Free Longbow Girl by Linda Davies

trapped in her throat with a lump of fear that grew with each second. And then a waft of pure cold and a click. The bottom step . . . the open hallway was before her, but there was no one. Not a hint of anyone, not there or in any of the rooms. Merry hurried through each one, checking wardrobes, the pantry, the broom cupboard.
    There was no sign of any disturbance, just that buzz in the air.
    But Merry, with her limited vision, didn’t see the tiny patches of damp on the hall rug that stood by the front door, the melted flakes of snow that had blown through in that quick second while the door had opened and closed again.
    Last, she checked the boot room. Clear. She bit her lip, glanced around, peered through the window into the snow-strewn darkness outside. She thought she saw something moving, a large shape. She pulled on her boots, her hat, her long down coat. She pushed open the door, aimed the torch.
    It was Jacintha, sheltering under a tree in the garden, shaking snow from her mane. How the heck had she got out of her stable, wondered Merry. Hadn’t she secured the bolt properly? Or had the wind worked it free? Was that what she had heard? The banging of the stable door?
    Concern for her pony trumped her earlier fears. She shut the house door behind her and hurried over to her pony.
    â€˜Hey, Jac. You little escape artist. Let’s get you back inside again.’
    She took hold of her pony’s halter and, leaning in against the pummelling wind, she led her from the garden, across the concrete forecourt and towards the stables. A great bang sounded and Merry saw the stable door thud shut. She walked Jacintha up to it, pulled it open, sheltered her pony inside.
    Her fingers stuck to the icy metal as she pushed home the bolt. She made sure it was all the way in. She’d been so cold when she stabled Jacintha hours earlier, maybe she just hadn’t secured the bolt properly?
    She shivered again, cold despite her layers, but chilled tooby leftover fear. She turned and hurried back towards the farmhouse. But she was moving too fast and suddenly her feet shot from under her as she skidded on the ice-covered concrete. She fell awkwardly, putting out her hands to brace her fall, let go of the torch which clattered to the ground. And went out.
    Darkness closed around her. Merry felt a pulse of fear. She pushed herself up, blinked, wiped the snow from her face. She should have waited until her eye adjusted to the night, but she was scared and cold and desperate to get back inside, so she hurried on, hardly seeing where she was going. And then she hit something, or something hit her, slicing through the air, and she was falling again, too hard, too fast. With a thud, she fell backwards against the ground. Her head hit first. The blow knocked her unconscious. The snow spiralled down, covering her.

    Merry awoke with a blaze of pain. Cold pain burning her. She let out a low moan, pushed herself to sitting. Had to get inside, in the warm. She got up, walked very slowly, on shaking legs. The snow still fell and the wind still howled. She walked, hands before her, checking for obstacles. The house was fifty yards away, but this was a route she should have known blindfolded. She blundered through the snow, and then there was the dark bulk of her house, looming through the blizzard.
    Almost sobbing with relief, she yanked open the back door, got inside, pushed the door shut.
    This time she locked it.
    Still wearing her boots and her sodden clothes, turning on lights as she went, she hurried to the front door, locked that too. She climbed the stairs, went into the bathroom, ran the bath, hot tap only.
    Shivering violently while it filled, she ran through her home, turning on every light. How could she have been so stupid, she chided herself. No one was there. No one in their right mind would be out on a night like this. Nor could they be. All the roads were impassable. Nothing had been disturbed. Money lay in plain