Free Wildewood Revenge by B.A. Morton Page B

was worried at Miles’ reaction. More likely she realised, as she followed his gaze, he felt vulnerable in the desolation of the moor. Miles was still some way off and although she didn’t know why, she understood from the boy’s attitude that it was not safe to linger.
    “What’s wrong, Edmund?” she asked.
    Edmund turned back and pulled his own cloak tightly around his thin frame. “ Yer should take heed of Sir Miles, my lady. He only means to keep yer safe. If he warns of danger, then I reckon there be danger lurkin ’.”
    “Are you not a local, Edmund?” asked Grace.
    “No, my lady, I was born in Lincoln, me father bein ’ a mason workin ’ on the great cathedral. He took a tumble from yon scaffolding and met his maker, God rest his soul. I left with Sir Guy shortly after.”
    Poor child , thought Grace, “Are you happy now, here with Miles? Does he look after you well?” she asked.
    His anxious expression was instantly replaced by an infectious grin. “Oh yes, my lady, and I been hearin ’ great tales of Wildewood . It stands on a crag at the centre of a huge forest full of wild creatures. When yer stand at the top of the tower yer can see Scotland and all them heathens what be livin ’ yonder. There be deer and wild boar a plenty, herds of hill cattle and flocks of hardy sheep. Miles said, when he were a boy same as me, he would help with the sheep and his mother would nurse yon orphan lambs in a basket alongside the fire. Can ye imagine that, a fine lady helping with the beasts? I reckon Wildewood be a magical place, protected by woodland folk, wild beasts and suchlike. We will all be safe there.”
    “Safe from whom?”
    “From our enemies,” whispered Edmund.
     
    *  *  *
     
    Heartily sick of the weather, the mind numbing cold and yet another delay, Miles turned his horse and retraced his steps. He slipped from his mount, smoothed his hands down the pony’s foreleg and then stood back and ran his fingers through his damp hair. The pony was lame and would have to be led. He glared at the girl suspiciously, more devilment no doubt. He was beginning to favour the witch theory. It was edging ahead of both nun and spy. His eyes fell automatically to the red wheals still evident on her exposed neck and he wondered again, at his decision to bring her along. The ransom would be no good to any man, if in the meantime she hexed everything he owned.
    He turned back to the pony with a muttered curse. Typical of his luck, they were almost home and now obliged to walk the horses. He should’ve kept the girl with him and suffered her tongue. He doubted she’d have the will for trickery with his hands tight around her and a knife between her ribs. He felt her gaze upon him and shrugged it off belligerently. There would be time for reckoning later.
    “What shall we do, my lord?” asked Edmund.
    “Walk, Edmund, t hat is what we shall do,” replied Miles shortly. Edmund nodded and shrugged apologetically at Grace.
    “Perhaps they can help us?” said Grace and Miles followed her gaze to the far distance where the snowline was broken by a dark body of men approaching at speed on horseback. Miles pulled Grace roughly towards him placing her between himself and his horse. This was not good; it would not do to be caught out in the open by armed men. His own position was perilous to say the least and now he had the added complication of his travelling companion. If this were the sheriff and his men, then his chances of collecting any form of ransom were diminishing rapidly. He turned back to Grace, narrowed his eyes and scrutinised her expression, was this more trickery? Seeing nothing but bewilderment he raised the hood of her cloak to shield her face and pulled the flaps together tightly to cover her unusual garb.
    “Stay close to me, do not say anything. Remember , if you will, who has tended you these past days, Mademoiselle, should this be the sheriff come to seek you.”
    “If that’s the sheriff