from her slight frame, all the energy that had powered her escape drained from her, vanished. Gritting her teeth, she fought the sensation, continuing doggedly to place one hand in front of the other, to lift one knee to complete the movement forwards until she reached the place where river mud gave way to solid ground. Cautiously, Katerina lifted her he
ad, knowing the tall bleached grass, topped with fluffy plumes of seed, would screen her. She prayed that the men were still on the other side of the river, that there was no bridge, no ford, by which they could cross. Across the flat plain of grass, she spotted the dark, undulating outline of a forest. She would hide there for the rest of the night.
Chapter Ten
Jabbing the arches of his feet against the hard metal stirrups, Lussac raised himself in the saddle, stretching out his leg muscles. The sheer temerity of the maid, her bravado, was astounding! Women’s issue, indeed! He had waited and waited outside that garderobe, like an idiot, thinking he would give her a little bit more time, when all the while she was inching herself through that tiny window and haring off through the countryside! How on earth she had scrabbled through that narrow space was beyond him. A slight smile turned up the corners of his mouth, a grudging admiration at her tenacity, her determination. Surprise jolted him. In truth, he missed her feisty companionship, her truculent ways, her breathtaking beauty. He had only met her yesterday, yet already Katerina filled his thoughts, pushing away the darker images to the edges of his mind.
Donning his chainmail, his chausses and hauberk at the inn, he had ridden off in pursuit of her, thinking to find her easily. She wouldn’t get far on foot. He had galloped over countless fields, along countless hedgerows, occasionally stopping and searching the horizon for that slim, elusive figure with her bright, red-gold hair. Nothing. At least, by heading north, he was heading in the right direction for Longthorpe, but still, he needed her. She knew what her family members looked like; she could identify them. With her help he would be able to work out who had been in Gascony four years ago, the man who had given the command to torch Lussac’s home.
* * *
He was on the point of giving up for the day, until he came to Ispwich. A group of market traders, eyeing the royal emblem on Lussac’s surcoat with wary admiration, recalled an altercation between a young red-haired lad and two soldiers. The lad had left the town with them, but not by choice, they told him eagerly, left the town on the road heading north-west.
An odd sense of trepidation gripped his innards as he galloped in that direction. He rode towards the evening sun, the golden orb setting in a dramatic riot of gold and blue-grey clouds, finding it difficult to explain his sense of unease. If the ‘boy’ in the market-place was really Katerina, then who were the two men she was with? He frowned.
Soon, he would have to stop for the night; the light leached quickly from the day. Having followed a wide, curving river for most of the afternoon, he finally crossed it at a ford: a narrow point, the shallow water rippling over the stones. The horse’s hooves splashed through, droplets of water flying up, clinging to his leather boots, his chausses, the velvet nap of the horse’s coat. Up ahead, the dark billowing shadow of a large forest loomed; he would find shelter beneath the trees.
Lussac heard the frantic barking first, far away, in the distance—a dog going berserk. He pulled on the reins, listening carefully. Sounds travelled further over water, especially in this still, pellucid air of evening. And then a scream. A chilling scream of pure fear, piercing the air, rising clearly above the smooth rush of water. It was her; he knew, instinctively, that it was her. Heart-rate picking up, he turned his horse towards the sound, scouring the dimming landscape: the silvery flat of the water, the bulk of forest and the fringes of the river, clagged with straight, bone-coloured reeds. Urging his horse on, he rode along the river, skirting the edge, searching. His keen eyes soon noticed something within the rustling reeds: a tiny movement, a shifting.
Heart lightening, he rode towards it.
* * *
Fighting a sickening lassitude, Katerina rocked back on her heels in the rigid grass, knees sinking into the soft mud, as she stared up at the man on horseback. Did her befuddled mind play tricks on her? In the twilight, the man was tall, broad-shouldered, chestnut hair falling thickly across his forehead, the golden fleur-de-lys stretching taut across his chest. He wore no helmet, the hood of his hauberk falling back on his shoulders in thick, metallic folds, the glinting steel mesh emphasising his tanned, powerful neck, the square, inflexible cut of his jaw-line.
‘No...o...o!’ she gasped out on a wavering note, disbelieving, gaze dropping to study the bluish hue of her fingertips, resting feebly in her lap. The tight coils of her wet hair pulled cruelly at her scalp. Had the cold water possessed her common sense? ‘No, it can’t be you!’ Despite the heaviness of her head, the drooping weariness, she lifted her eyes once more, regarding the figure before her, dazed. The dwindling light struck the man’s features, highlighting the bleak, hard contours, the dramatic, forceful sweep of his dark brows.
A wry smile curled his lips. ‘Aye, it’s me,’ he acknowledged gruffly, one eyebrow quirking upwards at the horrified expression on her face. He threw himself down from the horse, strode over to her hiding place in the reeds.
‘W-what are you d-d-doing here?’ Her head lolled back as she looked up at his towering figure. Lussac opened his mouth, about to bawl her out like one of his foot soldiers, to haul her roughly from the reeds and remonstrate with her about running away, but the words died on his lips. Anger sapped from him; her face was ashen. Her faint words stuttered out as she shook with cold, swaying, her clothes claggy and wet, plastered to her neat shoulders, the curve of her chest. Water dripped from her hair, the tips of her ears. Droplets clung to the pearly column of her throat, tinged with pink from the setting sun.
He crouched down in front of her, balancing easily on his heels. Close up, his breath gripped. ‘My God, Katerina, what has happened to you?’ His voice punched the air, guttural, concerned. Her skin was pale, so pale, her lips tinged with the blue of cold. Instinctively he caught at her hands in her lap, clasping his rough, warm fingers around her frozen wrists. Suddenly the whole reason for him pursuing her, the help he sought, mattered not, vanished. Katerina needed help. His help.
‘What happened?’ he asked again. Her fingers were like icicles.
‘I...I was in the river,’ she stammered back. ‘The...those....’ Katerina swayed, her exhausted brain clawing for the right words, to explain. In the distance, a dog barked, a wild, ferocious sound. To Lussac’s surprise, she recoiled in fear at the noise, lurching forwards so the top of her head almost touched the front of his tunic. ‘They set their dog on me,’ she mumbled. ‘The river was the only way I could escape.’ She glanced around, fearfully, searching for something upstream.
His blood ran cold at her explanation. What sort of men were these, who would set a dog on a woman? Following her gaze, Lussac saw nothing, only the flowing sweep of the water, a flock of birds skimming low, picking up the flies hovering about the surface. He frowned. ‘But who? Why would someone do that to you?’
Fringed with wet, spiky lashes, the sparkling grey crystal of her eyes met his. Shivers racked her frame. He was certain only sheer will forced her to hold her spine ramrod straight before him; her whole demeanour told him she was ready to collapse. Patches of blue smudged beneath her eyes, dusted the high curve of her cheekbones. Now was not the time for revelations; she would tell him soon enough.
Forcing herself to concentrate, to gather up any scant vestiges of energy she had left in her body, she lifted her chin purposefully. ‘I...I need to get out of here,’ she whispered, trying, and failing, to disentangle her hands from his. ‘Can I borrow your horse? I’ll give him back...later.’ A long wisp of hair stuck haphazardly across her cheek. Lussac felt a sudden urge to gather that bundle of fragility into his arms, to protect her.
He laughed softly. ‘Katerina, you’re in no fit state to ride anywhere.’ Besides, he was not about to let her slip through his fingers again.
‘I need to get out of here!’ she repeated, glancing round once more. He caught the edge of panic in her voice.
‘I agree.’ He bent down, placing two big hands bene
ath her armpits, intending to lift her. She wiggled her shoulders violently at the contact; he caught her sharp intake of breath.
‘I can do it!’ she hissed.
He ignored her protests, in no mood to wrangle, sweeping her up easily from the shelter of the reeds. Within the powerful circle of his arms, her body was light, fragile, muscles tensing beneath her shoulders.
‘Can you walk?’ he asked, setting her on her feet at the edge of the reeds.
‘Of course I can walk!’ She levered her shoulders angrily from his supporting grip. A raft of dizziness swept through her, making her sway. The wet wool of her braies, her tunic, dragged heavily against her skin, itching uncomfortably.
Lussac stood away from her, huge arms folded across his chest, waiting.
Screwing up her eyes, scratchy from river water, she stared across to the spot where his horse cropped the wispy vegetation. The distance seemed huge, humiliating. She wanted to weep with disgust at her own ineptitude. All morning she had plotted to escape Lussac and had been successful, only to be caught by the very men who would take her home anyway. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, her mother would have said.
She took one huge step forwards, trying to overcome the debilitating weakness in her legs, then another, before her knees creased with lack of energy and she stumbled, sinking into the bleached grass. She’d had enough; let him laugh at her, mock her. If she had any hope of escaping from those men at all, then Lussac de Belbigny was her only hope.
‘You win,’ she murmured dully as he scooped her up from the ground, throwing her easily against his chest.
‘It’s not a competition,’ he replied. ‘You are in no position to fight.’
Flushed with shame, knowing he was right, Katerina held herself rigidly away from him as he carried her towards his horse. She hated this weakness, this inability to fight for herself. He made her feel vulnerable, exposed, out of control. Lussac’s hand clutched strongly at her thigh, the weight of his forearm heavy against her hips. She struggled to maintain the furthest possible distance between their two bodies, ignoring the inexplicable flutter in her belly.
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