Eochaidh - Legend of the Horsemen (Book One) (8 page)

Meaghan glanced over her shoulder and her heart sank.
 
Jepson could barely keep his seat in his
saddle, the injuries from his beating taking their toll.
 
She’d been surreptitiously watching him for
the past few minutes as they traveled down the uneven path and saw the pain he
was trying to hide.
 
There was no way he
would be able to gallop away from the mob she could hear was on their
trail.
 
And if they caught him, he would
be no match for their clubs and fists in his deteriorated state. They were
close enough to the hills that bordered the estate that he would be able to
make it on his own, as long as they weren’t caught.
 
She knew they only had one chance for
survival.

Taking a deep breath, she twisted fully in her saddle and
turned to Jepson. “Jepson,” she called, even more resolved in her plan when it
took him a few moments to respond to her.

“Yes, Miss Meaghan,” he replied slowly, trying to hide his
pain. “What would you like?”

“Tell my father I will be fine. Just like this morning,” she
said, and then she turned her horse off the path, kicked its sides and galloped
out of the preserve and toward the open valley.

“Meaghan, no,” Jepson cried. He tried to follow, but the
pain from his broken ribs sent a searing pain through his body. Gasping for
air, he clutched the pommel of his saddle to keep upright.
 
Sopping wet with sweat and quaking from the
pain, he took a shuddering breath, pulled his horse to a walk and turned back
to the path.
 
If nothing else, he could
go for help.

Glancing back only once, Meaghan saw Jepson’s attempt to
follow her and knew she’d been right.
 
He
would be angry with her decision, and she really hoped they both lived long
enough for him to express his feelings. But now her main concern was drawing
the mob away from the preserve and away from Jepson.

Bending low in the saddle, Meaghan patted her horse’s flank.
“Good girl,” she crooned. “Soon you’ll be back in your stall with an extra
scoop of oats.
 
Just a little bit
longer.”

As she neared the edge of the preserve, she slapped the
stirrups against the sides of her horse and exploded from the brush bordering
the woods.
 
Glimpsing to the side, she
realized she was only a quarter mile in front of the group of horsemen, and a
group of them had begun to enter the edge of the woods looking for them.

A cry went out from the group, and those entering the woods
turned around as the entire horde refocused on Meaghan.
 
Urging their horses, the men thundered toward
her, their weapons raised and brutality in their faces.
 
Meaghan’s heart thumped in her chest as she
realized the true danger of the situation. These were no longer simple men from
the village, men who had known her since she was a baby, men who had always
been kind and protective of her.
 
These
were men who wanted to kill her, and she could see no hesitation at all in
their actions.
 
These were men who were
no longer under their own influence.
 
Something or someone else had a hold on them.

Sensing her fear, her horse increased its speed, its hooves
striking hard and fast.
 
Meaghan weighed
her options.
 
If she headed toward the
estate, they would have to run uphill, giving the men a chance to catch
her.
 
If she headed across the valley,
the ride would be level, and she could hide in the Old Woods.
 
She would also be drawing them away from
Jepson and her family.

Thinking about her family, she was surprised to find tears
in her eyes. Dashing them away, she took a deep breath.
 
This was not the time to let her emotions
overcome her; she had to concentrate on her escape. Her mind made up, she
guided her horse forward toward the dense forest, hoping the men still had
enough of their own sensibilities to remember their superstitions and hesitate
in their approach.

She concentrated on the sound of her horse’s hooves hitting
the ground, a rhythmic beat that drowned out the calls and threats from the men
behind her.
 
She tried to consider her
next moves.
 
The path in the Old Woods
was wide enough for a number of horses to ride abreast, and her horse was
beginning to tire.
 
If she were followed
into the woods, they would be able to catch her before she reached the
river.
 

Looking over her shoulder, she saw that with each passing
moment they were gaining on her.
 
Once
she passed the border of the woods, she would only have a few moments before
they were upon her. The woods loomed gloomy and ominous ahead of her, but she
knew no fear.
 
These woods were her
sanctuary.

She bent down and urged her horse. “Please, girl, just a
little more,” she called, and her valiant horse responded, increasing her
speed.
 

They crashed through the underbrush before the main path,
concealed momentarily by the dense vegetation, and turned sharply toward the
small deer path Meaghan had used that morning.
 
With only a few moments to spare, she slipped from the saddle and threw
the hem of her long riding habit over her shoulder.
 
Hurrying behind her horse she urged, “Home,
girl, go home,” as she slapped the horse’s rump.

The horse hesitated a moment, looking over its shoulder at
her rider.
 
“It’s okay,” Meaghan
repeated. “Go home.”

Once more Meaghan slapped the horse, and this time the horse
dashed forward, hurtling through the vegetation and speeding down the main path
toward the estate.
 
“There she is!” she
heard one of the men yell, and her heart dropped as she pushed herself against
a tree, praying for invisibility.

She nearly screamed when a hand came out from behind her and
grabbed her shoulder, but another hand clapped itself securely over her mouth.
“
Shhh
,” a male voice urged from behind her. “I’m here
to help you. Do you understand?”

She nodded slowly, her heart in her throat. What choice did
she have? If she screamed, the mob would be upon her in moments.

He lifted his hand from her mouth and pulled on her
shoulder. “This way,” he whispered, pulling her through a small break in the
trees.
 

She followed him and noticed a narrow path that led
gradually downhill through a thick cover of undergrowth. She could still hear
the pounding of hooves from the men pursuing her, so she didn’t say a word, not
wanting to give away her location. But she was beyond curious to know where
they were going and who her guide was.

The sun was filtered through the treetops and the brush, so
she wasn’t able to get a good look at him.
 
She guessed him to be a young man, perhaps Monty’s age.
 
His dark hair flowed to his shoulders, which
was unusual, but not unheard of in the countryside of Ireland. He had a sure,
athletic step and seemed to know his way through the woods.
 
He moved quietly, not like most people who
crashed and thumped their way through the silent woods.

The path angled, and suddenly things began to look more
familiar.
 
“I know this place,” she
whispered. “This is the way to the fairies.”

The young man turned and smiled. “Aye, you’ve a remarkable
memory and clear wits about you,” he said. “Although you took the difficult way
down, this is the place where you were this morning.”

She was speechless for a moment and hoped her jaw hadn’t
dropped in surprise. This was no ordinary country bumpkin from one of the
farms.
 
He was muscled like the
blacksmith, but not as bulky, more like one of her father’s thoroughbreds with
lean, long lines.
 
He held himself with a
stature that spoke of authority and leadership; Meaghan knew he was no one’s
servant.
 
His face, although young, was
also strong and well formed, no weak chin or narrowed eyes.
 
His eyes, an amazing shade of blue, held her
own without guile or mockery.
 
At once
she felt she could trust him, but then her mind replayed the words he’d just uttered
. This is the place where you were this
morning.

Withdrawing her sword in a flash, she held it up to his
neck. “And how do you know I was here this morning?” she asked.

His eyes steeled, and he faced her without flinching. “And
this is the thanks I get for pulling you from the hands of danger?” he asked,
settling back against a tree and folding his arms over his chest.

“How do I know you are pulling me from danger and not just
leading me into a trap?”

“Most females I have been acquainted with are not so
skeptical,” he replied.

“I daresay most females you are acquainted with are not
being chased by a horde of men and horses,” she replied evenly, not wavering
from her stance.

He inclined his head slowly. “Yes, you do have a point,” he
said. “And it seems you have a right to not trust me. But, please, believe me
when I say I only want to help you.”

Wanting to trust him but afraid of letting her guard down,
she took a deep breath and asked him once again, “How did you know I walked
this way?”

He met her eyes and sorrowfully shook his head. “I am afraid
I was watching you,” he said apologetically. “Most ungallant, I know, but I was
charmed by your interaction with the green fairies, and I was loathe to
interrupt.”

Wavering slightly, her arms burning from the weight of the
sword, she lowered the blade but did not sheath it. “Who are you?” she asked.
“Where are you from?”

“My name is Tristan,” he replied with a slight bow in her
direction. “And I am a…a traveler. I have made these woods my home for a short
time until I am able to return home.”

“But where—” she began, but he lifted his hand sharply to
silence her.

Then she heard it too, the sound of the men on foot tearing
through the forests looking for her. Fear welled up inside her. With no horse
and wearing the cumbersome habit, she would not be able to outrun them. She
looked around wildly, trying to still the hysteria rising up inside her as she
decided where to go.

“My lady,” Tristan said softly, moving closer. “Go down to
the glen where you saw the fairies.
 
You
will be safe there. I will lead them away.”

Shaking her head, she met his eyes. “I can’t let you risk
yourself,” she replied. “These men are dangerous—”

He smiled and placed his finger on her lips, stopping her
protests. “I promise you,” he said. “I will be fine. You hide yourself until
the moon is full, and then return home. I assure you men as these will not want
to be in the forest at night.”

“But…” she said.

“Go now,” he ordered and then slipped away through the
trees.

Sheathing her sword, she flung the hem of her train over her
shoulder and ran down the path to the small glen she had discovered that
morning.
 
She could hear the sound of
hooves and the sounds of the men calling each other back to their horses.
He must have had a horse hidden in the
forest
, she thought, sending up a prayer for the brave man.
Please keep him safe. Please let him escape.

Slipping through the thick brush, she found the place she
had slid down that morning.
 
Carefully
stepping onto the exposed roots, she once again climbed down into the ravine. A
few more steps brought her next to the clearing. Slipping through the
underbrush, she felt a sudden change in the air around her.
 
She parted the leaves and stepped into the
clearing. There was a feeling not unlike the feel of the air in a lightning
storm.
 
Power,
she decided.
There is
power here.

Moving into the space, she realized she could no longer hear
the sounds of the men in the forest.
 
All
she could hear was the soft gurgle of a stream and the whisper of the wind through
the trees.
 
The ground was soft beneath
her feet, like a carpet, and the sun shone down through the golden leaves and
warmed her.
 
The air smelled of flowers
and pine, sweet and pungent.
 

Her hem slipped from her shoulder and trailed behind her as
she slowly made her way across the grassy field to the sound of water on the
far side of the clearing.
 
Pushing
through the hanging vegetation, she stared in wonder at the scene in front of
her. Huge lily pads with brightly-colored blooms floated on the surface of the
crystalline pond. A slow-moving stream entered the pond in a cascading
waterfall.
 
The willow trees encircling
the pond reached down onto the bank and the sparkling waters, their leaves
floating lightly on the surface and creating a natural curtain that offered a
feeling of safety and security.

Walking to the edge, she sat down behind a large log and
rested against it. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm her
heart.
 
The peace of her surroundings
enveloped her, comforting her and allowing her to finally relax.
 
A few moments later, she finally succumbed to
exhaustion and lay down on the ground, falling fast asleep.

Nearly to the edge of the preserve, Lord John started when
he suddenly heard the sound of a horse crashing through the woods coming toward
him.
 
Had he been spotted?
 
Was this one of Murphy’s men to confront him?

He pulled Galahad up and prepared for battle, hesitating to
use the blunderbuss because the noise would draw the attention of the other
riders, instead he whipped his sword from its sheath.
 
Listening to the approaching horse, he
realized the rider was not coming toward him but directly out into the
valley.
 
Perhaps he was a signalman,
alerting the others to the whereabouts of Meaghan and Jepson.
 
In that case, he had no time to lose. Urging
Galahad forward through the dense vegetation, he avoided the lone rider and
headed back into the forest.

Not worried about making any noise, considering how loud the
other rider had been, Lord John gave Galahad his head and let him charge
through the woods.
 
He scanned the trees,
trying to pick out any telltale signs of Meaghan or Jepson.
 
The sun was setting and was positioned low in
the sky, reflecting off leaves, stones and the narrow creek that ran through
the preserve.
 
Between darting birds and
scurrying forest creatures, his attention seemed to be drawn in all
directions.
 
He pulled Galahad to a stop
and listened, trying to separate the various sounds from each other.
 
There were the high-pitched chirps of frogs
from the creek bed, the lower-pitched hum of cicadas in the trees, the harsh
cry of a pheasant in the brush and finally, he heard the soft clopping of
horse’s hooves on soft ground.

Turning in that direction and peering through the trees, he
saw a flash of color like Jepson’s jacket.
 
Anxious, he turned Galahad in that direction and began to urge him
forward when he saw the rope out of the corner of his eye.
 
Yanking back on the reins, he caused Galahad
to whinny in protest and stumble backward on the path.
 
Patting Galahad’s neck to calm the stallion,
he leaned forward. “Sorry about that, boy. But I think we might have a problem
here.”
 
Slipping from his saddle, he
knelt down and carefully removed the brush that had been carefully laid over
the rope strung tightly between two trees.
 
It was positioned at a height were it would normally go unnoticed,
especially hidden by greenery.
 
It was
definitely a trap, created to send a horse faltering to its knees and,
depending on the horse’s speed when it tripped, send the animal to its
death.
 

Looking around, he studied the woods, his mind a tangle of
thoughts.
 
Who would devise such a ploy?
 
And
why would they target horses in the woods?
 
Most of the village used the
main path in the valley for transportation.
 
Then a stray notion entered his mind.
 
Eochaidh!
Surely someone wouldn’t be setting traps to try and harm them. There had to be
another explanation.

Standing, Lord John surveyed the area.
 
There were not too many areas that could be
considered trap free. The trees were too close and the vegetation too
lush.
 
He would have to travel slowly and
carefully as he followed Jepson and Meaghan.
 
However, the bright side was the army of riders trailing him would have
equal difficulty following this path.

Grabbing a long narrow branch from the ground, Lord John
remounted Galahad and, holding the stick in front of them, urged Galahad
forward at a slow uniform pace.
 
Eyes
focused on the ground, Lord John would occasionally glance up to be sure he was
keeping Jepson’s jacket in view and was surprised that even though he was
traveling slowly, he was gaining on them.
 
Were they injured?
He
wondered.
Had something happened to
Meaghan?

Tamping down his desire to charge forward, he ground his
teeth and continued carefully forward, ducking under the low-hanging branches
and scanning the ground for unusual piles of vegetation while he poked at brush
with the stick.
 
Finally, he came to a
clearing, and, dropping the stick, he gave Galahad his head and ran to the departing
figure of Jepson a quarter mile away.

“Jepson,” he called out. “Jepson wait!”

The rider in front of him stopped and slowly turned his
horse around, facing Lord John.
 
Coming
up quickly, Lord John gasped as he beheld the brutal marks on Jepson’s face.
“What the hell happened?” he demanded.

Shaking his head, Jepson stopped him. “Meaghan. Did you see
her?” he asked. “Did you send her home to safety?”

His heart dropping, Lord John inhaled sharply. “Meaghan?
She’s not here with you?” he asked.

“No,” he replied, crestfallen. “She rode off, toward the
valley, to distract them.
 
The riders
were getting close and I… I was going to ride out.
 
I was going to lead them away from her. I should
have…”

His voice broke, but he took a deep breath and met Lord
John’s eyes. “I have failed you, my lord,” he replied. “I did not keep her
safe.”

“You did not fail me, Jepson,” he replied tenderly, placing
his hand on the man’s shoulder. “But, Meaghan. She was unhurt?”

Jepson nodded, and a slight smile spread across his face. “She
laid out the magistrate in two moves,” he said. “You would have been
impressed.”

Allowing a little sense of relief, he nodded. “Why has this
happened?” he asked. “Why this attack?”

“The magistrate told us he had taken an oath to protect the
enchantment,” Jepson said. “He is part of a group that have vowed to stop you.”

“And Meaghan? What did she say to that?”

“She laughed in his face and told him he was chasing fairy
tales.”

“He probably didn’t appreciate that,” Lord John replied.
“Hence the hordes.”

Jepson shook his head. “No, I believe the riders are to
prevent her, us, from getting to you and sounding the alarm,” he said. “The
magistrate only allowed this information because he believed that we both would
be unable to carry tales.”

“He would kill my daughter?”

“He pulled his knife out and had begun his attack,” Jepson
said. “That’s when she pulled her sword from the folds of her habit and
disarmed him. She is a resourceful young woman.”

Sighing, Lord John nodded and pulled Galahad next to
Jepson’s steed. “Come, we can talk as we move forward,” he said. “How bad are
your injuries?”

“The cuts and bruises are not too bad,” Jepson said. “But I
have a least three cracked ribs that are causing me discomfort as I ride. The
magistrate has a large foot.”

Lord John nodded silently, clenching his fists in
anger.
 
“Did she tell you…” he began.
“
Did she give you a clue…
”

“She said to tell you she would be fine, just like this
morning.”

“The Old Woods,” he said, nodding his approval. “If they
have the courage to follow her in there, at least she will have the advantage
of knowing the territory.”

He turned to Jepson. “I am going to ride ahead and send Fitz
back to help you. But I need to find Meggie.”

Jepson nodded. “Go, my lord. And God Speed.”