Wildewood Revenge

by B. A. Morton

  “Are all the men you know like this?” asked Grace. Despair flitted unchecked across her face.

  “You mean, are they all ruthless killers with no moral code?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Most of them are ruthless killers, but the ones I count as trusted friends all know right from wrong. You’d like them if you met them.”

  “Is it likely I’ll meet them?”

  “I’ve sent a message but can’t be sure they’ll get it, there are complications. I think we should assume we hold Wildewood alone.”

  “So it is serious.”

  “Truthfully, I cannot be certain, but we plan for the worst.”

  “Is that the soldier talking?”

  “It’s the soldier who came back from the crusades in one piece. I think I know what I’m talking about.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Within the chest, hidden within the folds of linen were the things Grace had brought with her from home. The matches, half a packet of chewing gum, a safety pin, half a packet of sunflower seeds and the remains of a roll of red electricians’ tape, a very ripe apple and Edmund’s knife. She felt Miles’ steady gaze on her back as she pulled out the knife and re-covered the other things. She wondered if he’d discovered her stash, and what he would make of the strange assortment.

  “What do I do with this?” she asked as she held it aloft.

  “Not holding it by the blade would be a good start,” he replied.

  The knife was small and sharp enough to cut food but scarcely sharp enough to break the skin. It did however fit perfectly in her small hand and was light enough for her to carry concealed.

  Miles took her hand gently and showed her how to hold the knife. “If you need to use this, you can guarantee it will be against someone taller and stronger.”

  “Everyone is taller and stronger than I am, I’m used to it.” She remembered how easily he’d held her down on the bed. She’d not found his strength threatening, far from it, she’d found it arousing. She let her gaze travel the length of him, recalling deliciously. Catching his amused expression, she shook the image from her mind.

  “Maybe so, but you have proved to be clever, Mayflower will certainly vouch for that, and clever can outwit strong.”

  Grace recalled Martha’s account of Miles and Gerard, how he had outwitted the bully.

  “I can do Judo,” she offered.

  “Pardon?”

  “Judo, self defence.” She’d never got beyond blue belt, but remembered being smaller was an advantage.

  He shrugged; by his expression he’d no idea what she was talking about. Grace stepped back and beckoned him with her hands.

  “Come towards me,” she said. As he stepped forward on his right foot, she turned beneath his centre of gravity and swiftly rolled him over her shoulder on to his back. Miles hit the floor with a thud.

  “I think I like Judo.”

  Grace grinned, holding out her hand to pull him up. “I thought you might.”

  “Okay,” he began with a smile. “Perhaps you’ll get your man on his back but you need to make sure he doesn’t get you on your back. Whoever it is, will have more weight behind them.

  Grace’s grin faded, she may have enjoyed being held down by Miles, but he was the exception.

  “Lunge upwards with the knife with as much force as you can. Go for the throat.” He reached for her hand, tightened it around the hilt of the knife and forced her hand upwards till the tip touched his throat. Keep pushing even if your assailant gags and you think you have him. Don’t stop till he drops.”

  Grace gazed fascinated at the red mark she’d made on Miles’ skin. If the knife had been sharp he would have bled. He pulled up his shirt, moved her hand and aligned the knife with his abdomen.

  “If you go for his gut then push the knife up to the hilt, turn it if you can. It still may not kill him, but he’ll fall.” He released her hand and without his guidance the blade trailed slowly and gently down his belly creating a line which matched the shadow of dark hair starting below his navel and disappearing below the waist of his trousers. His muscles flinched and Grace watched mesmerized, it took considerable self control to prevent her hand from following the knife.

  Grace tried for a smile and failed. “I don’t know whether I can do this.”

  Miles took the knife from her. “We prepare for the worst remember, you may not need to do anything, but if you do, at least now you’ll know what to do. I’ll make sure the knife is sharp, but you must keep it with you. It’s no good to anyone if it’s left in the chest.”

  “Unless it’s in his chest of course,” Grace quipped. She felt a sudden hysteria bubbling inside, like the urge to laugh in church, totally inappropriate but irresistible nevertheless.

  Miles grinned. “His chest is good, but you’ve got to get between the ribs, like this.” He poked her in the side and she squealed and tried to pull away, laughing. He pulled her back and held her tight against him. “You’ll be fine I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Despite hugging him back, feeling his strength and inhaling his scent, she didn’t feel fine. She was out of her depth and she knew it.

  “Just remember, don’t leave the grounds unless you’re with me.”

  “Don’t worry I won’t.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise,” replied Grace.

  Miles turned to leave. “I need to make some enquiries, see what people know. I’ll be gone for the rest of the day. Stay in the grounds. I’ll be back by nightfall.”

  Grace watched him go and considered her position. Last night with Miles had been wonderful, but she wasn’t naive enough to think it meant anything to him other than sex. She’d been available, more than willing and they were both consenting adults. They found each other attractive, and the state of danger they were experiencing had perhaps heightened the attraction for her. Grace conceded, Miles was a very appealing protector, an inventive and experienced lover and under other circumstances she’d be hanging on very tightly to him. But the whole situation unnerved her.

  He’d told her to stay at Wildewood, but he wasn’t here to keep her captive. He now had the money he needed to repair the estate courtesy of her, which was his original reason for bringing her here, but he may end up having to use it to ensure her protection. Perhaps the real answer was for her to take control of her own destiny and leave now while Miles couldn’t stop her? It was a simple enough solution, just go back the way she’d come and get on with her life leaving Miles to get on with his. She hesitated nevertheless and wasn’t sure why.

  She crossed to the chest, took out the apple and decided to go and see the filly. Perhaps a ride around the grounds would clear her head and make decisions easier? She looked at the other things and wondered again whether Miles had discovered them? She couldn’t risk losing anything; they were her link with home. She scooped them up and distributed them in her many pockets.

  She called at the kitchen, which was strangely empty of people, but filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread. Martha must be in the dairy making butter. She borrowed a cloak from the back of the door and slipped quietly from the room. The weather had warmed marginally. There had been heavy rain throughout the morning, but the rain had moved east and the sun broke weakly through the clouds. She wrapped the cloak around her and crossed to the stables.

  There was no sign of Edmund. Perhaps he’d gone with Miles? The girl Belle hovered and Grace couldn’t help feel that her friendliness masked other, real feelings.

  “Are ye riding today, mistress?”

  “Yes, Belle, could you help me to saddle the filly? I intend to take her round the yard.”

  Belle nodded and proceeded to tack up the pony before leading her out to the mounting block. “It’s a fine day for a ride, yer should take her into the park, let her have her head,”

  Grace considered the girls words. She obviously hadn’t been made aware of any external threat to Wildewood from the Messers Gerard a
nd Guy.

  “Miles didn’t want me to take her out of the grounds,”

  “It’s quite safe, mistress. Why even Linus and Edmund have gone out today. The snow is almost melted from the park and they’ve gone with the dog to catch some supper.”

  Grace was surprised that Miles had allowed the boys to leave, if the danger was so imminent. She recalled what he’d said earlier about whether she could kill to save Linus. She felt a tightening in her stomach.

  “Which way did they go, Belle?” she asked.

  “I’ll show you, mistress.” She waited while Grace mounted the filly. Once mounted, she led her through the walled garden where overgrown ivy concealed a door in the outer wall.

  “This leads around the side through the pasture to the park, the boys will be in the wood. Edmund has set some traps. The ground is quite steep, it falls away to the river on the south side, but if ye keep in next to the wall ye’ll eventually see the track to the woods.”

  Grace hesitated suddenly unsure whether Miles had exaggerated the threat. But if he’d been telling the truth, then Edmund and Linus were in danger. Belle noticed her indecision.

  “Yer can’t get lost, follow the track, cross the park to the woods and Edmund will bring ye back. The pony will thank yer for the exercise.”

  Grace nodded, mind made up. “Will you close the door after me, Belle and make sure John knows where I’ve gone please?”

  “Of course, My lady,” said Belle, with a smile.

  * * *

  Belle closed and bolted the heavy oak door. She dawdled her way back to the kitchen where Martha was sawing slices of bread and ham.

  “What have you been up to?” queried Martha. “You look like the cat that’s got the cream.” She thrust some parcels of food at Belle. “Make yourself useful and take these to Edmund and John. They’re working on the dairy roof. Bring Linus back here while you’re at it. He’s been getting under their feet.”

  Belle took the food without comment and went to find Edmund.

  * * *

  Grace edged the pony along the narrow path beyond the wall. As Belle advised, the drop to the river was steep and she’d no wish to tumble down it. Once past the danger, the track opened out and the pony began to prance at the sight of the open parkland. Grace held her in check as she scanned the park. She could see no sign of the boys and as the snow was melting there were no footprints to alert her to the direction they’d taken. She glanced back at the hall. The only windows looking this way were in Miles’ room and he was not there to watch. She scanned the park again. It was empty. There were no enemy soldiers lurking in the undergrowth. She would give the pony her head, cross the park to the tree line and call for the boys. If there was no sign of them she would return and seek help from John or Tom Pandy.

  The filly was fast, an exhilarating ride and Grace was glad of the fresh air and the feel of the wind in her hair. She’d been cooped up too long. She pulled her up at the edge of the wood reluctant to enter, remembering too well what happened the last time she’d wandered into the forest. She called to Edmund and Linus, but to no avail. Trotting along the tree line she called softly into the darkness and as she travelled further from the protection of Wildewood her stomach began to knot with apprehension.

  Grace whistled in an effort to attract Fly’s attention. Perhaps he would hear her and lead the boys back, but a few moments of waiting brought no result. The pony began to mither at the bit and stamp with her forelegs, fighting Grace’s attempts at restraint. She spun on her hind legs in an effort to unseat her rider, Grace clung on doggedly. She’d not ridden for some time, but was not inexperienced, and as long as she kept the filly in check she retained control. She pulled at a whip thin branch and used it to chastise the pony. Allowing her to trot a little further along the edge of the wood, Grace became aware of a track leading in to the forest. Perhaps she would find the boys if she followed it just a little way?

  She glanced back at Wildewood. Despite threatening to leave at every opportunity, now she was outside the walls she felt vulnerable and a little afraid. For the first time she wished Miles was there. He would know what to do, he would not be afraid. She nudged the filly, and followed the track into the cover of the trees.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Gerard sat astride his grey stallion as the beast fidgeted impatiently. He should have waited at the castle for news from Mayflower, but of late he seemed unable to play the waiting-game. There was too much at stake to remain in idle expectation. He felt the need to be taking action, doing something, even if it did entail sitting in the pouring rain. He felt old, weary of the tangle of his life, but the more he contemplated, the more tangled he became. It was his way.

  A well-built man, he sat hunched against the weather, fair hair plastered against his head. His grey eyes were hooded, his skin similarly grey with the cold and the effects of the previous nights heavy drinking. He’d always considered himself a handsome man, like his father before him, and in his younger days he’d no shortage of partners to share his bed, willing or otherwise. But lately his obsession with the bastard Miles had overtaken his thoughts and he’d no room left for any semblance of normal life. He needed this to be over and he would do anything to ensure the outcome turned in his favour.

  “For pity’s sake, Gerard, does it ever stop raining in this Godforsaken place?” Guy urged his horse to the dubious shelter of a nearby stand of trees.

  Younger than Gerard, his black hair was worn longer than fashionable for a Norman lord. He considered himself an individual, believing his father’s wealth allowed him certain status, certain rights. An attractive young man, he held a certain appeal to the fairer sex. Tall and dark with a rakish smile and a lean and toned body he was every maidens dream. But the cold cruel eyes gave him away. They revealed his true nature, his lust for danger and misuse of his questionable power. His partiality for the unsavoury and his need to control those weaker than him, marked him as a person to fear. He and Gerard made a good partnership. Neither could see beyond their own wants and needs, but on this occasion they both wanted the same thing, Miles of Wildewood.

  Gerard turned to look at Guy and spat derisively on the ground. “This Godforsaken place is worth more to the security of England than the flat green swathe from whence you were whelped.” Despite his numerous faults Gerard was proud of his land, the land of his forefathers, the rolling hills, the crags, moors and deep woods, which made it all the harder to stomach; now the king had handed some of it over to Miles. Wildewood should have been his, was his, after he’d gotten rid of Miles and his mother all those years ago. What right had the king to interfere and give it back?

  “Perhaps, but at least we are blessed with the sun. How in God’s name do you get crops to ripen and harvest in all of this infernal rain?”

  “It is not yet spring, Guy. Come in the summer and you will see the sun on the hills and the maidens in the fields.”

  “I shall be home well before then. I do not expect this business to demand much of my time. I have beaten Miles once remember.”

  “As I recall he did not stay beaten. A word to the wise, Guy, Miles is a clever opponent. I know this to my cost. He would not be sitting on my land with the king’s blessing, and warming his bed with the king’s spy if he were not.”

  Guy acknowledged Gerard with a scowl that marred his fine features.

  “Pray tell, what is she like; this spy whom you seek?” he asked. “I am keen to know more about the girl who has taken Miles’ fancy.”

  “We will know more when the bishop’s aide arrives with her,” answered Gerard shortly. He did not wish to discuss this spy business. It made the tangle in his head more difficult to unravel.

  The noise of approaching horses drew the men’s attention to the main tree line of the great forest that encompassed Ahlborett and stretched as far as the eye could see. Beyond the bounds of the forest lay Wildewood and it was from there the approaching travellers came. Philibutt of Mayflower and his escort emerged fr
om the forest as wet and miserable as the two who awaited them. When Gerard realised they carried no captive, his agitation grew.

  “Where is the girl?” he demanded as the riders approached.

  Mayflower had the grace to look sheepish. “My lord, there is no nun at Wildewood, there is however a young woman. She claims to be the niece of Sir Hugh de Reynard.”

  “The Fox! What has he to do with this?” Gerard questioned. Reynard was another who was close to the king, were they all conspiring against him?

  “I know only what I was told. She is a shameless maid, my lord. She came to meet me straight from his bed, barely dressed, with the scent of him still on her skin.” He crossed himself piously.

  “Sounds like my kind of wench,” sniggered Guy.

  Gerard silenced him with a look. “And what of Miles, what did he have to say for himself?”

  “He reiterated that he held no nun, and had demanded no ransom. He was suspicious, I believe.”

  “So you still have the money? He wasn’t tempted to take it?”

  Mayflower began to sweat, his florid forehead fairly dripping. “Perhaps, my lord, we could continue this discussion back at the castle, out of the weather. We have travelled for some time in this appalling precipitation and I must confess I cannot think straight because of the cold.”

  Gerard ignored him. “You still have the ransom?”

  “Not exactly,”

  “You either have it or you don’t.”

  “The girl has it, my lord. She confused me with talk of collecting funds for orphans in Normandy. She convinced me His Eminence the Bishop would donate the money to that worthwhile cause. Of course I could not reveal the funds were not in fact the bishop’s, but, belonged instead to yourself. She is very clever, very plausible...she bewitched me.”