Free Wildewood Revenge by B.A. Morton Page A

“and he took me along to train as his squire.”
    Despite her very real need to disbelieve everything the boy said , Grace found herself drawn i n by his tale. She was appalled and fascinated in equal parts. To take a child from his family at such a young age was heart-breaking. But the idea of men fighting to uphold what was right was intriguing and seemed alien to her. Her experience of men had not been so noble. With the exception of her father and grandfather who had been exceptional men, all the men she’d encountered so far had their own interest at heart. She did not forgive or forget betrayal. She gazed at Miles far ahead on the path, and found herself pondering on what he’d fought about, instead of wondering how the man and the boy could possibly keep their stories straight...if it was all a pack of lies.
    “Who is Sir Guy?” she asked, turning back to the boy.
    “Sir Guy de Marchant .” Edmund lowered his voice, making no attempt to hide the nervous stammer, “ An ... enemy and a...bad man.”
    “And Miles, is he a good or bad?”
    Edmund seemed to consider for a moment before replying, slowly. “I reckon he be a good man, who sometimes does bad things.”
    What kind of bad things? She needed to know what he was capable of and who better to tell her but Edmund.
    “How long have you been with Miles?”
    “Three winters,” he answered quickly, his small chest almost puffing with pride. He had no need to count on his fingers this time. “He promised to return me to me kinfolk once he’d enough funds to return to England, so we stayed in the Holy Land and Miles took payment for services.”
    Grace considered this. She knew nothing about the history of the crusades but in her experience no one did anything for nothing. “Didn’t he get paid for supporting the king?”
    Edmund shrugged and Grace supposed that squires were not meant to be privy to the financial dealings of their masters. “He amassed many wonderful treasures.” The boy’s eyes widened as he remembered, but just as quickly his expression changed and he lowered his voice. “But on our return through Normandy we be ambushed by Sir Guy and his men, naught but common thieves they be. Now he has nothin ’ but what ye see before yer . His armour paid our passage across the channel.”
    Grace tried to reconcile this last fact with the man who rode ahead. Strong and brave by Edmund’s account, he’d already fought Sir Guy once and won, and then allowed himself to be robbed by the very same man, of everything earned during three years fighting in the Holy Land. It seemed a little careless. It didn’t sound quite right. Maybe Miles had done something bad then? It was none of her business; she should really leave well alone. What good would it do to rake it up? But she was beginning to obsess and would continue to do so if she didn’t get answers.
    “What kind of bad things has Miles done?”
    Edmund shrugged and stifled a sly smile. “I reckon yer’ll have to ask him.”
    Hmm , thought Grace. She could just imagine how that conversation would end.
    Edmund urged the pony onward. With the distraction of conversation he’d allowed it to dawdle. They’d fallen well behind and even Grace recognised the sense in staying close to Miles. He was the only one who knew where they were going. Shaken from its lumbering gait by Edmund’s insistent kicking, the pony surged forward through the snow and Grace clung on tightly to retain her seat. She was grateful she had, when the beast, in its eagerness to comply; stumbled over one of the many rocks hidden beneath the snow, and they were forced to dismount and temporarily halt their progress.
    “Beg pardon, my lady,” Edmund mumbled, forlornly.
    “I distracted you, Edmund,” Grace offered with a smile. He’d also provided her with some interesting snippets about her captor...ammunition should she care to use it.
    Edmund scanned the horizon and Grace wondered at the anxiety on his face, perhaps he