“Just give me a second.”
He could feel Royce shifting around behind him. “Got it.” There was another brief pause and Hadrian’s fingers were starting to hurt. “Okay, we’ll slide it to your left, ready? Feet up.”
The grate was lighter than Hadrian had expected, and it easily slid clear. They hauled themselves out, rolling on the damp grass of the manor’s lawn, and lay for a second catching their breath. They were alone in a darkened corner of the manor’s courtyard.
“Weapons?” Hadrian asked.
“I’ll check the house. You see about getting horses.”
“Don’t kill anyone,” Hadrian mentioned.
“I’ll try not to, but if I see Luret—”
“Oh yeah, kill him.”
Hadrian worked his way carefully toward the courtyard stable. The horses started at his approach, snorting and bumping loudly into the stall dividers. He grabbed the first saddle and bridle he found and discovered they were familiar. Arista’s bay mare, his horse, and Mouse were corralled with the rest.
“Easy, girl,” Hadrian whispered softly as he threw the blankets on two of them. He buckled the last bridle around Mouse’s neck when Royce came in carrying a bundle of swords.
“Your weapons, sir knight.”
“Luret?” Hadrian asked, strapping his swords on.
Royce made a disappointed sound. “Didn’t see him. Didn’t see hardly anyone. These country folk go to bed early.”
“We’re a simple lot.”
“Mouse?” Royce muttered. “I just can’t seem to get rid of this horse, can I?”
Arista discovered riding on the back of a horse was significantly less comfortable than riding in a saddle. Etcher added to her misery by keeping the horse at a trot. The hammering to Arista’s body caused her head to ache. She asked for him to slow down but was ignored. Before long, the animal slowed to a walk on its own. It frothed and Arista could feel its sweat soaking her gown. Etcher kicked the beast until it started again. When the horse once more returned to a walk, Etcher resorted to whipping it with the ends of the reins. He missed and struck Arista hard across the thigh. She yelped, but that was also ignored. Eventually Etcher gave up and let the horse rest. She asked where they were going and why they needed to rush. Still, he said nothing—he never even turned his head. After a mile or two, he drove the animal into a trot once more. He acted as if she was not there.
With each jarring clap on the horse’s back, Arista became increasingly aware of her vulnerability. She was alone with a strange man somewhere in the backwoods of Rhenydd, where any authority of law would seize her rather than him, regardless of what he did. All she knew about him—the only thing she could be certain of—was that he was morally dubious. While it was one thing to trust herself to Royce and Hadrian, it was quite another to leap onto the back of a horse with a stranger who took her off into the wilds. If she had thought about it, if there had been time to think, she might have declined to go, but now it was too late. She rode trusting the mercy of a dangerous man in a hostile land.
His silence did nothing to alleviate her fear. When it came to silence, Etcher put Royce to shame. He said nothing at all. The profession of thievery was not likely to attract gregarious types, but Etcher seemed an extreme case. He even refused to look at her. This was perhaps better than some alternatives. A man such as Etcher was likely acquainted only with sunbaked, easy women in dirty dresses. How appealing must it be to have a young noblewoman clutching to him alone in the wilderness—and a royal princess, at that.
If he attacks me, what can I do?
A good high-pitched scream would draw a dozen armed guards in Essendon Castle, but since leaving Hintindar, she had not seen a house or a light. Even if someone heard her, she would probably spend her life in an imperial prison once her identity was discovered. He could do anything he wanted with her. When he was done, he could either kill her or hand her over to imperial authorities, who would no doubt pay richly. No one would care if he delivered her bruised and bloodied. She regretted her fast escape without taking the time to think. She had nothing to defend herself with. Her small side pouch held only her father’s hairbrush and a bit of coin. Her dagger was somewhere in the bundle of her bedding.
How long will it take me to find it in the dark?