Free Warrior's Princess Bride by MERIEL FULLER Page B

viewed her bedraggled figure.
    ‘Delighted.’ Langley stepped forward. ‘Allow me, my lady.’ He stuck out his gloved hand, and, taking hers, pulled her up easily from the ground. She swayed a little, her head aching, unwilling to allow any weakness to show before these two men.
    ‘I must go,’ she announced. She had per formed her task for Ferchar; now all she needed to do was to ride back to Dunswick, claim her reward and find a physician for her mother.
    Benois folded his arms across his chest, the metal scales of his chain mail sleeves glinting in the last rays of sunlight that filtered through the trees.
    ‘Go where, exactly?’ She flinched at the hollowness of his tone.
    ‘Why, go back to Dunswick!’
    ‘You, mistress, are going nowhere.’
    ‘You can’t keep me here!’ she remonstrated, brushing impatiently at a twig clinging to the fabric of her dress.
    ‘I’ve no intention of keeping you here,’ Benois replied patiently. ‘God forbid that I should have to put up with any more of your infernal prattle…’
    ‘Go easy, Benois.’ Langley frowned. ‘You’re frightening the maid.’
    ‘Hah!’ Benois scoffed. ‘I doubt it very much.’ His eyes glittered silver, precious metal sewn through granite.
    ‘It’s for your own good,’ Langley explained, his modulated tones calm and composed in comparison to Benois’s husky cadence. ‘It has grown too dark for us to travel safely. We must make camp tonight and travel on the morrow.’
    A hollowness churned in her stomach. Tavia stared in dismay at the two men, half-shaking her head. ‘But I must return,’ she whispered, the memory of her mother lying ill and de fence less on her pallet bed clawing at her brain. ‘I must.’
    ‘You should have thought of that before you under took this deception,’ Benois rounded on her callously. ‘I suppose it was Ferchar’s little scheme. He must have thought it was his lucky day when you walked into Dunswick Castle with your crossbow, and the double of Princess Ada.’
    ‘But you don’t need me any more,’ Tavia pro tested, ‘I’m not worth anything to you, now that you know who I am. Why not let me go? Just give me a horse and you’ll never see me again.’
    ‘If we let you go now, mistress, then no one will ever see you again,’ Benois commented starkly. ‘You really think you would arrive back in Dunswick in one piece?’
    ‘Of course,’ she stated boldly. ‘I have my crossbow; I can defend myself.’
    ‘Like you did with my soldiers,’ he reminded her.
    ‘That was different…’ She faltered as Benois began to shake his head.
    ‘No different, Tavia.’ He curled his fingers around the top of her arm. ‘Come on, we must make camp while we can still see.’
    Tavia had no choice but to ac company the men back to the clearing where the initial attack had taken place. Following Langley’s stocky frame, she struggled to walk in her sodden, ill-fitting slippers; her toes aching from scrunching to keep the leather attached to her feet. What could she do? Short of stealing a horse and pointing it roughly in the direction on Dunswick, she had no idea of which route to follow, or, indeed, if she could stay on the wretched animal. Langley had already announced that he had sent the soldiers who had accompanied her back to Dunswick, so she had no hope of securing their escort.
    Tavia stopped abruptly, whipping around. At her back, Benois cursed, ceasing his stride immediately, to avoid cannoning into her.
    ‘What now?’ he asked brusquely, aware that his hands had risen instinctively to steady her. He dropped them to his sides, his fingers curiously bereft. ‘Can’t we even take two steps without protest from you?’
    ‘It’s not a protest, more a request.’ Her wide eyes implored him. ‘Benois, I need you to take me back to Dunswick tonight. You must!’ she pleaded, tormented by the re cur ring images of her mother.
    ‘I must?’ he replied slowly, astounded that this impudent chit still