Startled, she froze, watching the figure in the darkness for a few moments only to realize that whoever it must have been sound asleep. The figure hadn’t moved in spite of the noise she’d made. Terrified that it was someone Gaetan had paid to keep her confined, she knew she had to run before they captured her and tied her onto the bed. She had to run from that dark smelly place and never look back.
Carefully, she rose to her feet but it wasn’t easy; the pain in her right thigh was beyond measure. It didn’t work particularly well, either, so it was very difficult not to make noise as she hobbled towards the door. Once, the body sprawled on the table shifted and made a noise, like snoring, and she froze, waiting to see if he awoke. Fortunately, the figure didn’t move again, so she continued straight out the door and into the dark night beyond.
Camulos was right behind her, pushing past her as she headed out into the dark street. She didn’t even know where she was; her mind was still cloudy, but she didn’t realize it. To her, she was thinking perfectly clearly but the truth was that she wasn’t thinking straight at all.
She was… somewhere. Some town, somewhere, and she had to find Gaetan and his ungrateful knights. Was she in Worcester? She could see an abbey to her right, looming big and dark against the night sky, but she didn’t recognize it. She was almost in a dreamlike state where things were familiar but not exactly as she remembered. Nothing made any sense at the moment.
There was a road beside the church, however, heading out of the town and across a river. Perhaps it was Worcester, after all. Worcester had a bridge across the Severn, a well-traveled bridge. If she took the road out of town, then she would be able to find safety in the trees or in a field before looking to the night sky to find her bearings. She didn’t want to stop in the town, fearful that there were more people Gaetan had paid to keep her there. She couldn’t trust anyone, not even the priests.
There were some clouds, however, and the sky had shifted because of the lateness of the hour, which caused Ghislaine some concern. If she couldn’t use the night to guide her way, then surely she would find her bearings when the sun came up. She would recognize the landscape or perhaps even ask someone if she didn’t.
Dragging her bad leg and being followed by the big dog, she made her way out of town as quickly as she could, clinging to the buildings, staying in the shadows, fearful she’d be caught. Camulos remained right by her side but she couldn’t pay any attention to the dog. She was too concerned with making a break for freedom and ignoring the pain from her throbbing leg. It was slow going, made worse by the fact that she had to duck into the shadows on more than one occasion because there was someone in the street. She didn’t even have her dagger with her, stripped by de Wolfe, no doubt.
She was defenseless.
With the nightbirds singing to their mates as the only sound in the dark, she made her way around the side of the cathedral where she could hear the gentle trickle of the river. She could also smell the dampness. There was a rock wall and she clung to it, making her way up a path that ran between the wall and the river, trying to walk with that painful leg and having no idea where she was really going, only that she was going to find Gaetan.
But pain and exhaustion soon overwhelmed her. Ghislaine came to the point where she really didn’t have any thoughts in her head other than the searing pain in her leg. Just one more step, she told herself. Just one more step…. She began to live for that one more step, limping severely because it hurt so badly to walk. But she would push through it. She had to make it to freedom!
Somewhere up ahead, she could see a bridge, lit by torches against the blackness of the night. There were men up there, too, even though it was very late and they were more than likely protecting the crossing. Perhaps they were even there to keep her from crossing, men that Gaetan had paid to keep her inside this dark stench-filled city.
If Gaetan has paid those men to keep me here, then I must take their attention away from the bridge!
Ghislaine could only think of sneaking past those men. She could see two, at least, as she drew closer. The river was surrounded by foliage and grass and, before she sank down into it to hide, she picked up several small rocks from the path she was walking on. As she faded into the foliage to watch the bridge at close range, Camulos wandered after her.
The bridge itself was wooden and not very well made. It looked as if it had been the victim of too many repairs. As the men at the mouth of the bridge huddled around a fire and drank from a wooden pitcher, Ghislaine began to throw rocks under the bridge, sometimes hitting the wood, sometimes hitting the water. She wanted those men to go down and see what it was so that she could slip across the bridge. Her leg may have been weak, but her arms were strong. She was able to throw the rocks far enough to adequately hit the wood of the bridge.
As she hoped, the men on guard were startled by the sounds of the rocks and immediately went to investigate. Ghislaine hurried out of her hiding place and onto the rickety bridge, hearing the men down below by the river as they spoke to one another, unable to find the source of the sounds that had drawn them away from their posts.
But to Ghislaine, it was the sound of hope – hope that she would escape that terrible town where Gaetan had left her. Even with her bad leg, she was able to shuffle across the bridge quickly enough so that by the time the guards returned to their warm fire, she was already on the other side, in the trees where they couldn’t see her.
Now, she had a fighting chance to find Gaetan.
In the dark, in the dead of night, she simply began to wander.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
?
The Hunted
“You know he’s in love with her.”
It was a statement, not a question, coming from Luc de Lara. He was standing with Wellesbourne, de Reyne, de Moray, and St. Hèver in front of the tavern where the knights had spent several hours eating, drinking, and having a rare and relaxed conversation. They were currently waiting for the rest of the men – de Wolfe, de Russe, du Reims, de Winter, and Jathan to finish relieving themselves back behind the tavern in a communal toilet. They’d all had a few visits to it during the course of the night but now that they were leaving, there were those who needed to make one final visit.
Those who didn’t were standing in the dark street and it was de Lara’s quiet statement that hung in the air between them now. The mood had gone from warm and satisfied to uncomfortable all in a split second.
“Who?” Wellesbourne said. “De Russe? That much is obvious. I have not seen him pay so much attention to a woman since Abbeville, at least two years ago. Do you remember? The potter’s daughter.”
De Reyne snorted. “His father would never permit it,” he said. “The Count of Roeselare would never stand for his son to marry such a low-born woman.”