Wildewood Revenge

by B. A. Morton

  Edmund hovered nearby, his face downcast as he kicked at the dirt beneath his feet. Grace could tell he was disappointed he’d not been allowed to go with the men and reckoned she wasn’t the only one holding back tears.

  “Edmund, I’m sorry you weren’t able to accompany the men,” she said as she hooked her arm in his and encouraged him away from the gate. “But without you here for my protection, Miles would have been unable to accept the king’s orders. He’s very grateful, Edmund, and so am I.”

  Edmund gave a reluctant smile which extended into a broad beam when she smiled back at him. “We shall manage, Edmund and when Miles returns he’ll be so proud of you.” She felt a twist in her gut at yet another deceit. When Miles returned to find her gone, who would suffer his wrath?”

  * * *

  Her small bag was packed and hidden and she had one more task to complete before she could leave. Seeking Linus and Edmund she led them to a south facing wall within the garden and knelt by the side of a freshly dug border. From her pocket she produced the packet of sunflower seeds that had remained hidden since she’d arrived.

  Tipping the seeds carefully into the boys outstretched hands she made a shallow drill against the heat of the wall.

  “Plant the seeds today and when the flowers bloom you’ll know the baby has been born.”

  Edmund glanced at her curiously. “We shall know by the sound of its cries surely.”

  “Of course you will, Edmund. Of course you will.” Grace turned away anxious he would not see her tears. “Linus, push the seeds in as far as you can and come the autumn the flowers will be taller than you and Edmund, taller even than Sir Miles.”

  Linus giggled as he dug his small fingers into the rich soil and planted them deep.

  Kneeling between the boys, Grace wrapped her arms tightly around their shoulders and hugged them close. “You are both so special. Remember that.”

  * * *

  The following morning as dew cloaked the grass and the household busied themselves with their tasks, Grace led the filly quietly through the small door at the rear of the garden and out into the park. Stopping by a fallen tree she gave a final long look at the place she had come to know as home, before mounting the pony and setting off for Kirk Knowe.

  She had the map from Miles’ room in her pocket to help guide the way. In her pack she had her paintings of those she’d left behind. She couldn’t bear the thought of the boys left to wonder at her abandonment. She had left them Fly, a small consolation balanced against the web of lies she had spun. She fretted over Edmund and his inevitable despair when he discovered he had failed Miles, in his task to protect her. She worried over Linus, the mysterious child that the Templar’s seemed sworn to protect. But mostly she grieved over Miles and the life they could have shared.

  With an eye to the rising sun she guided the pony and set off across the moor, trusting to God to keep her safe and well clear of any hidden dangers. The moor in May was a different place indeed from the winter bleakness she remembered but despite the flowering plants and cheerful birdsong, it was with a heavy heart and eyes blurred with tears that she headed east.

  Someway behind, a rider paused and watched her progress from the cover of an ancient cairn. When the filly dipped out of sight amongst the heather and bracken, the rider lowered the visor on his helmet, rearranged his sword to a more comfortable position and proceeded to follow.

  Chapter Forty Seven

  It took best part of the day to navigate the safe trails, avoiding the treacherous moorland bogs. Grace guided the filly with a gentle hand encouraging her on across the high ground, where despite the mild spring weather, the wind still teased and buffeted at the pony’s mane. On occasion the pony’s ears would flick as if fearful of something in the emptiness behind them and she would give an anxious whinny. Grace patted her neck and reassured her as Miles would have done, but nevertheless she cast an occasional eye over her shoulder, she’d not forgotten the tales of ghostly Roman centurions who marched on the moor.

  Evening was drawing in as she dropped down off the moor and into the forest. She paused to get her bearings. The ancient wood had a strange stillness about it, as if fine gauze had been draped between the trees. The air was heavy with the scent of wild garlic, insects flitted and there was a faint hum of bees as they made the most of the hawthorn blossom before darkness drove them back to their hive.

  Grace slipped from the pony’s back, her eyes drawn to a pool that shimmered in the fading light. The wood was no longer flooded as in the depths of winter and yet the pool remained, a beacon drawing her in. This was the spot, there was no mistaking it. She allowed the pony to drink, and knelt to run a hand idly through the water. The water was cool and clear and as she gazed into its depths, drawn by the gently moving green fronds, an image appeared - An image of a knight, with his sword raised above his head.

  Taking fright she withdrew her hand and spun round, clinging tightly to the pony’s reins as the beast pulled back in alarm.

  The knight stood before her dressed in black. A quilted leather doublet adorned his torso, studded with metal that glinted in the dying rays of the sun. On his head a lightweight helmet, not suitable for heavy combat, but its faceguard sufficient to disguise his appearance. The shield attached to the side of his horse bore the head of a fiendish beast and as Grace’s startled gaze swung between the man and his insignia, he cocked his head and spoke.

  “Mademoiselle, we have unfinished business, do we not?”

  Grace stared in speechless shock as Guy lowered his sword and raised his visor.

  “And where are you going on such a fine day, my lady?” He cast a disparaging glance over her. “I hear you have happy news. You carry Miles’ child, and yet you seek to leave him as soon as his back is turned. Perhaps the news is not as welcome as it should be?”

  Grace took a step back. Her heart raced, desperation warred with fear. She was so close. The doorway was almost within reach, yet she dare not step further and risk him following her through. Terrible though it was to leave Miles, she had at least consoled herself with the image of a life devoted to his child. Was she to be denied even that? Was she to end her days on the bed of a woodland pool after all? Had the last four months meant nothing?

  “You don’t scare me, Guy,” she replied bravely, her voice little more than a whisper.

  Guy removed his helmet, dropped it to the moss covered ground, and pushing back his damp hair he offered a smirk. “Then you are a misguided fool, though that does not surprise me. Anyone who chooses to lie with the fallen knight, Miles of Wildewood, despite what he has done, deserves pity from all.”

  “He has done nothing,” cried Grace. “He is twice the man you are, brave and honourable. I am proud to be his wife, to carry his child. You know nothing, Guy.”

  “I know you sneak away furtively as soon as you are able. Why do you run from him if you do not fear his hand?”

  “I’m not running from him, I’m merely out riding, exercising the filly. You’re the one who should fear him.”

  “I am not the one who carries a child in my belly,” replied Guy. He took a step closer and Grace retreated further into the growing gloom between the trees, taking the skittish pony with her.

  “What do you mean?” Her hand strayed protectively to her abdomen.

  “Ah, so he has yet to confess his secrets - his sins.” He reached out a hand and she flinched away from it. “Ask him to tell you about the cleansing of Lincoln and his work for the king when he was merely a prince in waiting. Asks him about the child he covets and the Templar oath that ties him to his past. Ask him if you dare…”

  Grace paled, confusion clouding her eyes.

  “You talk in riddles, Guy, I’m not such a fool that I don’t recognise evil and I see it when I look at you.”

  Guy shrugged and secured his sword with a thrust into the soft moss covered ground. “Mademoiselle, you expect evil from me and I shall not disappoint you.” He began to unfasten his belt. “As
I said we have unfinished business, and this time there will be no timely rescue from your lover. He is well on his way to Wales to meet the king, and soon you will be on the way to meet your maker. Miles’ child will never take a breath on this earth and Miles will end his days in full understanding of what revenge and retribution really means.”

  “Why do you hate Miles? He’s done nothing to you, that was not deserved.”

  Guy’s lip curled and he advanced with a snarl. “He stole that which belonged to me.”

  “No, you stole from him and you were discovered and thwarted, are you such a bad loser that you can’t accept defeat?”

  “You really are a little fool and despite the allure of violating a wench in such a delicate condition, I suddenly have no stomach for fools.” He reached for his sword and yanking it free of the earth, swung it above his head “This is not about treasure or murdered knights - this is about the boy he took. It has always been about the child.”

  * * *

  At that, the boy who had followed diligently and had remained hidden beneath the lichen tendrils and sweet smelling blossoms, rose silently to his feet. He brought up his bow and set the arrow carefully against the string. He neither hurried nor dawdled, but did as he had been taught by his lord. He raised the bow and took aim, exhaling gently as he steadied his arm. Then, as the sword began its downward descent he sent a silent prayer to the guardians of the forest, to God in his heaven and released the arrow.

  It flew straight and true, whipping its way between branch and leaf on a course finely chosen by one with a true and honest heart, toward one who’s only joy in life had been to propagate evil. And as the arrow struck Guy between the eyes, he fell like a stricken beast and the pony leapt back in fright dragging Grace with it into the dark void between the trees.

  Edmund dropped his arm to his side and dragged in a breath. His heart banged in his chest, his hands trembled and he felt that he might drop to his knees at any moment. He took a second breath, called silently upon all the charms he had learned at the breast and stepped forward into the clearing.

  The body lay where it had fallen, half submerged in the woodland pool, the arrow standing tall and proud. The perfect shot. There was no sign of Grace or the filly. The clearing was empty but for the dead knight and the boy with his bow.

  “My lady...” he called hesitantly. He had not seen the moment of her disappearance but knew that something strange and other-worldly had occurred and was suddenly fearful. “Grace...” he called again more urgently, but there was no response and although he had not the means to explain it, he knew in his heart no matter how long or how loud he called she would not hear him.

  He glanced again at the body which had begun to slide of its own volition beneath the water’s surface. Dropping to his knees he reached out and using what strength he had left, he dragged Guy’s body free of the water.

  Avoiding the dead staring eyes, Edmund crossed himself and slipped his small hands over the body. He relieved Guy of his knife, his scabbard and the chain from around his neck. He stood then and drawing himself up to his full height he used his booted foot to roll Guy’s body fully into the water. He slid to the bottom. The green fronds entwined his limbs and his long, black hair intermingled with the ebb and flow of the gently moving water. Finally, the water stilled and the body remained, only the feathery flight of the arrow visible above the water to mark the spot. Edmund shuddered. There were no words that could express his revulsion of the man or the deed, but he knew regardless of his honourable motive, his life was changed forever.

  Slipping his hand beneath his jerkin, he pulled out the fleece cap that had once been Grace’s and now was his. Pressing his lips gently to it, he stepped as near as he dare to the darkness beyond the clearing and reaching as high as he could, he fastened it securely to a branch.

  Turning to Guy’s horse, he stripped off the identifying livery, disguised the shield with mud from the side of the pool and then as he had seen Miles do so many times, he reached up and muttered softly against the beast’s velvet nose.

  “Horse, yer have a new master, one who will treat yer well, with dignity an’ respect. In return I ask that yer carry me far and faster than yer have ever galloped, for we’re on a quest ye and me. We must go, in search of our lord and bring him back to this spot so he may save his love.”

  The horse whickered gently and stood placidly as Edmund secured his own pony’s reins to the larger beast’s saddle He fastened Guy’s scabbard around his own thin waist, sliding the large sword home, then placed Guy’s discarded helmet upon his head. Mounting the horse, Edmund gave a final sweep of the clearing.

  And finally, the boy, who was now a man, turned his mount and headed south for Wales.

  To be continued…

  Coming soon…

  Wildewood Redemption

  Part 2 of ‘The Wildewood Chronicles’

  Northumberland 1277

  A Fallen Knight

  A Secret Pact

  A Love Everlasting

  Miles of Wildewood battles to redeem himself in his quest to secure the future of a foundling boy with a secret and dangerous past. But dark forces are gathering. Unlikely allies join forces and horrors best forgotten are unleashed. Can Grace summon the power of the Horde once more? Can love really conquer all?

  Crime Fiction by the same author …

  Meet Tommy Connell a New York detective with a crooked smile, an eye for the ladies and a past that haunts him. Connell knows what the rule book says he just chooses to ignore it.

  Assisted by his long-suffering buddy Marty, Connell rattles cages wherever he goes. If you like a fast-paced adventure with a touch of humour and romance, you'll love Tommy Connell.

  Follow his adventures in:

  Mrs Jones

  Runner up in the 2011 Yeovil Literary Prize

  Arriving in New York to deliver a package, Lizzie Jones witnesses a murder and finds herself on the run from the mob and the Feds.

  It’s up to maverick cop, Connell, to unravel the truth surrounding the mysterious young Brit.

  As they run for their lives, he is inexplicably drawn back to his checkered past and an unsolved murder.

  Connell’s an honest cop, usually, but when the depth of deception is revealed and the prize outweighs the sweetest revenge, he discovers the true meaning of temptation.

  Coming soon…

  Molly Brown

  Connell is dabbling in things that he shouldn’t, and it’s not the first time.

  When a weird little kid disappears into the night and no one gives a damn, including the cops, Connell figures someone should take another look.

  The good cops are busy hunting down a serial killer - good.

  The bad cops are busy hunting down Connell - not so good.

  The serial killer - well, he’s looking for victim number twelve, which is definitely not good.

  And little Molly Brown is about to throw an almighty spanner in the works.

  For

  Holly Arden

  ‘The Jewel of Ahlborett’

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks to:

  Jacoba Dorothy, Karen Charlton and Kristin Gleeson

  Three accomplished writers and good friends, whose advice and generosity have helped make Wildewood shine.

  The People of Upper Coquetdale

  Who maintain the land and traditions and keep the rich history of this wonderful part of Northumberland alive.

  Northumberland National Park Historic Village Atlas

  A wealth of fabulous research.

 

 

 
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