Chapter Ten #2
His gaze returned to the road, the surroundings, and he noticed that the road was fairly vacant now for as far as he could see, which was at least a half mile ahead.
Casting his wife a wink, as sweet a farewell as he could manage, he spurred his warhorse to the front of the party because an oddly vacant road made him nervous.
Turning around to Gannon and Lucas, bringing up the rear, he emitted a sharp whistle between his teeth and, using hand gestures, had Gannon ride up next to the carriage while Lucas brought up the rear.
The knights spread out in formation because Bastian was edgy about the stretch of road they were moving in.
The hedgerows were very high, the foliage tight, and the road narrow as it dipped downhill for a stretch before rising back up again.
Bastian could see water pooling down at the deepest point in the road.
The greenery had grown up all around them at this point, creating a heavy green canopy overhead with the sunlight streaming through.
It was also incredibly steamy and the women took to fanning themselves with delicate wooden fans that Aunt Beatrice had provided them for the journey.
If the ladies noticed the alert of the knights, they didn’t say anything.
They kept quiet, seated side by side in the carriage and enjoying the journey.
Bastian was glad the women didn’t feel the concern that he did.
He couldn’t explain his uneasiness other than a stretch in the road like this, heavily shrouded and vacant, would be the perfect place for an ambush.
There had been so much traffic heading out of London that he was surprised to see this stretch so vacant.
He had the carriage driver pick up the pace and they began to move more quickly through the unnerving stretch of road.
The chargers were trotting, kicking up clods of earth and eventually splashing through the water that had gathered on the lowest part of the road.
As they began to ascend the slight incline, the bushes around them suddenly became alive and men dressed in rags jumped out, leveling crude bows and arrows at them.
Sparrow shrieked as men jumped out at them, pointing sharp arrows at their heads.
Gisella didn’t utter a sound but she was terrified, clutching Sparrow as she looked around at all of the bandits – there were at least ten or twelve of them, all of them pointing arrows at the women and carriage driver.
They made no move to point the weapons at the knights, knowing that their crudely-made arrows wouldn’t have a chance against the armor.
But they would pierce unprotected female flesh.
The entire party came to a halt as the men with the arrows drew in closer, threatening the women in the carriage.
Bastian, at the head of the group, didn’t move a muscle for fear that some fool would take it as a challenge and let the arrows fly.
He gazed steadily at a man several feet in front of him who wasn’t holding a bow and arrow.
It was that man who seemed to be in charge as he smiled rather lasciviously at the women.
“Good lords and ladies,” he said gallantly, bowing with exaggeration. “My apologies for interrupting your journey, but we were wondering if you would be willing to donate your money and jewels to our cause? We would be happy to take all you can give.”
Bastian remained cool. “You’ll get nothing,” he said flatly.
“Just looking at you, I can see that you are not a bright man but this foolish action will be the worst action you have ever committed. It will more than likely be the last thing you remember on this earth and I will tell you why – your arrows cannot penetrate my armor and the second you let one of those things fly, I will have my broadsword out and your head will be rolling in the dirt before you can take another breath. If you do not believe me, try it and see what happens.”
The outlaw’s smile vanished unnaturally fast. “You have a bold tongue.”
“That is not the only thing that is bold.”
The outlaw’s eyebrows lifted and he began to laugh. The other bandits took up the sound and soon, most of them were chuckling. The outlaw in charge focused intently on Bastian.
“Then I suppose I should just let you go,” he said. “Just like that?”
Bastian was cool and steady. “If you want to live, you will,” he said. “But if you are too stupid to do so, would you like to know who you are about to face in battle?”
The outlaw laughed again. “Please, tell me,” he begged. “I am eager to know the name of the man who will cause my death.”
Bastian didn’t hesitate. “They call me Beast because I have the bloodlines of seven great houses running through my veins,” he said, his voice low and threatening.
“I am a beast of a warrior, the finest England has ever seen. If the entire French army could not destroy me, a band of stupid outlaws certainly cannot. Now, get out of my way before I destroy you and all of your cohorts. This will be your one and only warming.”
The grin on the outlaw’s face vanished. His confident manner seemed to grow incredulous. “Beast?” he repeated. “Aye… aye, I have heard of you. We have all heard the name. But how do I…?”
Bastian suddenly spurred his charger forward, unexpectedly, and caught the man off-guard in mid-sentence.
The wicked broadsword carried by Bastian, the one that was bigger and heavier than the usual weight of a battle sword, was unsheathed and in a split second, the outlaw’s head was lying in the dirt just as Bastian had predicted. It was a swift and brutal action.
Seeing the bloodied head of their leader on the road caused the other outlaws to panic and in that moment of chaos, the carriage driver whipped his horses and began tearing down the road.
Bastian and the other knights followed at breakneck speed as Gisella and Sparrow threw themselves to the floor of the carriage for protection.
They were expecting arrows to come flying at them at any moment and Gisella held on to Sparrow, who was in a ball on the floor of the carriage.
But the hail of arrows didn’t come, fortunately, and it was a wild ride out of the heavily foliaged part of the road, a rapid pace that went on for at least a mile until Bastian called the party to a halt.
As the carriage rocked to an unsteady stop, Bastian went straight to the seat where his wife had been sitting.
As he came alongside, he could see Gisella and Sparrow picking themselves up off of the floor of the cab.
“Are you well?” Bastian demanded, throwing up his visor to get a clear look at his wife. “Were you injured at all?”
Gisella was stunned but not injured. She shook her head as she sat back on the bench and pulled Sparrow with her.
“I am not hurt,” she told him, brushing a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. She sighed heavily as she fixed him with her startled gaze. “God’s Bones, but that was… exciting.”
Bastian was vastly relieved to see that Gisella wasn’t injured.
He was also quite pleased to see that she wasn’t hysterical about it, which struck him at that moment as being an impressive quality in a woman.
On the other side of the carriage, Gannon and Lucas rode up to see to the ladies’ welfare also. Bastian glanced at his knights.
“Were either one of you injured?” he asked his men.
The knights shook their heads. “Nay,” Gannon said. “But Lucas’ horse caught an arrow in the rump.”
They all turned to look at Lucas’ big brown rouncey. There was indeed a small arrow sticking out of the horse’s behind and Lucas reached back and yanked it out. The horse nickered a bit and shifted around, disturbed by the pain, as Lucas dismounted and took a look at the puncture.
“It is not too bad,” he announced. “It is a clean wound. I will dress it once we reach London. For now, I suspected we’d better keep moving.”
Bastian nodded, glancing back at the direction they had come from. He didn’t see anything but that didn’t mean they weren’t being stalked. He’d killed their leader, after all. It was best if they made it to the safety of London as quickly as possible.
“Indeed,” he said. “I am sure they have not taken kindly to the death of their leader. Let us get a move on. We will stop at Braidwood first. In fact – Lucas, you will ride on ahead and announce our imminent arrival. That way, you can tend to your horse sooner rather than later.”
Lucas nodded, mounted his horse, and took off at a canter. Bastian watched him go before returning his attention to the Gisella. His gaze softened as he looked at her.
“Are you sure you are well?” he asked, his voice quiet.
Gisella nodded. “I am, thank you,” she said gratefully, but her gaze moved to the floor of the carriage and she gasped softly. “But your aunt’s lovely parasol did not survive.”
She lifted it up by the stem, looking at it forlornly, and Bastian could see that the wooden disc had broken in half. He took it from her, inspecting it.
“I will see if I can have it repaired,” he told her. “Do not fret over it.”
He could see it was a useless thing to say because she was already fretting over it. She reached out, taking it from him, gingerly touching the broken wood. She sighed.
“It was so lovely,” she said sadly. “But I suppose it is a small price to pay for our lives.”
Bastian smiled faintly. “I would rather have the parasol broken than you,” he said, ushering the carriage driver on with a wave of his hand. “We should see London within the hour, so let us move on.”
He moved back to the head of the group but Gisella was still lingering on what he had said. I would rather have the parasol broken than you. He’d given her a wonderful compliment and he probably wasn’t even aware of it.
They were the sweetest words she had ever heard.