Wildewood Revenge (5 page)

“Look, I went for a walk in the woods and I woke up here with you. You’d better tell me what’s happened, what’s going on.” She demanded. “I
know I haven’t been to some all-
night party, so this,” she gestured with a shaky hand to her head, “is not a hangover. Someone back there in the woods shot me. I know it was an arrow. Was it you? Are you some madman who lives in the forest and preys on girls?” She glanced quickly around the small building, a caged animal looking for escape.
“Because if you are, then you can just forget it.”
She returned her gaze to his face. He retained an impassive expression, knowing his continued silence unnerved her further.

“What are you going to do with me? Are you going to kill me?” Her voice became shrill and her eyes finally grew wide with fear but she faced him bravely nonetheless. She clutched at the cloak as if it afforded some magical protection and at the little dog who sensed her fear and gave a low growl.

Miles ignored the dog and allowed the tension to grow. In all of his travels through the most exotic lands he had not met anyone quite like her and he wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad. He thought he knew women and he thought he knew spies, but he was beginning to realise that when combined, he actually knew very little indeed. Her behaviour was so erratic he wondered which was genuine the fear or the fearlessness.

Perhaps she was not a victim of the noose, her explanation was plausible but he wasn’t entirely convinced her sudden appearance was merely coincidental and still needed answers. He was more used to interrogating enemy soldiers
however, not scared young girls,
no matter how hard she might be trying to hide her fear. He could easily adopt the role of bully and tormenter, and indeed had done just that so far, but it
did not sit well with him. He leaned forward again and the dog stood. The growl accompanied by the slight flick of its tail betraying the dog’s immaturity and lack of confidence. He clicked his fingers, whistled softly and the dog approached on its belly. He scratched its ears and the dog grinned, its puppy grin and curled up next to him.

“I am no madman, nor do I prey on young girls. I merely came to your aid, Mademoiselle. You offend me by thinking otherwise.”

“And yet you put a knife to my throat?”

“I am a cautious man and you incite bad behaviour,” he replied with a smile. “I mean you no harm. You are quite safe.”

“Well obviously you’re going to say that,” she answered. “You’re not going to sit there and admit to what you’re actually planning.”

He shrugged. “Then why ask, Mademoiselle, if you do not believe I will reply truthfully?”

She looked at him, opened her mouth to reply and snapped it shut almost immediately; the realisation of the situation, evident in the scowl that soured her face.

When he realised she had no answer he smiled and began again. “Where do you really come from, you are not from these parts? I’ve been away for some time but still, I do not recognise the name of your family.”

She stayed silent, swaying slightly before him, the tincture still present in her system. She had worn herself out with her tantrum.   From where he sat he could see how her pupils dilated. He would be lucky to get much more out of her.

He was playing with her, avoiding her questions with ease, but he realised with growing frustration there would be no quick answers to his own. As with a wounded animal she needed sleep and she wasn’t the
only one. None of them were going anywhere while this weather continued, but he was happier knowing she was secure while he himself slept. There was something incongruous about her and he couldn’t decide whether it was just her attitude or something more dangerous. Until he was certain of her identity she remained a threat. He could tie her up, although that seemed excessive given her size. Or he could give her more tincture and try again in the morning.

He considered his options, recalled her tenacity and well-aimed fist and sought the discarded rope. Reaching out he gripped her wrists in one hand.

“What are you doing?” she pulled away from him and he yanked her back.

“What I should have done earlier,” he responded sharply as he deftly secured one end of the rope around her wrists and tied the other to the wooden beam supporting the roof.

“How dare you,” she twisted wildly, whimpering with the pain in her leg and the frustration at being held captive. “You’ll regret this,” she spat at him.

“Perhaps.”
He withdrew the tincture, and avoiding her kicking feet with a raised hand, he offered it to her. “Do you want to fight the rope or fight the pain?”

“I want to fight you.”

His grimy, battled-scarred face broke into a wide grin. “Master the pain tonight and tomorrow I will happily meet the challenge.”

Grace scowled. “Tomorrow you’ll take me back to Kirk
Knowe
,” she muttered petulantly. “I demand that you do.”

He was amused by her belief that she was in a position to demand anything.

If she was from Kirk
Knowe
, as she insisted, that would certainly explain the cropped hair and the fact he did not recognise her family. He wasn’t sure about the tattoos or the undergarments, although as he’d never had occasion to look beneath a nun’s habit he couldn’t rule it out.

Perhaps she was from the chapel of ease, a runaway maybe. He’d heard how strict and frugal convent life was with the nuns at
Ladyswell
, but to be seconded to the tiny chapel at
Ahlborett
must surely be some form of punishment. He wondered what misdeed she’d perpetrated. Thought again of the butterflies, he could make a good guess. Or perhaps she’d told the truth all along and had merely wander
ed off the path.
Either way it was good news. The Augustinian convent at
Ladyswell
was under the protection of the Bishop of Durham and the chapel at Kirk
Knowe
would surely benefit from the same protection. The bishop would be obliged to pay a substantial ransom for a little lost nun, especially one as odd as this. Things were looking up; Edmund had bagged a prize after all.

“
Yer
can’t ransom her,” Edmund cried indignantly when Miles outlined his plan. The girl had succumbed to the sleeping draught and Miles had taken the time to decide exactly what he would do with her.

“I can and I will,” grinned Miles. “She’ll be worth a tidy sum, and you will remember your place!”

“But I found her.” His expression betrayed sullen displeasure.

“True, Edmund, you found her and almost killed her. What do you think she’ll say when you tell her that, eh? You shoot her and steal her dog. It doesn’t show you in the best light, does it?”

He found it amusing the boy was so smitten. He recalled with some relish the moment when he’d first noticed the fairer sex, but at the end of the day a religious who was bound to the church was no woman in
his eyes. Not in the real sense, no matter how tempting. She was however worth something and that was ransom, and he was sorely in need of funds. Nearly two years on Crusade at the behest of the king and he’d barely the clothes he stood up in to show for it. Yes he had land, if he were prepared to fight for it, but land that had been neglected for the last ten years would require considerable investment.

Miles settled down on his blanket to rest while he had the chance. “Prepare for an early start Edmund. We leave for
Wildewood
at first light. We need to be safely at the Hall before I send a message to the bishop.”

The boy kicked stubbornly at the straw, scattering a cloud of dust. “And what if he won’t pay?”

“He’ll pay.”

“But if he’ll not, what will
yer
do?” They both looked at her as she lay peaceful now in her drug induced slumber. Edmund saw her as his angel, conceded Miles, he, however, saw her merely as a good investment.

“Then I’ll think of something else to do with her.” If she were not a nun then she was surely a spy. Either way she would be worth something to someone. All he had to do was make the deal.

“But she is not yours, my lord. We must return her to the chapel.” The boy stood before him stubbornly.

“We must first make sure she survives, Edmund. Then I will decide what is to become of her.”

The boy tried again. “But, what if the sheriff comes
seekin
’ her?”

Miles studied her as she slept. Perhaps the sheriff was already looking for her. She was a strange little thing after all and he supposed if she were his, he would be out looking by now. The sheriff did not
concern him; he could be outsmarted if necessary. What concerned him was making the best out of a bad situation and that meant not delivering her anywhere, until a ransom was paid.

Chapter Six

Grace woke again to weak sunlight filtering through the heavy, snow-filled sky. It crept valiantly through the tiny window illuminating the dancing dust motes. It was bitterly cold and despite the smoking fire, her breath was tight in her chest. She pulled the cloak around her more snugly and considered her surroundings.

There was only the boy, Edmund in the room. The building where they’d rested was little more than a shack; a shepherds hut maybe, with unfinished stone walls and a dirt floor. She didn’t recognise it and couldn’t even guess at where she might be. Though Miles said they were high on the Crags, she’d no reason to believe anything he said. They could be far away from her home or merely round the corner, how would she know the truth of it. All she did know was something very strange was going on. She was being held against her will and it was about time she did something about it.

She felt reasonably clear headed, the pain in her leg bearable and she was determined to end this today.  She was Grace Gardner, she was in control. She repeated the mantra silently. She hadn’t gone through the nightmare of the previous year without some measure of courage, and no way was she going to let some scruffy woodsman cart her off to goodness knows where and tell her what to do. She sat up gingerly and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The boy smiled at her.

“
Yer
clothes be dry, my lady.” He gestured to the trousers and woollen jumper which lay folded beside her. “I stitched
yer
hose.” He added with a shy smile and Grace realised that despite the annoying Milady affectation he spoke to her in English with a rural burr, rather than a French accent. She reached for her clothes. The trousers had
indeed been crudely stitched but they were stiff with dried blood and mud.

“Thank you...Edmund.” Yes, she recalled his name and he seemed pleased that she had. “You’re wearing my hat,” she added with a smile. “It suits you.” Edmund grinned. It was his hat now.

“You found me in the forest didn’t you? Do you know what’s going to happen to me? Where we’re going? I really do need to get home.”

Edmund glanced at the door. “
Yer
should be
gettin
’ dressed, my lady, and
takin
’ some refreshment.
Yer
need to eat before we leave.” She sensed his reluctance to discuss Miles’ plans, as if perhaps he didn’t agree with them. She filed away the knowledge of his uncertainty for future use.

“Leave for where, Edmund? Where are we going? Are we going back to Kirk
Knowe
?” Perhaps she’d been worrying unnecessarily. Maybe it had all been a misunderstanding and at this very moment they were preparing to take her straight home. She checked the pockets of her trousers as she spoke. The assorted contents were still there untouched. They hadn’t thought to search her, she smiled to herself. Perhaps they’d regret their oversight.

“To
Wildewood
,” he offered eventually, as he began to pack away the cooking utensils and sleeping rolls.

“
Wildewood
, where’s that?” The name was unfamiliar despite Miles’ earlier mention of it, but it conjured up images in her mind.
A
Rapunzelian
tower with giant vines and creep
ers.
Her curiosity was piqued; s
he was no Rapunzel though and she wasn’t going anywhere but back to Kirk
Knowe
.

“Tis, Miles’ birthplace.
We
be
takin
’
yer
home. Please do not worry
yerself
, my lady. No harm will come to
yer
.”

“And if I refuse?” she asked.

Edmund shrugged. “Miles has decreed it, so
yer
will go to
Wildewood
.
Yer
cannot refuse. Please get dressed, my lady and eat
yer
fill before he returns.”

Edmund turned away from her and she dressed quickly in clothes that smelled. In fact as she wrinkled her nose she realised it wasn’t just the clothes that reeked. The odour of stagnant water and sweaty horse clung to her hair and skin. She needed to wash.