Chapter 4
Horland hurried down the main road that had taken him from the town of Frother.
He had been travelling two days and even with the rain on the first day, he had made good time.
Slowing to a sedate walk, his gaze scanned the outer edge of the Forest of Uther, looking for the track that would lead him deep into the woods.
He hoped to make his way through the forest in two, or maybe three, days.
Spotting the track, he stepped off the road.
His boot twisted under him and pain knifed through his ankle as he fell to the ground.
He sat up with a grunt and pulled his boot off.
It would be hard going with a broken ankle.
He carefully took his ankle in both hands and pressed the offending ache.
Certain it wasn’t broken, he hoped it wasn’t otherwise injured.
He pulled his boot back on and stood up, carefully putting weight on the foot. No pain. He smiled.
He looked around for the reason of his fall.
He was usually sure-footed and couldn’t believe a stone or rock could have dislodged him so easily.
He spied something glinting in the sunlight.
Bending, he scooped it up and gasped. The smooth rounded surface was the reason for his fall.
He’d lost his balance when it rolled under his boot.
Turning the sphere this way and that, he was certain it was the very keepsake that Patricia always carried with her.
Frowning, he surveyed his surroundings. Which way did she go?
He knelt and examined the area until he found a small footprint, one that could have been the same size as Patricia’s booted foot.
He found another print, then noted sliding and scuffing in the dirt.
He stood up and walked along the road where he found big and small boot prints.
He spotted wheel imprints. Of course, many wagons and carriages travelled the road to and from Frother, but he noted one set of wheels turned off the road and rolled onto the track into the forest. His frown deepened; what business would someone have in the forest?
What had happened? He didn’t know but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. If Patricia was there and—he tightened his grip on the sphere—he was sure she had been, someone had forced her into a wagon.
Garlain was the first name that came to mind.
He shook his head. No, Garlain was an honorable man.
He was not only a knight of the kingdom, but he was Horland’s childhood friend, and a more trustworthy man no one could find.
Also, there was no reason for Garlain to force Patricia anywhere.
She loved him and would follow him without thought. No. It had to be someone else.
But what was she doing on foot so close to town? Mayhap she and her baby daughter had been kidnapped and now they were free. Mayhap she was trying to return to the town of Frother, to Garlain.
Perhaps that was why Garlain was so grieved the year before.
Perhaps he had learned of Patricia and his daughter’s kidnapping but couldn’t find them.
Horland pressed his lips together. Surely the king and his army would have found them and punished the bandits.
But gathering the knights and army would have caused a commotion, and the town’s people would be all a chatter with the reason.
Simone would have known and if she did, Horland was certain she would have told him.
He glared at the prints. Had she been once again caught by brigands?
Well, no matter if Patricia and her baby were taken a year ago or a day or two ago, Garlain had Horland to help now and together, they would find them.
The wagon took the same track that Horland intended to follow, so he made his way along the narrow road.
The sun set and darkness soon enveloped Horland. With his previous fall in his mind, he focused on where he placed his feet as he made his way down the road.
Sometime later, the smell of burning wood wafted over him and he stopped, sniffing the air.
Fire. He scanned the area but it being too dark to see, he could not make out the direction.
He lifted his face to the sky. No breeze.
He sniffed again and a faint, almost nonexistent aroma melded with the fire. Food.
He knelt on one knee, drew his bow from his back and nocked an arrow. Anyone in the kingdom would know the Forest of Uther was not one to roam about in at night. Even in the day, most skirted around it, preferring to make their journey longer in an effort to stay alive.
Mayhap the fire was closer to the edge of the forest and not further in.
Using his hunting skills, he stepped silently across the ground, making his way out of the forest. As the trees thinned, a breeze brought the smell of the fire stronger to his nose, and so too did the wind bring the scent of cooked meat.
His stomach grumbled. He had food but he had to ration it to last for many days.
Because of that, he hadn’t eaten since that morning, and then he only broke his fast with some carrots he pulled out of the ground.
Not knowing if they were friend or foe, he kept his head down and crept forward until he spied the fire and a large pot hanging in the dying flames. He hoped they were friend.
Voices rose and carried on the breeze, angry voices. He ducked behind a wide-girthed tree and counted three shabbily dressed men shouting at and over one another. A fourth man sat quietly watching his comrades with a wary look in his eye. So not friend then.
As the clouds parted and the full moon’s rays shone on the camp, Horland straightened his back and stood tall. He was a knight of Pradwick. He had fought many battles and had taken on more than four at once.
Returning his bow and arrow, he put his hand on the hilt of his sword and stepped out behind the tree.
He caught sight of a cage upon a wagon with two people inside and quickly retraced his steps to behind the tree.
He rounded the trunk so he could see better.
A woman was whispering into a small child’s ear.
As if sensing his gaze on her, she stared right into his eyes. His heart jerked in his chest. Her green eyes caught the moonbeams and shone; her red hair shimmered. The men had captured a goddess.
Something moved in his vision, bringing him out of his reverie. He frowned. The woman was waving at him, shooing him like a servant unneeded. He set his jaw and lifted his boot to step out from behind the tree.
Her eyes widened in fright and, waving him frantically away, her mouth dropped open.
Fearing she was going to scream, he slipped back to his hideaway. He stayed still for a moment, piercing her with his gaze in the hope she would understand his anger. He was a knight of Pradwick, and she dared to command him? That would not do.
He tried to signal that he would save her, but she just kept waving him back. Either she was numb-brained, or she couldn’t understand his intent.
She sat back on her heels and drew her cloak about her so only her flame-lit face remained visible.
Horland rubbed his chin. Something about her visage was familiar.
Yes. His brows rose in surprise. Turn her red locks to night-black hair and her eyes brown and she would be Patricia, wife of Sir Garlain.
How could two of the most beautiful women he had ever seen live in the same realm?
He stretched his neck to look at the men around the fire but kept the cage and the woman in the corner of his eye.
The men still argued and from what Horland could make out—one was speaking Saxonage and the other three spoke Kernow—they were arguing about the woman.
He wasn’t surprised. She was indeed a wonder, although from the little interaction he’d had with her, it might not be beneficial to win that argument.
He surmised she would be a witch to live with, and he doubted any one of the men before him would be successful in making her subservient.
He shook his head. She even thought she was above a knight of the realm.
Mayhap he should leave her to her fate. After all, he had a mission to fulfill, and standing there taking orders from a woman wasn’t getting him any closer to Garlain and Patricia.
He drew in a deep breath. The woman in the cage had brought Patricia’s smiling face to his mind.
Patricia would expect Horland to save the damsel in distress, and so he shall.
The scent of the pot and the emptiness in his stomach made his decision all the clearer.
brEE COULDN’T BELIEVE her luck. She was all set to pick the lock and escape, and the stupid man in the trees was going to ruin it all.
She eyed him. He stood erect; his confidence was unnerving.
She regarded his dress. Moonlight glinted off the chainmail tunic that covered his torso to his hips.
A thick studded belt settled on his waist. She let her gaze drift south.
Brown trousers and black boots finished off what Bree was certain was a knight’s outfit. Nice.
She glanced at the men by the fire. They were still furiously arguing and if the dummy in the trees just stayed there, she and the girl could get out without their captors even knowing.
The way they were going at it, she guessed they’d be there long enough at least for her and the girl to find somewhere to hide.
His hand signals told Bree he intended to talk to the brigands.
What a dolt. He was one against four. Even if he was a knight and a skilled swordsman, he couldn’t possibly think he could better the four of them, especially seeing that they were criminals and as such would have no guilt at playing dirty.
Bree waved him back for the hundredth time, mouthing a great big NO.
He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. She could almost hear his mind turning over his next move. She put a finger on her lips to silence him and held up the pick between two fingers of her other hand.