Pressing the last coin into the overflowing purse, guilt overburdened her conscience. A lifetime ago, she’d frivolously spent funds equal to and greater than the amount she’d just collected, often in less than an hour. Surrounded by bodyguards, she had roamed the weekly markets with her handmaidens and bought trunks of useless trinkets along with anything else that had caught her fancy. She still remembered the vivid colors of the exotic silks, from the orient, that were soft as butter to the touch.
She smoothed the rough cloth of her habit. With a murmur of repentence, she clutched the basket tighter, tucking the coins beneath the herbs. Such shameful waste was in the past. Every coin she could get her hands on now meant the difference between life and death for the hungry it would feed. If the child, with Henry is truly hers, if given the chance, she’d raise her to value people more than things. She pressed her hand against the locket beneath her habit.
An empty pouch lay in the road ahead. Just what she needed. She stopped to pick it up, eager to transfer the coins to this larger, more secure purse. It had two long, leather cords, which would allow her to tie the pouch at her waist and be hidden beneath her habit. She stopped long enough to transfer all of the money into the larger purse and tugged the cord tightly so none could slip out. There was a deeply embossed pattern embellished on the side of the leather. A close examination left her breathless. It was unmistakably the Stanton family crest.
Realization hit like a punch to the stomach.
If the coins were from Henry, then there must have been a good reason he would have thrown them out.
Her heart sped up. She gathered a handful of her heavy habit, and the basket full of herbs, and began to run. The gold in the leather pouch hit against her side with every stride.
If those hard-riding brigands she’d seen earlier on the road had ignored the coins being thrown from the carriage then…
She stumbled to a stop and stared in horror. Two bodies lay in the road.
“No!” Her breath escaped in a ragged gasp of dread.
As much as she hated Henry for his betrayal, by abandoning her for Millicent, she didn’t wish him dead. Who would protect the child…her child? A feeling she couldn’t ignore.
By the signs, the carriage had stopped and a battle had ensued. Her heart pounded, as she drew closer to the bodies.
A sword and the dead men lay on the ground nearby. The stench of death and dark splotches of blood soaked the dirt road. Unexpected relief flushed her skin as she realized neither person was Henry. The older man she recognized as the carriage’s driver by his livery. The other body was one of the brigands who had ridden past her earlier. There was no sign of Henry or his guard. Had they escaped with the carriage?
Was Henry injured? And what of the child? Her gut soured with what she might find next. She scanned the road. It appeared as if a lone horse and someone on foot had headed into the forest. She paused to listen and hoped the man chasing the horse would not reappear. With an anxious glance around, the silence confirmed that no one lurked in the deepening shadows.
Prayers for the dead had become far too numerous of late, yet her conscience dictated that she spare a moment to make her plea for the dead men’s souls. Unfortunately, the scent of the dead bodies would draw predators during the night, for there was no one to bury them.
Her Christian duty completed, she picked up the dead brigand’s short sword from the road and swung it, testing it for balance. Satisfied that she could handle the weight, she glanced around for more clues to where the carriage went. It was easily followed, because its tracks were distinctive in the depth and width of the wheels.
The daylight was almost gone, meaning she would not make the castle before nightfall and she didn’t want to be anywhere near this place lest she become another meal for the hungry wolves that roam the land.
Retrieving the herb basket in one hand, she kept the sword ready in the other and continued her journey at a slower but steady pace. She’d need somewhere safe to spend the night. Only one place came to mind.
A half-hour later, the sound of something large crashing through the brush ahead startled her to a stop.
Chapter 4
Following the tracks of the carriage in the waning light, Henry pushed his mount ever harder to gain ground on the kidnappers. Dark thoughts of what could happen to his little Sarah tormented his thoughts. The pounding pace had taken a toll on both him and the animal. The pain from his multiple injuries grew intense, and he could no longer feel the fingers on his swollen left hand.
The mare stumbled.
“Easy, girl.” Fearing she would fall, he pulled back on the reins until the horse slowed to a walk, a welcome relief for both.
Fresh horse droppings he’d spotted a few minutes ago confirmed he had closed the gap. If he could locate the brigands before their tracks were lost, then he could seek help, but who could he trust?
The sunlight gone, the forest lining the road thickened until only spotty moonlight slipped through the dense canopy, made any signs of the carriage nearly impossible to see.
Pressing on to a clearing, where the full moon lit the ground. He pulled the bay to a halt. Acres of timber had been eliminated on either side of the road for farming leaving room for the moon to highlight the terrain. No crops grew in the dark loamy soil. He had seen similar barren fields after a war, burned by the invading army to starve any survivors, but why here and why now?
A chill of dread tugged out memories best forgotten of his first experience with war. He had run away at the young age of seventeen to fight. The enemy had been a small raiding party of less than fifty seasoned soldiers spying out the land. No amount of practice and drills had prepared him for the thunderous roars of armored soldiers charging one another.
His father’s guards had found him injured on the battlefield that evening and taken him home. The battle’s stench of death and the screams of the dying had faded during his short marriage, but once again tormented him in his sleep since Evangeline’s death.
He cleared his mind to resume his search for signs the carriage had passed this way. The mare hung her head. Her sides heaved, as she drew in deep gulps of air. Guilt pricked Henry’s conscience for riding her so hard.
“You’re a fine mount.” He patted her sweaty neck. “We’ll rest here a moment before we continue.” It would be easier if he could examine the road up close. Weariness checked him before he swung off. If he dismounted, in his weakened condition, he may not be able to pull himself back up onto the saddle.
He rubbed his eyes to clear his vision, then leaned over to examine the marks in the dirt. Dizziness swamped him. He threw his arms around the mare’s neck to keep from falling off. Drawing a deep breath, he stilled until the disorientation passed.
Slower this time, he clung to the saddle for balance before he leaned over to search the ground. By the dung and sharp prints in the dirt, he could tell that a herd of goats or sheep had passed this way not long before. Bleating could be heard in the distance. Their passing had obliterated any remaining evidence of his quarry’s tracks.
“Should I continue on toward to the castle or backtrack until I find the trail again?” Speaking his thoughts and stroking the mare’s neck helped him ignore the pain shooting through his body.
He would backtrack a short distance at a slower pace. Perhaps he had overlooked something in his haste. With increasing effort, he straightened in the saddle and turned the horse around to retrace his path with methodical precision. He sought the last sign of the carriage tracks, fearing it could be a waste of precious time.
What if he had lost them?
“Lord, I need Your help.” His words came out ragged as his waning hope.
A few yards back, the bright moonlight revealed the distinctive grooves left by the carriage.
“Thank You.” His words came out barely above a whisper because of the overwhelming flood of gratitude. Weariness was the only possible excuse for how he could have missed such blatant tracks the first
time. The driver had veered off the road onto a dusty path barely wide enough to navigate the carriage and a team of horses. Broken branches of the low hanging limbs and thick overgrowth that lined the trail confirmed their direction.
With hope ignited again, Henry turned the suddenly skittish horse onto the narrow path. The mare snorted, balked, and fought his effort to continue on the trail. The struggle for control strained Henry’s wounds and stiff joints, but he held fast.
“Easy, girl.” Wanting to rant at the animal for the delay, which would only further frighten the already agitated beast, he softened his voice and spoke reassuring nonsense while urging her down the path. “Nothing is going to harm you.”
Wham!
A heavy limb slammed into Henry’s side, knocking him off the horse and flat onto his back on the hard ground. The mare wheeled around, barely missing his crumpled body as it escaped back the way they had come.
He should have listened to the beast.
His lungs burned with need, but he couldn’t draw a breath for the pain.
“That be for cutting off me fingers.” The angry voice of his attacker bellowed like a wounded bull, low and dangerous.
A blurry face hovered over Henry before the darkness sucked him into a void of nothingness.
Henry’s shoulder and side burned like a hot poker jabbing into it. His left arm was swollen and stiff. The loud pounding in his aching head made it difficult to understand the words coming out of the person leaning over him.
“Wake up!” A menacing voice ground out close to his ear.
Henry’s shoulders were lifted and shaken then dropped. His head hit hard against the dirt floor, sending fiery sparks shooting through his skull.
“Oh-h.” A groan was the best he could manage in response.
“You better be glad he’s not dead.”
“He deserved the thrashin’ after what he done to me.” This angry voice was from a different man, who spewed vile curses followed by a vicious kick to Henry’s leg.
Strange. Henry didn’t feel the kick, though his mind told him it should have hurt.
“Stop! You idiot. His high and mighty Lord Stanton won’t be worth a shilling if he dies.” The sound of a door slamming shut. “Since his lordship refused to heed my warning not to follow, I will make use of his stupidity and send a ransom demand to his cousin the king.”
Footsteps receded. He dared to open his eyes, but even his eyelids hurt. A flickering glow teased his senses from a gap under the door. Only able to take small breaths, the earthy damp smell and coolness of his surroundings reminded him of a cave he once explored. He didn’t like it.
“Go find someone to doctor his lordship. I hear there’s a nun who can heal the sick. You better hope she can, for if he dies, you will, too. But instead of burying, I’ll turn your dead rotting body in for that hefty reward I saw posted on that London tavern wall.” A cackle of sardonic laughter was followed by loud protesting curses.
“Non! Her ladyship, she’ll no like that his lordship’s been harmed.” The heavily accented voice of a third man joined their conversation. “She no pay unless he lives.”
“The ransom will be requested by a local thief, the Fox. Nothing will tie the kidnapping to us. Besides, after the king has paid and his lordship is returned alive, I think her ladyship will hand over whatever I say when I go to collect the balance promised, or risk being revealed as the person who hired us,” the first man boasted.
Henry turned his head. Under the large gap at the bottom of the door, the feet of three figures shifted in the glow of their torches. An uneasy feeling persisted that he’d overheard something important, but his weary thoughts refused to sort it out.
“A shame about that pretty green eyed-mother-of-gentry. Parks, rest his miserable soul, told me how ye thought her weak as a kitten when she wielded that dagger of hers like the king’s guard and plucked out yur eye like a ripe grape off the vine.” The second man snickered. “Does it still pain you much?”
A bellow of outrage erupted followed by the thud of fists hitting flesh. The scuffle of grunts and cursing disappeared with the sound of another door slamming shut. They took their torches with them, which plunged his earthen cell into an inky void.
Justice and honor demanded retribution for their murderous deeds, but Henry’s pain-filled body refused the call to battle. A vow to avenge those wronged settled deep within his heart.
First, he must survive.
Thirst parched his throat. Maybe they left some water. He tried to sit up. Excruciating pain from his ribcage sucked the air from his lungs. Unconscious oblivion would be welcomed to escape his misery, but no relief came this time. Every regret of his past ran through his mind, each more torturous than his physical pain. None greater than his current failure to rescue his daughter.
“Please, God. Help us.”
Chapter 5
The coming night drew dark shadows on the road. Twigs snapped with the approach of something large. Evangeline held her breath and listened. Could it be the missing man and horse?
A panting stag crashed from the underbrush. In two leaps it disappeared into the thick forest on the opposite side. Fear raced along Evangeline’s spine. The frightened animal was being pursued by a predator, be it man or beast. Before she could decide whether to hide or fight, a lone wolf leapt out onto the road and stopped. The scraggly predator’s eyes glowed amber in the moonlight, and it glared at Evangeline as if to assess an easier target. With a yell, she set down the basket, raised her sword, and took a defensive stance. The animal turned toward his previous quarry and disappeared into the woods. Wolves usually hunted in packs. Thankfully, this one appeared more interested in chasing the fleeing deer than confronting a stubborn human with a weapon. She’d heard tales of a wolf chasing its prey into the trap of his waiting pack. A chill followed at the possibility that more wolves lay in wait. To her relief, there were no sounds of more predators, but she would not tarry to find out.
Evangeline hurried onward. She preferred not to spend the night in a tree.
As much as she wanted to continue on to the castle, the last two miles were the most treacherous, with far more dangerous predators than hungry wolves roaming freely. The earl’s hirelings attacked any who strayed outside the castle walls especially after dark.
She remembered an abandoned farmhouse around the next bend in the road. Old Farmer Danby and his family used to live there. They’d sold their produce at the village market every Thursday for as long as she could remember. She and Helen had accompanied Helen’s mother, the head cook, to the open air market when they could escape the watchful eye of Evangeline’s aunt. The always-jovial elder Danby would give them an apple or one of his wife’s home-baked sweets.
The girls had spent many hours arguing over which of the farmer’s two elder sons was the most handsome with their work-honed physiques and lake-blue eyes.
Those happy memories gave way to sadness. According to village gossip, the farmer and his two older sons had died a year ago when their burning barn collapsed on them while they tried to put out the blaze. The fire was started by the hired thugs of Lord Evanwood because the farmer had complained that their demands for more of his harvest didn’t leave enough to plant for next year, much less enough food to feed his family over the winter. The henchmen had emptied the barn and pens of livestock and put a torch to it.
Evangeline winced as the scars on her back ached with the ever-present reminder of what it felt like to be trapped in such an inferno.
The farmer’s widow had fled that night to save her remaining two children, a daughter and son, abandoning the farm and leaving everything behind. It was said, that in her grief, she cursed the men and any evil-hearted person who would take anything from her home or try to possess their land. Two of the five men who’d been responsible for the deaths of her husband and sons had taken up residence, determined to claim the farm for themselves. One had been found dead in the middle of the road within the week, fear frozen on his li
feless face. The other had disappeared, never to be seen again. The rest of Evanwood’s henchmen involved in the farmer’s death died within the month. Had their deaths been merely bad luck, or were they the victims of the widow’s curse? The locals believed the latter, for any who tried to claim the abandoned farm fled with tales of avenging ghosts.
A chill of apprehension for her own misdeeds burrowed into Evangeline’s conscience. Though her intent was noble, was stealing in order to do good still a sin? Did that make her evil, too?
More thoughts flashed into her mind, thoughts of Evanwood’s cruelty, each evil deed committed in the name of the crown fed the fire of revenge, like kindling thrown on the embers of injustice, which burned within her soul.
Until help arrived, the Fox and the brave women of her gang would have to continue to do their best to stand against the evil men who had invaded the land. Justice must prevail before they stole everything of value from the realm and left her father accountable. Evanwood and his greedy cutthroats would pay for their reign of terror with their lives.
The sword had grown heavy in her grip. She swung it to limber her tired arm.
Lost in thought, it took a few moments before the quiet alerted her senses. The night sounds of the forest had ceased. An ominous silence surrounded her.
A prickling sense of danger rose with the hair on the back of her neck. She stopped, dropped the basket of herbs, and placed both hands on her sword, waiting and listening.
Snap! A twig broke, and another. Leaves rustled to her left. This time, there was no mistake. The heavy tread belonged to the two-legged variety of predators. She edged closer to a large oak and slipped behind it, every muscle tense and ready to spring into action. The bulky habit she wore, and the heavy pouch containing the gold, would be a hindrance, but with God’s help, she would manage.
“I told you we’d be too late to catch up to her.” Barely visible in the moonlight, a dark figure stepped out of the forest and onto the road, followed by another, a bit taller.
The Secret Life of Lady Evangeline Page 4