Free Heart of Stars by Kate Forsyth Page A

crop, and once, in frustration, whipped the old librarian Gerard who would not stop moaning, still their pace flagged. So Lord Malvern ordered them tied to their horses, and the reins taken by the younger, more vigorous members of the company. The poor old men were as jerked and jostled as badly as Owein and Olwynne, and their moans and cries of pain were a constant counterpoint to the uneven melody of the horses’ hooves on the stony road.
    Olwynne was a fine horsewoman and did her best to keep her seat, but with her hands bound, her movement hampered by her flowing skirts, and the pommel of the saddle jammed up hard against her pelvic bone, she was badly jolted. Many times she would have fallen if it had not been for the strong arms of the man behind her. At first she sat bolt upright, flinching every time her back brushed against his chest, but soon she was glad to lean her weight against him.
    By dusk the horses were all foundering and Olwynne was weeping with exhaustion. She did her best to hide it from the others, but she could not conceal it from the man who held her. He felt every shudder and choke, and kept whispering to her, ‘I’m so sorry, Your Highness. No’ much further now. Chin up now.’
    Olwynne could only mop her face on her arm and try to catch her breath.
    The road had been going downhill for most of theday now, and gradually the landscape had changed from towering grey mountains with their roots in stands of dark fir and pine, to steep stony ravines and gorges that led down into rolling hills of green forest. As the light began to fail, Dedrie looked about for a campsite. The horses were so weary they could only plod along with hanging heads, despite the lash of whip and prick of spur. Olwynne kept feeling herself falling, and would jerk awake with a cry and a convulsive clutch at the arms about her waist.
    ‘Easy now, Your Highness,’ the man whispered. ‘We’ll stop any moment now, and ye can rest a wee.’
    ‘When?’ she cried peevishly. ‘When can we stop?’
    ‘When my laird gives the order,’ he said.
    Olwynne choked back a sob.
    Jem came trotting back along the road, his horse all in a lather, blood running down its flanks from where he had dug in his spurs.
    ‘There are charcoal-burners ahead, my laird. With a dray and six horses.’
    ‘Excellent,’ Lord Malvern said. ‘Let us relieve them o’ it.’
    He ordered the riders to draw up on the side of the road, and Olwynne was allowed to dismount, if sliding off the horse in a clumsy rush to collapse in the mud could be called dismounting. Owein was tossed down to the ground too, and Olwynne saw her twin had fared worse than she. He was unconscious, his freckles standing out orange against his white skin. Dried blood obscured half his face, and his bound wrists were a red, raw mess. She crawled to him with a miserable cry, and brought his head into her lap. She could do no more.
    The old men were lifted down from their mounts and given water to sip. They were greyer and more decrepit than ever. Olwynne saw the man who had ridden with her lift one of the old men in his arms and lay him onthe soft grass at the road’s verge, wrapped in a cloak. The old man opened his eyes and smiled wanly, whispering, ‘Thank ye, Piers.’
    ‘Can ye manage any more, Dai-dein ?’ Piers said gently. ‘I wish ye had never come … I wish … ’
    ‘Far too late for wishing,’ the old man whispered and closed his eyes with a sigh.
    Piers gave his father something to drink out of a silver engraved flask. He swallowed gratefully, and some of the blueness around his mouth receded. Then Piers brought the flask to Olwynne and she wiped the lip fastidiously with the least filthy part of her skirt she could find, and sipped cautiously. It was whisky, and it burnt a path like acid down to her gullet. Once she had finished coughing and choking, she felt an amazing return of strength and warmth and vigour. She lifted Owein’s head and poured a few drops