Free My Lady Imposter by Sara Bennett - My Lady Imposter Page B

still air. Kathryn was damp with perspiration beneath her thick clothing, and rode with a bowed head, hardly aware of her surroundings.
    It was a shock when the cry went up, and her head jerked upwards as her heart went chill with dread. A dozen or more men, just ahead of the main party, came swarming down from the trees and the hillside, and fell upon the unwary travelers.
    Kathryn pulled back on her mare’s reins so suddenly it half reared, dancing sideways across the narrow road. The outlaws dragged some men from their saddles, others hacked with blades and axes. The air rang thickly with the clamor, the cries and groans and clangs, and the sudden high-pitched scream of a wounded horse. From away to her left, Kathryn heard Wenna’s voice calling out to Lord Ralf, and then a face appeared at her saddle bow.
    A beard peppered with filth, a grimy face ragged about the edges with matted hair. The glint of steel caught her eye, and she felt him clutch hold of her skirts. Her instinct for survival sliced through the chains of fear. She slashed down with her whip, and a weal of red stood out on one dirty cheek.
    The outlaw reeled back, but only momentarily. His eyes went flat and dead, and he came for her again. She brought the riding crop down but he snatched it from her, and lifted his knife. She screamed, and threw her hands up over her face. She was still screaming when a strong arm closed about her waist and lifted her clear of the saddle. She felt another horse beneath her, and a strong, warm body against her own, and thinking it another brigand she began to struggle in earnest.
    A voice said sharply in her ear, “Be still, Kathryn!”
    She lifted her eyes to Richard’s grim face, dusty and grimy with sweat. There was a gash on his cheek, bleeding sluggishly. “The brigand—” she began.
    “Is dead.”
    He wheeled his mount around, and she clung fast to his shoulders, pressing against his tunic as the muscles beneath corded with the strain of controlling the terrified animal. Peeping up, she could see the rest of the party closing into a tight-knit group, fighting men to the outside, women and the baggage animals to the centre. Wenna was there, with Ralf himself busy slashing at two brigands with one sword. Many more lay bloody upon the ground. One of his own men also lay still, a horse standing, head downbent, beside him.
    “We should have been prepared,” Richard murmured above her head, and his arm tightened about her, making her catch her breath in a rush. He sounded angry. She glanced uncertainly up at his face, and found his mouth and eyes hard, the bloody cheek standing out like a brand against his pallor.
    “This is de Brusac land,” he added, looking down at her. “We thought here, at least, to be safe.”
    Lord Ralf had dispatched one more of the brigands and the other ran off towards the forest, Ralf behind him. There seemed to be a great deal of blood. An arm lay neatly severed some feet away from them, and Kathryn felt her head begin to spin.
    “Wenna is beckoning us,” his voice said, and she took a breath.
    “My horse...”
    “Is unharmed, and waiting.” There was a flicker of mockery about his taut mouth. “Did you hope it had fled?”
    She closed her own mouth with a snap. Wenna was looking a little pale, but her voice was steady enough when they reached her. “You are hurt, Richard.”
    He wiped the blood from his cheek with a smile. “No more than a scratch, Wenna.”
    Wenna frowned, but whether at the wound or his use of her name so freely, Kathryn didn’t know. She didn’t have time to ponder it, however. Her mare had been brought across, and Richard lifted her back into the saddle. She murmured her thank you with ill-grace, and settled herself once more to make the best of an uncomfortable ride.
    He nodded briefly, and turned back to Wenna. They spoke a moment in soft voices, and then Lord Ralf came galloping up, flushed and breathing swiftly. His boots were splattered with