by Mary Yarde
Up ahead there were buildings, shabby ones, set apart from the rest. Alden slowed the horse down with difficulty, for she was excited and wanted to run. A tall man came running out of a half-collapsed hut and grabbed hold of the horse’s reins.
“Jowan.” Alden slipped from the horse and quickly helped Annis to dismount.
“We all thought you were dead, my Lord. When Merton told us he had seen you, we could hardly believe it.”
“We need to get out of here. Oeric has betrayed us.” There was no time for long conversations.
“Merton said as much.” Jowan looked to the battlements where archers patrolled. “We were welcomed in, but we are not allowed to leave.” He stuck his thumb and finger in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. In the distance, a dog barked. “There are four guards on the gate. They will not be a problem. The problem will be the archers.”
Six men approached them, their clothes, like Merton’s, stained from the battle at Cerniw.
“James, it is good to see you,” Alden acknowledged the former general of his army.
James offered no greeting but got directly to the point. “Merton said you are to head to Sussex. I know you will be reluctant, after the last time.” He gave a quirky smile, “but in this, there is no choice.”
Annis stayed near the horse and watched as Alden spoke to his kinsmen. She could not understand a word that they were saying, but she could tell by their expressions that whatever they were saying was not encouraging. Her eyes strayed from the battered-looking soldiers to their King. Even dressed as a peasant, he still held the air of authority. How her father had gone up against such a man and won seemed a mystery, for it was obvious that Alden commanded a fierce loyalty. She envied him that. Even his brother had risked his life to save him. She touched the ends of her hair and then fingered the braid that Merton had given her. If only her own brother was more like that, if only he had stood up for her against their father. Why was she even thinking such a thing? Her brother would not dream of doing that. He was a fierce warrior, but he was scared of Cerdic. Everyone was scared of Cerdic. Everyone was afraid of him, except the du Lacs.
Weapons were exchanged and the talk became whispered. They were arming themselves for war.
The horse began to toss her head and paw the ground with her front foot. Annis smoothed her neck and the animal turned her head and pushed her with her muzzle. She smoothed the horse’s face as she continued to watch Alden. He must think her weak, constantly asking for his reassurance, constantly crying; it was such a feminine thing to do. She felt ashamed of herself. She looked away and buried her face in the horse’s neck.
“Ride low and fast, and leave the rest to us.”
Alden began to object but James quickly cut him off. “Don’t argue with me, Sire, not this time. This time you will listen to Merton and me. We told you not to yield to that bastard —”
“Do not reprimand me—”
“You scared the life out of us.” James could not help himself. He had to say what he needed to say. “I have never seen Merton so afraid. You almost got him killed. Don’t you dare do that again. We thought you were dead.”
“Merton is still in the fort.” Alden spoke to Jowan, while James continued to silently war with him.
Jowan snorted. “He will get out, but if he doesn’t, we will go looking for him.”
“I did what I thought was for the best,” Alden said, addressing James again. “I am not going to apologise for that.”
“Maybe you should,” James replied. “You didn’t see what Merton did when they took you.”
“And now is not the time to enlighten him,” Jowan warned.
“What happened?” Alden asked, a sense of fear catching him in the gut at the thought of anything bad happening to his brother.
“Nothing. Merton is fine,” Jowan said, glowering at James. “He is fine. You don’t need to worry about him.”
Alden didn’t believe him, but there was not time to ask any more questions. “I want you to head to Brittany as soon as you can,” Alden said, addressing Jowan again.
Jowan shook his head. “We have family still in Cerniw; we need to know if —” He stopped, unable to go on.
“I will bring Budic’s army back. I swear.”
Jowan swallowed the lump in his throat. “But you have to get to Brittany first and to do that, we need to get you past these guards — and time is running out.”
Alden grabbed James’s arm; he would not part with bad words. “Good luck to you all and may God allow us to meet again.”
“I have a suspicion that God isn’t done with us yet,” James replied. He signalled to the men. “Sussex.” He stared hard at his King while he spoke.
“Sussex,” Alden repeated and James’s expression softened a little.
Alden gave a brief nod to Jowan and walked back to Annis. “Are you ready?” he asked when he reached her.
“This is going to be dangerous, isn’t it?”
“I thought you lived for moments like this, rescuing kings from certain death, escaping through tunnels, swimming in rivers, eating your own cooking.”
“Don’t tease me.” She looked up at the archers, who seemed blissfully unaware that their day was about to take a turn for the worse. “They could kill us.”
Alden looked at the archers. “Oeric would do worse if he caught you. You would beg for death then.”
Annis nodded her head, closing her eyes tight, willing away the unwelcome images Alden’s words provoked.
“Time to go.” Alden helped Annis onto the horse. He watched as Jowan walked casually up to the first guard and started a conversation, laughing over something the guard said. Jowan looked over his shoulder, his eyes catching his King’s, and then he turned back around and the guard slumped to the ground. Alden quickly mounted and kicked the horse forward.
He pushed Annis down low as all hell erupted around them. The archers turned their attention inward, aiming their bows at the enemy within. Up ahead, Jowan had charged at another guard, breaking his neck with his bare hands. A spear caught him in the thigh. Jowan yelled and threw his knife, hitting his assailant in the heart.
Alden galloped through the chaos. Steering the horse with one hand, he slashed down at the last remaining guard, catching him across the face. The guard stumbled, dropping his weapon as his hands reached for his face. Alden’s horse reared and hit out with her hooves, before leaping over the body that fell next to her legs. Alden urged the horse forward, through the gate and out on to the open road. Arrows came down like rain, littering the ground. He leant over Annis, trying to protect her with his body. An arrow embedded itself in his arm and he yelled out in pain. Annis shifted underneath him, but he used the weight of his body to keep her down.
“Get on,” he yelled at his horse, hitting her rump with the flat side of his bloody sword. The horse picked up speed; her breathing matched the fast pace she was setting. In no time, they were out of reach of the archers. Alden slowed the horse to a canter and allowed Annis to sit back up. She had heard Alden shout out in pain and she twisted around in the saddle, trying to see where he had been injured. Alden pulled the horse up short.
“Hold her.”
Annis took the reins from Alden’s hands and watched as Alden twisted his arm and examined the arrow embedded in it. He enclosed his hand around the shaft; taking a deep breath, he snapped the wood in two. He bit his lip, tasting blood as pain shot through him. For a moment he felt dizzy and he held on to Annis, steadying himself. He tried to assess the wound. It was not pouring blood, which was a good sign, he supposed, but his left arm was now useless.
“That needs to come out.”
“Later.” Alden took the reins back. “Are you hurt at all?”
Annis shook her head.
He sighed his relief. He would rather take a thousand arrows than have one scratch her skin. “Th
ere is a God, then.” He kicked the horse on, making conversation impossible.
The horse hung her head low to the ground. She was too tired now to raise it any higher and every step she took was a strained effort, but she did not falter; she continued with little encouragement from Alden. The moon was high in the sky. The stars looked down on them, watching their plight from the heavens.
They had not stopped since their desperate escape. Alden was determined to reach the borders of Sussex. He did not want to be in Oeric’s kingdom when the sun came up.
The horse tripped and fell to her knees. Alden immediately slid off her and helped Annis dismount. He grabbed the reins, encouraged the mare back to her feet, and then quickly ran his hand down both her front legs, checking for injuries.
“She is just exhausted,” he said with a sigh. He pulled the reins over her head, gasping in pain as the movement jarred his arm.
“I need to look at your arm,” Annis said, taking the reins out of his hand.
“It is fine.” It was a lie, an unconvincing one at that. He dreaded the arrow being removed, for it was embedded deep.
He looked around them. Oeric’s men had seemingly given up the pursuit for the night. When the sun rose, Alden knew they would continue tracking them. They had to keep moving or else they would be caught. He followed Annis as she led the horse forward. They would have to continue on foot until the horse regained some of her strength.
Annis tethered the horse to a branch and began to gather wood. Alden had already sat down, his head resting against the trunk of a huge oak tree, his eyes closed against the pain. Annis knelt down next to him and began to arrange a small fire. Then she rose and went over to the horse and rummaged in the saddlebag, hoping Merton had had the sense to pack some flint and steel. He had. She sat down and began to strike the flint against the steel, pleased when it caught the first time. She added more tinder to the small flame, blowing gently, encouraging the flame to life. Once the fire was burning brightly she turned to Alden. The firelight cast strange shadows on his face. She whispered his name and he opened his eyes.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Rip my tunic.” He turned so she could have the light of the fire to see.
The material of his tunic, around the arrow, was damp with blood. As gently as she could she pulled at the fabric, ripping it so she could have access to the wound. She grimaced, for the top of the arrowhead was only just visible.
“Take my knife; put the blade in the flames.”
Alden watched her as she did as he instructed. She was shaking. He reached out with his right hand and touched her shoulder.
“If something goes wrong. If you can’t stop the bleeding — ”
“Don’t,” Annis gasped.
“Continue in the direction we are going.” It was important that she knew what to do. Although he did not intend to die, there was always the possibility. “Tell Natanleod we were married, tell him you want passage to Brittany, and he will grant it. He is many things and I hate the man, but he and Budic are allies. Natanleod will look after you and deliver you to Budic, I am sure.”
“You are not going to die.” Annis turned, tears threatening to spill. She could not even contemplate life without him now. “I was so selfish, I should never have asked to come with you. This wouldn’t have happened if I had just stayed behind. Your people need you far more than I do.”
Alden smiled softly. “Not once have you put a knife to my throat and demanded I take you with me. It was my choice. You are right, of course, my people do need me, but not as much as I need you.”
She gasped, not expecting such an honest answer.
“I need you,” he whispered again. He took a deep breath before he continued. “I don’t know what you have done to me, but…” He caressed the curved of her cheek, his eyes memorising her face. “…I don’t want to give you up. If we ever manage to find ourselves in a position where we are not running from death, then I want to marry you. If you will have me.”
“Alden.” She leant closer to him, too emotional to speak, for he had just fulfilled her every desire. Trembling, she placed her lips on his. He kissed her gently and then pulled back, a small smile on his lips. He wanted the arrow out. Now. He wanted to be able to pull her into his arms, to show her everything he had promised himself he would not do. Damn the world, he wanted to have a lifetime with this woman, not stolen moments whilst being hunted like a stag. He thought of Brittany, of the beautiful coastline, of his chamber at the castle. It would be a safe haven for his woman. And she was his; he did not doubt that, not from the way she had just kissed him. “The knife should be ready, sweetheart.” He looked at the fire where the blade was glowing red, and tried not to think about how much this was going to hurt.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
He kissed her again. “You will hurt me more if you do not take this arrow out.”
She stood to the side of him. Her hands were trembling so much that she doubted her own ability to pull the arrowhead out. He turned his head and looked at her.
“Why did you really rescue me from your father’s axe?”
Annis tore her gaze from his. “I told you.”
“To escape Natanleod. That wasn’t the only reason, though, was it? Tell me,” he urged softly.
“I thought myself in love with you,” she whispered back. She dared not look at him; she did not want to see pity or worse still, humour.
“Are you...in love with me?” Alden held his breath, waiting for her answer.
“I don’t know what I feel for you now.” She saw him turn away, but she did not know how to explain the emotions that surged through her whenever she looked at him, or whenever he touched her. She felt more for him now than she did when she had rescued him. He had been a fantasy to her then; now he was real, a real person whom she had come to know, to like, to respect and to want with her whole body. It felt stronger than love. She looked at his arm. He would not die. She couldn’t imagine living without him.
What had he expected her to say? He had been fighting his attraction against her from the moment she had cut the ropes on the lashing post. No, before then; he had wanted her from the first. When he should have been concentrating on his wife, the image of Annis had kept tormenting him, and he had hated her for that. She was his enemy because of her family, her name and because of what she tempted him with. He had tried comparing her to Edmee, but she was as much like Edmee as summer was to winter. He wanted her more than he craved the heat on his skin from the sun, it was as simple as that, and he was fed up of fighting against his desires.
“Are you ready?” She could barely get her words out. She noticed the beads of sweat upon his brow as he prepared himself for the pain.
“Do it.” He braced himself, flinching as one small hand enclosed around the snapped shaft, the other on his shoulder. “Do it quickly,” he gasped. He could not stop the yell of pain as she pulled the arrowhead from his arm. Panicking, he felt his blood run from the wound. “Annis, stop the bleeding.”
Annis prised the knife from the fire. The handle was hot, so she tore at the hem of her gown and wrapped the material around it. Carefully, she lifted the glowing red blade to his skin. Alden held himself very still as the smell of burning flesh engulfed his senses. She moved the blade across the wound until it was sealed. Exhausted, drained and trembling violently, she dropped the knife to the ground and sank to her knees.
Alden’s head was spinning as he tried to hold on to reality. He would not pass out — the pain would pass. He breathed slowly and dared a glance at his arm. There was not as much blood as he had thought, but dear Lord above, it hurt. Annis was damping the wound with what little water they had left, trying to cool the burn. It would leave an almighty ugly scar — if he survived, that was, for there was no way of telling if Annis had stopped the bleeding internally. He flexed his fingers and a sharp pain ran d
own his arm. It would take months to heal, he guessed, for the arrow had torn through muscle.
“Thank you.” He managed to speak, although his voice was strained.
“Don’t ever ask me to do that again,” Annis said, and then she got up and ran a few paces and was violently sick.
Alden leant his head back against the tree again, closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. He was still breathing, after everything he had endured. He was still breathing. That was something.
“Let me put your arm in a sling.”
Alden opened his eyes; Annis looked pale in the light of the fire, ghostly pale. He watched as she wrapped another piece of torn dress around his arm. She fumbled with the knot at his neck, her hands were still shaking.
“You are not going to have any dress left if you keep ripping pieces off of it. Then again, perhaps that is a good thing; I will get to see those big knees of yours.”
She did not laugh at his attempt at a joke. Instead, she berated him. “One of these days you are going to die. Why must you keep injuring yourself?”
“I clumsily walked into the path of an arrow, I do apologise.”
“All I ever seem to be doing is patching you up,” Annis mumbled, ignoring his sarcasm.
“Maybe there lies the problem.” He smiled.
Annis straightened and put her hands on her hips. “So are you saying I should stop trying to heal you?”
“If you stopped trying to heal me I would probably die, but we could give it a go if you want.”
“You are the most impossible man I have ever met.”
“I was hoping you had not met too many. I fear I would fail in comparison.”
“No,” Annis said. “Every man I have ever met, I compared to you.” Her hand flew to her mouth. What on earth possessed her to say such a thing?
“Well, I am glad to hear that.” He leant back against the tree and closed his eyes against the pain, but there was a self-satisfied smile on his lips. However, his back was aching terribly, in fact, all of him was hurting. “Put out the fire, sweetheart.”