Chapter 15
Ithought Marian rushed off because she was up to something tonight.
And bloody hellfire, I wasn’t wrong. She stops swinging her axe to scan the forest, and I duck lower from my elevated position.
Her gaze shifts to study the sky again, as if checking the position of the setting sun.
I suspect she’s waiting for someone, likely on a schedule.
Another one of her father’s trading wagons perhaps?
She adjusts her hood and resumes chopping.
What’s the plan, Marian?
I mean, other than the obvious – a raid.
She picked a good spot. Twisty road. Low visibility due to the trees.
The target won’t see the roadblock she’s creating until it’s too late to turn their wagon around.
But then what? She’s far from Notting this time, and there’ll be no running off with a wagon if she blocks her exit.
With a final swing, the tree gives a beastly crack and falls across the beaten road.
The sound of barking comes from the distance. She spins, and even from my hiding spot, I see the blood drain from her face.
I rise a little from behind a bush and curse. Last time there were no attack dogs on her father’s trailer. I tense as she dives for cover, and the sense of foreboding I’ve felt since Marian and I went our separate ways hours ago is a screaming siren now in my head.
I pull an arrow from my quiver and nock it on my bow, then watch the horses and wagon ride closer.
Three men. Two on separate horses. A third steers their wagon, a small house on wheels with suspiciously human-like skulls mounted along the top – fair to say it’s also not a friendly traveller.
The old driver is missing a leg, but the others on horses look young.
The one wearing a cattleman hat is strapped with blades and a crossbow.
His partner has that and extras – two arm-sized machetes crisscrossed on his back.
The dogs are chained but won’t stop barking in my direction. I clench my jaw, ducking lower.
‘Henrick! Mast!’ yells the cattleman. ‘Both of you, quiet!’
Too quickly, they reach the final curve in the road and stop at the fallen tree. Machete jumps down from his horse to investigate. Then everything happens at once. ‘Axe marks,’ he yells, barrelling back to his horse. ‘Ambush. Release the dogs.’
No, don’t do that.
The cattleman goes for the first dog’s lead. I stand. Aim. Then aim again, forcing myself to slow down. I’ll get only one chance. I release my shot. My arrow slams through a link in the chain, nailing it back to the wagon wall.
The cattleman ducks, covering his head. ‘They’re shooting!’ He throws himself at the next lead and then a solid eighty pounds of teeth and muscle is set free.
I curse and take off, sprinting, but the dog’s chain smacking the ground is too damn close.
I give up and stand my ground, taking aim – I have to. Neither Marian nor I has a horse nearby. The dog is thirty feet away. Twenty-five. My lungs burn as I hold my breath. Don’t make me do it.
Suddenly, another set of horses and a covered flatbed trailer rides in between us, blocking the dog from view. It skids to a stop before the road curves, spotting the trapped vagabond wagon.
I recognise Fitzgerald. This is the trailer Marian was waiting for. Fitz shouts, trying to get his horses to back up.
The dog reappears, going after the horses and militia men. Their geldings rear up and kick out. But my reprieve is short-lived – the other dog has been released. It’s nothing but a streak of fur as it races across the road and into the trees.
Marian.
The sound of arrows hitting wagons carries to me as I crash through the brush to get to her.
‘Don’t hit the dogs,’ snarls the old man. A sharp whistle cuts through the air. ‘Mast! Henrick, get over here.’ The canines retreat. My feet don’t stop running as more arrows fly. Men shout panicked orders.
‘Go, go, go.’
‘Give me the reins.’
I glance over my shoulder as Fitzgerald completes the turn and steers back in the direction they came.
Good. Except something pokes out from the tarp covering their trailer.
What the –? I slow, then change directions, needing a better look.
A hand grips the end of the trailer, then I spot what looks an awful lot like Marian’s hood.
How the hellfire did she get inside there?
I try to keep up with her, but I can’t. I’ll have to go for my hors–
Suddenly Marian climbs out and hits the ground with a roll, holding something clutched to her chest. A bag? She disappears into the trees without anyone the wiser. I chuckle in disbelief. She even timed her exit not far from her horse, knowing they’d have to backtrack.
I drop my hands to my knees, breathing hard. Looks like I won’t be uncovering what she does with her loot tonight.
But I did learn she’s stealing from someone who probably deserves to lose every piece she takes. Which does seem to shift the ground rules I’ve lived my life by. Attacking, raiding, stealing – they’re wrong.
And yet I’m starting to wonder whether I need to do more than just protect her secret. Maybe this is a cause I should support.