Free Spring's Fury by Denise Domning Page B

out through the open gate, wondering if he should kill or thank the soldier who led Nicola from the walls. Whether an accomplice or an innocent, if not for that man Gilliam would never have noticed the boy or the tunic. He smiled suddenly, impressed by the sheer audacity of Lady Ashby's attempt. No other woman would have had the daring to try it.
    "Is that all you need, boy?" Rannulf asked him.
    Still grinning, Gilliam patted his elder and shorter brother on the cheek. "My thanks, old man.  It is. Go home to your mild sweet wife, Rannulf, and leave me to mine. I can see I have a far way to go if I'm ever to win from her what I need."
    His brother mounted and reined in his big horse as it danced beneath him, anxious to be away. "By the by, I have six marks that say she'll do worse than a pin¬prick in her first week."
    "What! You bet against me?! I have twelve that say you’re wrong," Gilliam retorted with a laugh.
    "Done," his brother called back as he set spurs to his steed and galloped out the gate.
    "Will she really kill you, my lord?" Jos's question had more of awe than fear in it.
    "I hope not," Gilliam replied, still smiling "Come, we must change into our riding attire. In less than an hour's time, I will have me a bride, and we'll be bound for home."

Nicola's neck ached from keeping her head bowed and her feet were fair torn to bits by her shoes. Blisters were already forming on her heels and toes. The right boot had a tiny tag of leather along its upper that gouged deeper into her flesh with every step. She glanced up the road. Pain made her slow. Alan and Tilda were now far ahead of her, Tilda perched happily atop the nag.
    Jealous hurt seethed in her stomach. After four months of separation from anyone the slightest bit friendly toward her, Nicola desperately needed Tilda's company. Trapped within her was a whole river of thoughts and images, all of which clamored for spilling but only to someone who understood her.
    So, too, did Nicola need to hear her friend's tale. She longed to know what it was that brought on Tilda's brief sadness. Instead, Nicola's every attempt at communication had been rebuffed. From the moment they had left the gate, Tilda had kept her attention focused on Alan, as if she truly desired the soldier.
    Nicola glowered impatiently at her friend's back as the couple rounded a bend in the road. Although the trees were barren, they grew so densely that the twosome completely disappeared from her view. She released a huff of bitter anger. Friends shouldn't let a man come between them.
    As Nicola neared the curve she caught the echo of thundering hooves. A frantic leap sent her sliding across the muddy road and into a thicket. Thorny branches offered little in the way of a shield, but she crouched, rabbit-still, behind the brambles and prayed to remain unnoticed.
    Lord Graistan and a few men galloped past, looking neither to the left nor right. A moment later and nothing remained of them save the deep tracks of horseshoes in the muck. Nicola came to her feet and grinned. If they were not scouring the roadside for some sign of her, they must yet believe she was within the town walls.
    All thought of Tilda's foolish game with Alan was forgotten in the face of this triumph. Nicola hobbled back onto the roadbed, where she turned an exhilarated pirouette. At long last John of Ashby's daughter was free!
    The need to share her victory with someone was so strong Nicola forgot her aching feet. She forced herself into a trot, her hood flying off her head as she ran. By the time she rounded the bend, she was panting against the pain.
    Before her the road moved away in a long, straight line, as devoid of life as the skeleton bushes that lined it. She stopped in surprise. Where were Alan and Tilda? Nicola held her place, waiting to see if the couple had also sought refuge while the nobleman passed. No one appeared from the thickets.
    Concern nagged at her. With her hand on her dagger's hilt, she started slowly