by Linda Madl
"Shall we hunt hart?” Reginald called, addressing his guests.
"To the horses!” they cried.
Nobles threw themselves at the grooms and horses.
Garrett followed Leandra, took the gray's reins from the groom, and offered to help her mount. She hesitated a moment, long enough to see that Reginald was already on his horse and ready to be off.
He offered his hand once more. Leandra stepped into it and swung up on her mare. When she leaned forward for the reins, he spoke. “Don't go near Leofric. Ignore his message."
"How did you know about that?"
Garrett shrugged. “Just stay away from Leofric."
"But I must get the ring back,” she protested. “Brenna told you? She had no right."
"Leave your ring to me."
"No, Leofric took it from me.” Her chin took on a willful thrust, and the spirit of a warrior flashed in her eyes. “He will return it to me, Garrett. You are no longer part of this."
"I am pledged to your safety,” he said. “Casseldorne took the ring from you when you were under my protection. That makes me a part. Go. Ride with your bridegroom. I will bring you your ring."
Behind them Reginald took up the oliphant and blew it. The hunt horn's mellow tones soared through the forest. Then with a cheer, he led the way into the woods; Leandra and the wedding guests followed.
When the last of the nobles had ridden off, the knights fell in at the rear. Garrett prayed she would listen to him. Once the hunters spied the hart, all ceremony would be forgotten and everyone would ride for the kill. Then he would take care of Casseldorne.
Ahead the baying of the dogs—the huntsman's siren—became clear. Someone shouted that the hart was sighted. Reginald sounded his horn again, leading the hunting party over the crest of a ridge. They burst into the blinding sunlight of a clearing. Leandra followed her lord, riding a little behind him. Then they all vanished again into the dim forest. Already the riders were straggling out across the hillside. Garrett did his best to keep Leandra and Leofric in sight.
In the depths of the woods, the cool shadows made recognition of individual riders difficult, unless their horse or colors were bright. The heir to Casseldorne rode a huge black stallion, nearly the size of a warhorse. There would be no missing him.
Leandra's gray mare, decked out in green, blue, and white, was easy to see. Leandra's fair hair, braided down her back and crowned with her chaplet, almost glowed, even in the darkest forest shadows.
If she intended to meet Leofric, she would have to leave Reginald's side and strike out on her own. Garrett knew she was brave enough and capable of that, and now, maybe even desperate enough. Reginald may not have noticed the substitute betrothal ring. It was a traditionally simple piece. But it meant a great deal to Leandra.
Garrett could hear horses crashing through thickets. Hooves thundered over hard ground. Frustrated riders shouted curses at their mounts. He heeded none of that, focusing only on the flying white tail of Leandra's gray. At the bottom of the ridge they splashed through a stream and started up the slope. Garrett spied her still riding beside her lord.
Brenna rode with them. She shouted, the thrill of the chase shrill in her voice. “You won't lose me. I'll be at the kill.” With a laugh she spurred her horse on.
Garrett had sworn her to secrecy about coming to him, and he warned her to stay away from this meeting with Leofric. She willingly agreed to obey.
In the dense forest, he lost sight of the three of them as the hunters lunged up the next slope. He turned his chestnut in the direction where he'd last seen Leofric riding, but he didn't catch sight of the purple knight again.
At the crest, he saw Reginald spurring his white stallion out ahead of the group. Mounted noblemen followed. Where was Leandra? Then he spied her. She'd headed her mare east, away from the sound of horns. She disappeared into a thicket of pines.
"Sweet Jesu, I knew it!” He swore under his breath. “She's going to meet Leofric."
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Chapter Twenty
GARRETT LOST SIGHT of Leandra for a few agonizing moments.
Then he caught a flash of the gray's white tail along a game trail. He charged after her. Abruptly she turned back south, down the slope, farther away from the hunting party. He lost her again, only to glimpse her golden head beyond a grove of oaks at the foot. He plunged down the slope into a clearing. There they were, still on horseback, Leandra facing Leofric.
At the sound of him entering the clearing they turned. Casseldorne appeared speechless for once. Leandra scowled in annoyance.
Garrett reined in his horse only when he was almost between them.
"Give her the ring and be off,” he ordered, drawing his sword.
Leofric curled a lip and turned to Leandra. “How did he learn of our meeting?"
"I believe Brenna overheard the message your man delivered.” Leandra cast Garrett a cutting look that should have mortally wounded him. “What difference does it make? You promised to return what is mine. Give me the ring, and we'll be gone."
"No need to make haste,” Leofric said, swinging down from his horse. “The others will be chasing that stag for some time. I would enjoy the lady's company."
What was Leofric up to? Fearing a trap Garrett sat alert in the saddle, peering into the forest shadows. “No games, Casseldorne,” he warned. “Hand over the ring and be done with this. The wedding takes place tomorrow, and there is nothing you can do about it."
"Will you share a cup of wine with me, my lady?” Leofric ignored Garrett. He untied a wineskin from the saddle, and from another bag he took a cup. “I wish to admit my defeat and to drink to your health."
"So generous of you, Sir Leofric.” With unstudied grace, Leandra dropped to the ground in a rustle of gold skirts and green surcoat. Her fair braid swung free down her back, and her gold chaplet gleamed in the sunlight. Only the furrow between her brows betrayed her anxiety.
"No,” Garrett protested, determined that she would not step within Leofric's reach. But Leandra had already started toward the purple knight.
"Stay out of this, Bernay,” Leofric cautioned, his eyes on Leandra and nearly aglow with anticipation. “You and I will meet in the tourney lists during the wedding jousts. We'll settle our differences then. This is between the lady and me."
A stealthy smile spread across the scoundrel's face. His confidence alarmed Garrett. Leofric's tongue flicked across his lips, reminding Garrett of a greedy snake about to gulp down a tender baby bird.
Sword ready, he leapt from his horse and imposed himself between them.
"Get away, Leandra,” he demanded, his back to her. “Where is the ring, Casseldorne?"
"I have it here,” Leofric said, without deigning to take his eyes from Leandra. He held up his hand once more, wiggling his little finger in the soft shaft of sunlight that penetrated the leafy trees.
At the sight of the golden circle a stricken look crossed Leandra's face. Her hands fluttered as if she longed to reach out for it.
Garrett loathed Casseldorne for baiting her—with her honor, with the symbol of Lyonesse's safety. He hated the wretch for tormenting her a thousand times more than for any insult uttered against the Bernays.
"Drink with me, lady,” Leofric invited again, his voice soft and hissing like a serpent's, tempting Leandra with the one thing she wanted. He flashed Garrett a lewd look.
Did he play for time, or was there something in the wine?
"Drink with me, lady, and I will give you the ring.” Slowly Leofric lifted the cup to his lips and drew a sip. Then he blatantly licked the edge, his wine-reddened tongue caressing the rim, sensuously. Then, almost reaching around Garrett, he offered the goblet to Leandra.
After a moment's hesitation, she reached for the goblet.
Garrett struck. He shoved Leandra aside. A lightning thrust flipped the cup from Leofric's hand, splashing red wine down the front of the man's purple tunic.
"The ring,” he demand
ed, his free arm forcing Leandra to remain behind him. “Return the ring to her. Now."
Wine dripped from Leofric's chin, and anger twisted his thin mouth and narrowed his pale eyes. He seized his sword, the blade glinting in the light as he leveled it at Garrett's throat.
"No, no!” Leandra threw herself in front of Garrett despite his efforts to prevent it. “Not another sword fight. I couldn't bear that. Garrett, put away your sword. Leofric, give me the ring. Settle your quarrel at the tourney, if you must. ‘Tis the proper place."
Leandra's tone was low, firm, and determined, oddly reminiscent of a good commander's. Warily, Garrett lowered his sword only when Leofric did so.
Leandra beseechingly held her hand out to the purple knight. “The ring."
Beyond the trees Garrett heard movement in the forest more clearly now. It was not the hunting party he heard. The baying of the hounds rang far to the north and the west. Without taking his eyes from Leofric, Garrett turned his ear toward the trees, listening for the slightest stir of a leaf, the faint snap of a twig.
Now there was only silence. Even the birds had ceased to sing.
"The ring.” Leandra repeated. But Leofric continued to defy her. His gaze also flicked toward the woods.
Garrett could feel the presence now. The thickets had eyes. Someone was about to ride down upon them, and there was no more time to waste. He shoved Leandra aside again and seized Leofric's hand. With a quick twist Garrett swung Leofric around, wrenching his arm behind his back, and began to wrest the ring from his finger.
"Get on your horse, Leandra,” Garrett ground out as he strained against a struggling, cursing Leofric. The ring was almost free.
"What are you—” she hesitated, startled and confused.
Bowmen crashed into the clearing. Men swarmed from the woods, and everywhere Garrett looked a grim-faced outlaw drew down on him with a bow, a crossbow, or an ax. The ring slipped free of Leofric's finger. Garrett threw the man aside, jammed the ring into his belt and flourished his sword again. Grasping Leandra's wrist he dragged her behind him, putting the gray mare to their backs.
Leandra freed herself of him and unslung her new hunting bow. Deftly she strung it, nocked an arrow, and took up guard at his flank.
Leofric staggered toward his horse, uttering curses. He lifted a wobbly sword in defense and backed toward Garrett and Leandra as if he expected help from them.
For a moment no one moved.
Slowly, deliberately, an outlaw rode from the forest on an old but still proud warhorse—stolen, Garrett suspected. A shock of dark hair split the outlaw's brow, and something about his stubbled chin was familiar.
The man bowed toward Leandra. “My lady. Sir Knights. I seek Leofric of Casseldorne.” The outlaw leaned forward over his saddle bow and stared pointedly at Leofric. “He who sent me word that he offered a reward for the capture of the lady."
"'Tis me, you fool.” Leofric lowered his sword. “I promised you the reward. I thought you'd never arrive. There's the lady. Take her."
The outlaw glanced thoughtfully at Leandra and Garrett, who remained armed and ready. He settled his gaze on Casseldorne once more.
The air was suddenly thick with betrayal. Instinct warned Garrett to make no move yet. He sensed Leandra at his back, alert, fearful, but collected.
"And the reward?” the outlaw said. “You think I'm knave enough to ride away with the earl's betrothed without seeing the color of your coin?"
"Of course.” Leofric went to his horse, moving slowly so that the bowmen would not mistake his actions. He took a bag of coins from his saddle and tossed it up to the outlaw. Garrett watched the man pull open the purse strings with one hand and his teeth. He fingered the contents, weighing them in his hand. Apparently satisfied, he drew the purse shut and tied it to his belt.
"Seize him,” the outlaw ordered. Bowmen descended on Leofric, overwhelming him like rooks flocking to a corpse. So many swarmed so quickly that his lowered sword was useless.
"No! No!” Leofric shouted at the top of his lungs, his eyes wild with fear. He struggled, but each leg and arm was restrained.
The outlaw turned to Garrett. “You, Sir Knight, and the lady are free to go."
"No! No! This is a mistake,” Leofric protested, his swarthy face nearly as purple as his tunic. “You take the lady. The gold is for taking the lady. I don't care what you do with this—this traitor's son who thinks he's a knight."
The insult bounded off Garrett like an arrow off a stone battlement. When had Leofric lost the power to wound him? When had he learned that he was no traitor and no one's accusations would make him one?
"I make no mistake, Sir Leofric,” the outlaw said. “I have no quarrel with this knight and lady."
Still screaming, Leofric was lifted off the ground and borne into the forest by the men.
The outlaw watched impassively. A boy appeared out of the melee, grabbed the reins of Casseldorne's black, and led the horse away.
The black-haired bandit turned to Garrett and waved toward the baying of the hounds in the distance. “Tell your earl that you escaped capture narrowly. Tell him there was nothing you could do. You were outnumbered and would have risked the lady if you had saved the heir of Casseldorne. There is no lie in what I'm saying. You can send out armed men if you want, but we'll be gone to ground and more difficult to flush than the innocent game animals of the forest."
Garrett stared at the man, recognition dawning. “Who are you?"
"My name is Trevail,” the outlaw said. “My kinsman was named Pender. Perchance you knew the man?"
"I knew your kinsman.” Garrett admitted. How could he forget the dying man who told him of Leofric?
"Then let this be,” Trevail warned. By ones and twos the bowmen silently slipped from the clearing. “Casseldorne is rightfully mine."
The man whirled his horse around and trotted from the clearing, forest-green shadows closing behind him.
"What will they do with Leofric?” Leandra peered over Garrett's shoulder at the empty, peaceful meadow.
"I don't know, but it won't be good.” He gave a harsh, cynical laugh.
Convinced that all was clear, he allowed Leandra to step out from behind him. Both stared around in disbelief. A moment ago they were threatened by Leofric and surrounded by outlaws. Now when they looked to where Leofric had stood, they saw only his purple cap, the blue-green peacock feather trampled in the soft earth.
Beyond the clearing the baying of the hounds grew frenzied. Garrett knew that the quarry was cornered. The hunt was nearly over.
* * * *
HE DREW LEANDRA back to her horse. “We must send out a search party, but I doubt we'll see Leofric or Trevail again."
"The ring.” Leandra touched his shoulder. “Did you get the ring?"
"Yes, right here.” Garrett reached inside his sword belt, where he'd hastily shoved the golden circlet when the outlaws had descended on them. Victoriously, he held it up for Leandra to see. Polished gold glimmered in the sun, and the frayed ribbon wound through it glowed soft and white. “We won back the ring."
She reached for the symbol of her betrothal, but Garrett took her hand.
"No, I'll put it on,” he said. “'Twas my charge in the first place."
"Let me take this one off.” Hastily Leandra removed the replacement ring and offered her hand to Garrett.
He poised the ring to slip onto her finger. But he couldn't do it. The ring was as large as ever and would easily glide onto her slender finger, but he was unable to put it there. He couldn't make himself push the ring beyond her fingertip, placing her beyond any hope of becoming his. His hand began to shake.
"What's the trouble?” she asked, her hand remaining steady, her eyes questioning. “Why do you waver? Put the ring on. I hear someone coming."
He heard a rider coming through the woods, too—from the direction of the hunt. He took a deep breath. This was foolish. Nothing kept the ring from slipping easily into place. He tried once more.
>
"I can't.” He swore under his breath. “I know I put it on your finger once, before I loved you. I was glad to perform the honor then. But I can't now. Leandra—too much has happened. The potion. May Day. I was glad when you told me Leofric took the ring. You were set free to be mine."
He glanced up, wondering whether his confession would shock her. She stared back, her eyes round, shining, and dark with understanding. “I know. I remember."
A hunting horn sounded near, almost upon them. “I don't want this wedding to happen,” he admitted. “I ache every time I see you at Lord Reginald's side. I want to stand up and say he doesn't deserve the Lady Leandra. He hasn't defended her from her enemies. He hasn't held her when she was ill.” He peered into her eyes and lowered his voice. “He hasn't touched her secret places and coaxed the first passionate sigh from her lips."
"Garrett, don't.” Her voice unsteady, she turned away, anxiously watching the woods beyond them. “You torture yourself—and me. Remember ‘tis but the work of a potion. Otherwise you know you would not betray your lord."
Without warning she snatched the ring from his trembling hand and slipped it onto her finger.
In a breathless instant it was done. She was his no longer. The light in his life vanished.
Wystan bolted into the clearing on a lathered horse. His cap sat askew, and his horse's sides heaved.
"There you are,” the squire gasped as soon as he reined in his mount. “I lost Leofric on the ridge, and I missed you at the kill. So I thought I'd better come in search.
"Good news. They killed the stag. Brenna was there. The hart put up a great fight, but Reginald slew him. An arrow straight to the heart."
* * * *
BRENNA SMACKED HER lips, swished her tongue about her mouth, squinted, and gazed off into space, concentrating on the tart flavor on her palate.
Smoke filled the kitchen where she stood. One of the hearths had belched the sooty cloud before it warmed enough to draw a new fire. She took no notice. The sourness in her mouth faded, the acid taste lingering to pucker along her taste buds and purse her lips.