Free The Wild Hunt by Elizabeth Chadwick Page B

you know how much that stall ion is worth?'
    'Nevertheless, I will have him alive,' Guyon said curtly.
     
    'God knows why,' Arnulf de Montgomery
    snorted. 'First that "weak spear" and now Walter's best courser. The man's guilty, no doubt about it.'
    'Yes,' Guyon said, 'and I want to talk to him about why.'
    Pembroke flushed. Ralph de Serigny looked puzzled. De Lacey drew his sword and turned his horse, momentarily blocking the road.
    Guyon and his father exchanged glances. Without a word Miles dismounted and disappeared into the woods bordering the road.
    He had spent his boyhood among the Welsh hill s and, saving the supernatural, could track anything that trod the earth, including a rat that smelled so bad the stench of it was all pervading.
    'Put up your sword,' Guyon said to de Lacey,
    'Rannulf will meet his end in justice, not hot blood, when the time comes.'
    De Lacey returned his stare for a long moment before breaking the contact. The sword flashed again as he shrugged and began sheathing it.
    'This is justice,' he said.
    Unease prickled down Guyon's spine. He began reining the chestnut about. Simultaneously there was a warning shout and the whirr of an arrow's flight. He flung himself flat on the courser's neck and the arrow sang over his spine and lodged in a beech sapling on the other side of the road.
    De Lacey drew his sword again and spurred his stall ion into the forest. De Bec bellowed and kicked the dun after him while Hugh of Chester rammed his own mount into Montgomery's horse, preventing him from pursuit. Among the trees, someone screamed. Guyon hauled on his rein and urged the chestnut in pursuit of de Lacey and de Bec.
    He was too late. The huntsman Rannulf sprawled in sightless regard of the bare winter branches. Walter de Lacey, his tunic splashed with blood, stood over him, his eyes blazing and his whole body trembling with the aftermath of violently expended effort and continuing rage.
    Miles was leaning against a tree, face screwed up with pain and arms clutching his torso.
    Ignoring his injured arm, Guyon flung himself down from the courser and hastened to him.
    'I'm all right,' Miles said huskily. 'Just winded. I'm not as fast as I was ... more's the pity.' He flashed a dark look at de Lacey and pushed himself upright.
    Guyon glanced him over and, reassured, swung to the other man. 'I said I wanted him alive!' he snapped.
    De Lacey bared his teeth. 'Should I have let him knife your father and escape?'
    'If you were close enough to kill him, you were close enough to stop him by other means, but then dead men don't talk, do they?'
    De Lacey's sword twitched level and the red edge glinted at Guyon, who reached to draw from his own scabbard. Hugh of Chester, moving swiftly for a man so bulky, placed himself between the men, his back to Guyon, his formidable blue glare for de Lacey. 'My lord, you forget yourself,' he said coldly.
    'I forget nothing!' de Lacey spat, but lowered his blade to wipe it on the corpse before ramming it back in his scabbard. He turned on his heel to examine the stolen horse, running his hands down its legs to check for signs of lameness.
    Guyon compressed his lips and struggled to contain his fury.
    De Lacey mounted the black, looped his other mount's reins at the cantle and after a contemptuous look at Guyon, rode over to where Montgomery waited.
    Guyon watched de Lacey with narrowed eyes and with conscious effort, slowly unclenched his fingers from the hilt of his sword.
    Chester bent down beside the dead man and picked up the bow. 'You were drawn here to be killed, you realise that, lad?'
    Guyon grimaced. 'I suspected it back at the keep and knew for certain the moment we caught up with them. A man so anxious to retrieve his horse would hardly lag to wait for us. Did you see the way he blocked my path to make me a sitting target for this poor greedy wretch?'
    'It was all arranged last night,' de Bec said, leading over Guyon's courser and Miles's grey.
    'I'm sure of it now.