Wildewood Revenge Read online

  He climbed the steps and paused at the open door. “See how you enjoy spending what time you have left, in the house of the dead, Miles. If you’ve not been driven mad by your ghostly cellmates I may call on you after the king has left Alnwick. It is a pity you and the little witch will miss him. Pity too he will miss the burning. Let’s not forget the Bishop is on his way.”

  He closed the door as he left and shouted at his men to nail it shut. “I want a round the clock guard on this door,” he barked as he mounted his horse.

  Now it was time to deal with Guy.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Miles stood for a moment listening as the door was barricaded to prevent their escape and pondered on Gerard’s words. What was afoot? Who could he trust? He turned to Grace, she had not been entirely truthful with him, but that didn’t mean he did not trust her.

  The room was once again in darkness but for the weak moonlight filtering through the high window. They needed to light another torch.

  “How are you?” he asked eventually and in the darkness Grace shrugged. “You were remarkably brave we would both be dead if it weren’t for that.”

  “What did Gerard mean?” she asked.

  Miles had no idea and was not inclined to discuss it. “We need some light, are you going to perform your little trick again?”

  “It’s not a trick. Hold up the torch and I’ll show you,” replied Grace and she pulled the box of matches from her pocket. She struck the match and lit the torch. When there was sufficient light for him to see, she showed him what to do. “It’s simple, just like tinder really. Strike the coloured end of the match against the rough side of the box and hey presto...flames.”

  Miles was intrigued and tried it repeatedly. “Don’t waste them,” said Grace as she made to take them back but he held them out of reach.

  “Where did you get them?”

  “I don’t remember. Keep them if you must, but don’t lose them, we may need them again.”

  They sat amongst the bones with their backs against the wall and Miles put an arm loosely around Grace’s shoulder.

  “Will John get help?” she asked.

  “Eventually,” replied Miles, “but I imagine we are in for a long wait.”

  Grace rifled in her pockets once more. “Here,” she said tearing a strip of chewing gum in two and offering him half, before popping the remainder in her mouth.

  “What is it?”

  Grace smiled. “Something to keep your breath sweet, just in case we get so bored down here that we end up snogging.”

  Miles chewed and tasted mint. “Snogging?”

  Grace reached up and kissed him. “Snogging.”

  “Okay, snogging’s good.”

  Miles remained deep in thought; he couldn’t help but go over and over in his mind what Gerard had said. He trusted Hugh; he trusted all those around him. In fact as the only person he didn’t trust was Gerard, why did his words unsettle him so?

  “Tell me about Hugh,” asked Grace. “Martha said he taught you how to be a knight.”

  Miles smiled. “He taught me many things. He’s a good man, and you’ll like him. He’ll like you, in fact in some ways you are alike. He doesn’t always do the expected either.”

  “He must be well respected if he’s close to the king.”

  Miles considered. “That wasn’t always the case. In fact I was surprised when Alex told me he was. He’s always been a rebel, on the edge, an outsider but a marvellous soldier and tactician. He can see things from a different perspective, which is useful especially during conflict.”

  “How long were you with him?”

  “Almost ten years intermittently. He wasn’t always in Normandy when I was there, but he was, when I was younger. He’s an adventurer, he’d disappear for months on end, turning up when you least expected him.”

  “He looked after you when you were wounded by Guy?”

  “Yes— fortunately. I don’t imagine I would have survived if it hadn’t been for his skill.” He smiled at her. “I’m looking forward to seeing him again.”

  “Will you ask him about what Gerard said?”

  “If I need to.”

  “I think Gerard is playing with you. He resents the fact you’re well liked and have people who support you of their own volition, not because they’re forced or scared of you. I think he fears your relationship with Hugh because he sees him as a powerful man who is close to the king and this is his attempt to undermine that relationship.”

  “You’ve done a lot of thinking.”

  Grace shrugged. “Sometimes it’s easier to look at situations as an outsider.”

  “Do you think of yourself as an outsider?”

  “I’ve known you for little more than a week, Miles. There are lots of things that I don’t know about your life and lots you don’t know about mine.”

  “You seem to know ample about mine, courtesy of Martha,” replied Miles.

  “She does like to gossip.”Grace smiled. “And Edmund talks a lot about you because he admires you.”

  “But there’s no one to tell me about you, is there?” Miles stretched out his legs and Grace rested her head on his shoulder.

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “I don’t believe that,” said Miles. “We’re going to be here for some time, perhaps you should tell me about your life.”

  Grace settled herself against him. “I’ve already told you my parents were academics. They were killed when I was ten and I was brought up by my grandparents. When I was eighteen I went to university to study art and people reckon I’m pretty good at it.”

  “University?”

  She faltered and he watched as colour heightened her cheeks and a flicker of concern crossed her brow. She was hiding something, yet again, but it suited him to let her continue her tale. The truth would out eventually and currently he had not the energy, or will, for picking over the details.

  “Um...a place of learning...a school...a very big school.”

  “You’re very skilled,” he said. He thought again of the lifelike images. They would surely condemn her in the bishop’s eyes, if Gerard succeeded in his quest for a trial.

  “Skilled at what?”

  “Painting...” He closed his eyes and let her words roll over him “Amongst other things.”

  “Anyway, I got my degree in fine art and a man I knew got me involved in this business he ran. It didn’t work out so I came home. By then of course my grandparents had died, so the cottage was mine and that’s basically it. Not very exciting I’m afraid.”

  Miles dragged his attention back. “What man?”

  “He was nobody, I thought I could trust him.” She shrugged. “But sometimes people are just out for themselves and don’t care if they hurt other people in the process.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Miles asked quietly.

  “A little,” she replied.

  “Where is he now?”

  Grace smiled. “Too far away for you to worry about. I don’t need you to uphold my honour or anything like that, Miles. He was a selfish idiot, a liar and a cheat and he lost his business because of it.”

  “Is that why you stopped painting?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “But now you’ve started again, what does that mean?”

  “I suppose it means I’m happy.”

  “Good,” was his simple reply but it hid a tumult of emotion. He would get to the bottom of what had happened, maybe not now, but eventually, and the man would pay. Revenge was so...liberating.

  “Were you happy with your grandparents?”

  Grace smiled wistfully. “I remember one time my grandfather got drunk on homemade bramble wine and he tripped over Skip and blacked his eye. My grandmother was so cross with him she wouldn’t sit next to him at church.”

  “Skip?”

  “My grandfather’s jack russell terrier. He only had three legs; he lost one in an illegal trap when he was a pup—” She stopped suddenly and struggled to her
feet.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Miles.

  She crossed the room glancing up at the window and down at the floor, it was at least an eight foot drop. “There’s another way out,” she said slowly and then more confidently. “There’s got to be another way out.”

  Miles stood and took her arm. “What do you mean, how do you know?”

  “Skip. Of course why didn’t I think of that before? Skip strayed through the window up there and he didn’t come out for two days. He couldn’t have come back out through the window it’s eight feet off the floor and the door was blocked. We found him on the river bank. He must have got out another way.” She spun round, “Somewhere in the back wall, there must be a tunnel.”

  “A tunnel?” asked Miles.

  “Yes, somewhere low down, he was a little dog and he only had three legs...”

  The back wall was lined with niches; there were only two empty ones on the bottom row. Grace scooted down on all fours and took the torch from Miles. She crawled halfway and shone the torch the rest of the way but it was blocked with a sheer stone wall at the back.

  “This one’s blocked, it must be the other.” She reversed back out and Miles took the torch, knelt down and peered into the next one. The blackness seemed to go on forever there was no stone wall at the end.

  “It’s here,” called Miles softly and he put his finger against his lips and gestured to the door. The guards were still outside. They could not afford to draw their attention. He retrieved his sword swept a final glance around the darkened crypt and turned to Grace. “Follow me.”

  The niche went back about seven feet and then narrowed slightly and they had to crawl on their bellies for at least another ten feet, before the floor dropped away suddenly and Miles would have plummeted if the torch had not illuminated the way and shown him the roughly hewn stone steps leading downhill. He wriggled round with difficulty in the tight space burning his arm on the torch in the process and cursing out loud.

  “What’s wrong?” whispered Grace, close behind him.

  “Nothing. Here let me help you, there are steps here, they must lead down to the river.”

  He stepped down until he was beneath her on the stone steps and then turning he lifted her out of the tunnel beside him. The steps were steep and Grace had to tread slowly. The roof of the tunnel was low and Miles had to stoop to prevent his head from cracking off the stone.

  The steps were wet with water that seemed to be running. Miles held tightly onto Grace’s hand to ensure she didn’t slip. The smell of dampness, moss and wild garlic, clung to them as they descended. The tunnel seemed to go on forever.

  “I can hear the river,” called Grace eventually, the rushing sound was unmistakable. “Be careful we have no idea where the tunnel exit is.”

  “I think I just found it,” replied Miles with an accompanying splash. “You’re going to get your feet wet.” He doused the torch in the water and left it on the last step.

  The exit brought them to the very edge of the river bank and the high level of the river due to melt water had flooded the first few feet of the tunnel itself. They waded through the icy water, stumbling on the river bed boulders. Shrouded by plants and bushes they pushed their way through to the other side and stopped to catch their breath. They were to the west of the ford maybe one hundred yards from the crossing.

  “You took your time.” Came a voice to their left and as Miles turned hand on sword he realised it was John, sat astride his horse. “I’d about given up on you,” he added.

  “You’ve been waiting here all of this time?”

  “This was the only way out, I just had to wait for you to find it.”

  “But how on earth did you know?” asked Grace.

  “It was merely speculation, my lady. It is never wise to build, without considering the need for a swift exit.”

  Miles took the reins of his horse from John and helped Grace to mount the filly. “Come, we must ride hard and fast. Believe it or not, we have an advantage. Gerard thinks we are safely locked up out of harm’s way, which leaves us free to plan our next move.”

  The journey back to Wildewood was one Miles would not forget. Once they were clear of Ahlborett it was a wild exhilarating dash, a race to beat the sunrise. The filly, for once unrestrained, flew across the uneven ground, her hooves barely making contact with the earth as she kept pace with the bigger horses. Grace clung on crouching low over the pony’s neck guiding her around the many obstacles the woods had to offer. Miles galloped ahead, John behind, both men constantly on alert for any followers or possible ambush.

  The rain began again and the animals splashed through the wet forest floor, the rain from flying manes spraying back on their rider’s faces. Grace’s fringe clung wetly to her face and she closed her eyes and let the pony carry her home.

  Miles slowed his horse as they entered the deeper wood and pulled alongside her. He had forgotten she was not an experienced rider, but as he glanced across and saw how she sat the pony despite the terrain, the weather and the speed he was struck not for the first time at how much she meant to him. She was definitely unique. He would never understand her, but she was his. It was as simple as that. She opened her eyes conscious perhaps of being watched and swept her drooping fringe out of her way with a quick flick of her head. She grinned at him and above the noise of the snorting heaving horses and their splashing hooves, she called to him.

  “Race?”

  He shook his head; no way could she stay on board if they were to race. The filly was excitable enough. She nodded back at him and pressed the filly on.

  “Slow down,” he called maintaining his position alongside her. The girl was mad. She laughed at him and continued to press the filly onwards. Leaning across he caught hold of her reins. “I said, slow down.” He slowed the filly to a canter and finally as they came out of the wood and into the park, they all slowed to a walk and all three animals and their riders caught their breath.

  “Are you crazy?” he asked as he rode to her right, John to her left.

  “No just having fun. We did well tonight, didn’t we?”

  “We did,” agreed Miles, very well, and it was all down to her. Guy said she was at the very centre of everything, and Gerard had intimated the same. Since the day he’d come across her in the wood the course of his life seemed to have been orchestrated in some strange way by her. She was his talisman, his lucky charm. Guy had called her his power source, and he was right. When he had Grace with him he was energised and believed all was possible. He felt emotion tighten his chest and he looked away from her, lest she notice how his eyes glistened. He could not, would not lose her.

  The household was still sleeping when they returned but Edmund was at his post atop the gate. Eyes glazed with the effort of keeping awake.

  “He is a good lad,” commented John. “His loyalty to you is unwavering.”

  Miles dismounted and watched as the boy took Grace’s reins, struggling to stay on his feet.

  “His loyalty is to the lady, John,” replied Miles as he followed Edmund into the stables and unsaddled his horse. “Edmund leave that. We will see to the horses, away now to your bed you have put in a long shift and we will need you bright eyed when the sun is up.”

  “Did everything go as planned, my lord?” the boy asked. “Ye were long awaited. I was concerned.”

  Grace took the boy’s hand, her face alive with excitement. “Edmund, we had such an adventure. You would not believe what we have seen.” Edmund gazed at her hand in his and smiled.

  “Everything went as planned, Edmund,” Miles answered the boy and took his arm turning him towards the ladder that led to the loft above the stables where he slept. “We will talk further tomorrow, but now sleep.”

  Miles unsaddled the filly and then leaving John to feed and water all three beasts he and Grace finally retired.

  “What next, Miles?” she asked as she closed the door behind them and leant back against it.

  Miles gave her
a lopsided grin, she may not be tired, but he craved the comfort of his bed. Like Edmund he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots.

  “Sleep, that’s what’s next.” He threw off his leather jerkin and dragged his shirt over his head, lay back against the pillow and patted the mattress next to him. Grace followed him, unlacing her own boots; she kicked them off and wriggled her toes. She slipped off her trousers and pulled her sweater over her head. Miles watched as she stretched and revealing her slender waist. He reached out and caught her arm, gently pulling her so she fell back into the space beside him. She curled up against him one hand idly played with the short hairs on his belly, and he flinched and stopped her hand.

  “I said sleep.” He kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  Grace watched him as he slept. She ran her fingers gently across the tanned skin of his chest and noted the assortment of scars that peppered his torso and upper arms. She recognised what looked like an old arrow wound in his shoulder and a long jagged scar on his left arm which could have been caused by a knife. The sword wound on his side given him by Guy was by far the worst and she placed her small palm against it and rested her head against his chest.

  She thought about what his life was really like, away from Wildewood, where battles were an everyday occurrence and life was cheap. She wondered how far he would take the fight for Wildewood and who might fall in the process. He turned away from her in his sleep, wincing as he did so and she realised he was covered in ugly bruises from his fight with Guy.

  She curled against his back, one arm around him her breasts pressed against his warm skin and found herself reliving the past few days. She’d no idea what had happened to bring her here but it was as real as any place she’d visited, the people more sincere than any she’d known. She could make no sense of it. All she could do was live it, for however long she remained.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  The Scotsman, Angus Baird, returned late next morning with a reluctant Philibutt of Mayflower in tow. He’d caught up with him as he left the protection of Hexham with a group of travellers enroute for York. Although large in number, the group had no men at arms and consisted mainly of pilgrims heading for in the largest city outside London. No one was prepared to stand in defence of the Bishop’s man who had proved a surly companion.