His Fair Lady (13 page)

She could do naught till the knight stepped
out of sight. Surely he would do that, she thought. Surely, before
the group resumed their travels, the knight would seek to refresh
himself in the woods. He hadn’t done so thus far, she’d been
careful to note. But once he was out of sight, Ana knew she must
mount the horse at once and ride fast along the road — fast out of
whistling range.

Ana rose, her heart quickening as she
gathered her boots and walked toward the stallion with the most
casual gait she could affect. Freedom waited just minutes away.
Soon now she would be on her way, back to her family and Gervase.
The realization fortified her, causing her blood to thrum through
her veins.

As Ana approached the stallion, she was
careful to stay in his line of sight and not surprise him with a
sudden gesture. He appeared larger with each step she took toward
him. Indeed, as the knight oft said, Hannibal was a monstrous-sized
creature.

Ana swallowed down her fear, noting, for all
his size, how he picked through grass and leaves selectively,
almost daintily. He wasn’t the devil he appeared to be. Besides,
Sir Royce had remarked himself, Hannibal favored her. There was
nothing to fear, Ana told herself.

“Hello, boy. Hello, Hannibal,” she called
softly.

The stallion lifted his head and regarded
her with his huge eyes. Seemingly satisfied that he knew her, he
gave a swish of his tail and went back to his grazing.

Ana saw how his reins were looped on the
branches of the nearest bush and decided they’d present no problem
when the time came to release them. She noted, too, the height of
the stirrups. She’d need to lift her foot rather high to reach it.
That would be her first challenge. Her boots would help somewhat as
they would provide a solid sole to protect the bottom of her feet
against the stirrup’s iron bar, especially as she mounted.

She set the boots down, then drew out an
apple from the folds of her gown, one she’d been saving since
earlier when she’d slipped it from the knight’s saddle pouch.
Cupping her hand about the fruit, Ana held it out to the stallion,
her arm wobbly.

“Here you are, boy. You’ll enjoy this better
than what you’re finding on the ground. We’re going to be great
friends, aren’t we?”

Suddenly, Ana sensed a presence looming
behind her.

“Best hold your hand out flat.” Sir Royce’s
voice sounded in her ear. “Hannibal might mistake it for a
delectable treat and try to sample it.”

He reached around her and straightened her
fingers with his own, his arm alongside hers, only longer and half
enveloping her.

As Hannibal took the apple in his teeth, Ana
snatched her hand away and in doing so, fell back a pace.
Instantly, she came up against the wall of Sir Royce’s hard frame.
Discomposed by the knight’s abrupt appearance and his disturbing
nearness, Ana stepped clumsily to one side, putting space between
them.

“I didn’t know. I haven’t been around horses
much. I’ve seen them pass in the streets, of course, but my family
has never owned or cared for one.” She knitted her brows. “Would
Hannibal really eat my hand?”

“Not apurpose, fair maiden.”

He smiled then, a flash of white teeth
through his beard. If her pulse hadn’t already been leaping madly
before he’d appeared, she would owe it to the knight’s closeness.
It disconcerted her as much as his smile.

Sir Royce stepped toward the stallion and
patted his shoulder, then glanced back at her.

“We shall feast tonight at St. Giles. Our
companions believe our monkish hosts will not object to roast boar.
They do not eat meat themselves, but there are many travelers
needing to be fed as well as the sick in their hospital.”

“I thought ‘twas agreed to send the boar
with the sisters to their convent along with their chickens.”

“Thoughts of a rare and succulent feast got
the better of the men, though their argument was that the swine’s
flesh would not keep long enough to reach the nun’s convent.” He
smiled again.

“I see.” She rotated her ankle, working the
soreness from her feet, then sat down to draw on the low-topped
boots. She grit her teeth as she slipped her foot into the first.
Ana felt the knight’s eyes upon her and inexplicably went warm.

“Those appear to fit well enough.” He
commented, breaking the silence that had fallen awkwardly between
them.

“Well enough,” she mumbled, her nerves a
tangle. The knight wished to make small talk. She wished for him to
leave and do what he would do in the woods, so she could take his
horse and be on her way.

Ana said nothing more, busying herself with
the second boot, hoping he’d take the hint that she did not want
his company. Instead, Sir Royce squatted down beside her and pushed
back his coif, revealing his sun-kissed hair. He hesitated a
moment, his eyes clouding with some thought.

“Lady Juli . . Ana, there is something I
must—.”

Relievedly, Piperel took that moment to
appear with Guy of Lisors, bearing a score of questions. Sir Royce
stood and began to send the two away when several more men joined
them, commending his skills and urging him to come away.

Sending an apologetic look to Ana, he
excused himself and withdrew with them. The sincerity of his look
and his courtesy surprised Ana, but she had no time to think on it.
Surely Piperel’s and the other men’s appearance was a sign of
Divine intention. For as she glanced in their direction, she saw
that they not only occupied Sir Royce most thoroughly, but the lot
of them were making their way into the forest.

She touched her cross through the cloth of
her gown and sent up a hasty prayer. The moment for which she’d
waited was upon her. May God guide her path. And Hannibal’s too,
she added swiftly.

Ana moved as swiftly as she dared toward the
stallion, grimacing as fresh pain lanced her blisters. She hobbled
forward, stopping when the stallion lifted his dark head and gave a
shake of his powerful neck. For a moment, she was unsure whether he
was warning her to come no closer or simply taking her measure once
more. But in the next breath, he stretched his neck and nose
forward and sniffed at her gown.

“There’s nothing hidden there, boy, but you
can have all the apples you want if you’ll just take me to
Chinon.”

She reached forth a tentative hand and
stroked his long nose. Then, hands shaking, she moved toward the
bush and reached for the reins. They came free with a tug and
blessedly the horse did not bolt or pull away.

Ana stepped to the stallion’s side and took
a long swallow. “All right, Hannibal, I’m going to mount you now.
Be a good boy and hold still.”

Reaching upward, she grasped for the
saddle’s horn and at the same time, lifted her foot to the stirrup.
She could reach neither easily. Not to be thwarted, she raised up
on her toes and hopped — once, twice — then seizing hold of the
outer edges of the saddle, hauled herself upward and shoved her
left foot into the stirrup. An agitated sound — somewhere between a
whinny and a squeal — erupted from Hannibal and he took several
steps backward.

“Easy, boy. It’s just me, Ana,” she puffed
as she clung to the saddle, struggling to drag herself upward into
the seat.

But Hannibal would have none it. He stamped
his foot and flicked his tail, barely missing her. Ana tightened
her grip on the saddle as, suddenly, the stallion began to turn in
a circle, his ears laid back, white showing in his eyes.

Round and round he circled, snorting and
stamping, his pace increasing. Panic seized Ana and she forced
herself upward, grabbing for the saddle horn and managing to throw
her waist partially across the seat. But Hannibal liked that
movement even less and squealed loudly, his front legs coming off
the ground, then dropping back down.

Voices sounded all about and Ana next made
out a blur of people gathering around her and the twirling horse.
One rushed forward, a man.

Her heart plummeted. This couldn’t be
happening. She couldn’t fail, not now. Somehow, she must gain
control of the stallion and be away.

Frantic, she shifted her weight to stand in
the stirrup and, at the same time, tossed her free leg high,
attempting to swing it over the saddle, so she might ride as she’d
seen the knight do. Disastrously, she succeeded only in kicking
Hannibal in his flank with her booted toe.

The stallion squealed in earnest, rearing
upward and pawing the air as he sent Ana hurtling from his side.
One moment she felt herself flying weightless through the air. In
the next, her back and head collided with something solid, then
together with it, she crashed to the ground.

Ana lay unmoving, dazed as she blinked up at
the cloudless stretch of sky overhead. The object that had broken
her fall lay beneath her, an uncomfortable lump of no discernible
shape. The lump shifted of a sudden and began to mutter. ‘Twas a
man’s voice — Sir Royce’s.

Ana gasped and scrambled off the knight, but
as she started to her feet, he trapped her wrist. Looking down at
him, she saw a large red mark marring his cheek where the back of
her head had obviously connected with the bone.

Sir Royce continued to keep hold of her
wrist as he pressed slowly to his feet, drawing her with him, fury
in his face.

“You would steal Hannibal?” he roared.

“Steal? N-Nay, borrow ‘tis all, and only for
as far as Chinon.”

“Do you know the punishment for stealing a
knight’s horse?” he bit out, his anger not abating one jot.

“Well, I, no . . . but I wasn’t steal—”

“Hanging, and directly so.”

“You wouldn’t!” she gasped aloud, then
glanced frantically to those who gathered about them.

“And why wouldn’t I?” he snarled, bringing
her eyes back to his.

“Because . . . because, you must deliver me
to Lord Gilbert unharmed. ‘Tis your quest.”

He bent down to her, eye to eye, nose to
nose. “My quest was to find you and return you to your grandfather.
Nothing was said about the condition in which I need deliver
you.”

“Condition?
”
she sputtered,
her thoughts sprinting wildly. “Well,
Sir Knight, I’d think you’d be better tending to your own
condition. ‘Tisn’t so very agreeable at the moment!” She nodded at
the bruise forming on his cheek.

He seized her by the shoulders, at that,
fire blazing in his eyes. She thought he’d throttle her right then
and there. But just when she braced herself, expecting the worst,
he went still as stone. The corner of his mouth twitched
upward.

“At least there is truth in that statement,
lady.” His grip slackened and he straightened. “I’ve fared none too
well in your company. But heed me well. I’ve suffered far worse and
will not be deterred from my purpose or from fulfilling my quest.
Now, unless you wish to be shackled for the rest of our travels,
you’ll cease these foolhardy efforts to escape back to Chinon. Is
that understood?”

Ana dropped her gaze, giving a brief nod of
her head.

“Pledge it, upon the bones of the
saints.”

“Bones?” Her eyes flew to his.

“In my sword’s pommel.” He released her
shoulders and, taking her hand, placed it over the large,
disc-shaped end of his sword’s hilt, protruding from his scabbard.
“Swear it,” he growled.

“I-I swear.”

“Swear you’ll not seek to escape to Chinon
or steal horses to do so,” he pressed her to repeat the words
exactly.

“Oui.
I
mean,
non
, I’ll not seek to
escape to Chinon or steal your horse . “

“Any horse.”

“Any
horse,”
she parroted, glaring at him.

He freed his hold on her hand, then stepped
away to see to Hannibal.

Hearing the unexpected sound of a musical
note, then a second, Ana turned to discover the minstrel nearby,
plucking at the strings of his instrument. He looked to be
composing new verses. Ana glowered at him, at the same time
ignoring the snickers that drifted amongst the crowd.

Drawing herself up, Ana straightened her
garments, brushed the dirt and leaves from their folds, then
fingered the debris from her hair.

She’d
not
give up, she promised herself. She’d just
have to think of another way to escape the knight, one that would
not violate her oath. She needed God on her side, after all. Though
at the moment, she wondered if He was truly listening.

Beyond Rouen, on the way to Boulogne

Sanctuary. Yes, that was the answer. She’d
flee to the protection of Mother Church. No one, not even the king,
could force her from those hallowed confines.

Ana smiled as she rode pillion behind the
knight. When he turned his head to glance over his shoulder at her,
she realized, in her momentary joy of determining a new way to
escape, she’d tightened her grasp on Sir Royce’s middle. As
embarrassment unfurled warmly through her, she relaxed her hold,
then gave her thoughts back to her plan and what she need do.

There’d been numerous churches and shrines
along the road ever since leaving Chinon. Ana understood from the
pilgrims who traveled amongst them that such was common. There was
never a want of a church or monastery-operated hostel to ease one’s
plight, ever offering Mass and a bit of broth and bread. Leastwise,
there was never a lack of any along the main highways used by the
pilgrims to journey from one venerable place to another.

Ana took heart. The pilgrims followed
official guide books and the maps they contained. Since many of the
pilgrims had continued beyond Rouen with their small band —
destined for England and the shrines at Walshingham and Canterbury,
they said — then it stood to reason there would be many more
churches lining the road they now traveled, all the way to
Boulogne. She’d have ample opportunity to escape into
sanctuary.