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Authors: Glenda Larke
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lads are binding it up now as a temp’ry measure, but we’re going to have to get it fixed proper in Melforn.”
Ryce grimaced before replying. “Is he sure it won’t get us as far as Redpoll Manor?”
“’Fraid not, your highness. There’s a coaching house on this side o’ the town, and they’ll be able to mend it proper. There’s a tavern nearby, with an oak shrine opposite. P’raps Lady Mathilda could rest there while we get the shaft fixed.”
How I loathe being spoken about as if I’m not here,
Mathilda thought.
As if I don’t exist. As if I can never have a say in my own life
.
And isn’t it just typical to pack me off to some horrible cold shrine while the men sit around a warm fire in a taproom and drink ale?
Just then the Sergeant’s mount plunged as a pack of hounds appeared out of nowhere, flowing around the coach and the horses, sniffing and snuffling and yipping. Horntail swore and yelled. “Away with you, you slubbering mongrels! Coachman, put your whip to the curs!”
“Fellhounds,” Ryce said in surprise. “That yipping means they’ve lost their prey.” He stuck his head out of the carriage to have a look, but hastily pulled it back in as the rain gusted. “Difficult for them to keep the scent in a downpour like this. There must be hunters around somewhere.”
“Over there beyond the stile,” said Mathilda. On the other side of the coach, riders were strung across the hillside, all of them angling to where a stile cut through the hedge.
“After a fox, I suppose,” Ryce said.
Mathilda blinked, surprised he was so obtuse. “No, Ryce. The woman.” She called to the Sergeant. “Tell your men not to say anything about the woman to the hunters. You didn’t see her.”
Sergeant Horntail switched his gaze to Ryce, raising a questioning eyebrow. Mathilda gritted her teeth and glared at her brother. For a moment she thought he was going to argue the point, but in the end he just gave a curt nod. The Sergeant rode off to issue his orders.
“It really is none of our business, Thilda,” Ryce grumbled.
“Hunting a woman down with dogs is none of our business?”
“We don’t know what she did.”
“I don’t care what she did; she shouldn’t be hunted like vermin.”
“I think I’ll tell Horntail we’ve changed our minds.”
“Don’t you
dare
!”
The leading rider reached the stile, but his horse baulked at the coach drawn up so close on the other side and refused to take the jump. The huntsman circled around, yelling for the coachman to move the vehicle. Several other riders arrived just as the rain was beginning to slacken, and one of them spoke hurriedly to the first man, gesturing at the coach. The angry expression on the first man’s face disappeared into an ingratiating smile.
Sergeant Horntail spoke to him and then came to talk to Ryce. “They
are
hunting the woman,” he said. “She’s the wife of a landsman from a nearby manor. Apparently she murdered her husband last night. That’s the husband’s brother, Hilmard Ermine, leading them. They saw her cross the stile. I told him we didn’t see which way she went.” His expression was blank, but the set of his shoulders expressed his disapproval.
Mathilda ignored him and glanced again to where the riders in the field still milled around, waiting for the coach to move. They were wet and angry and too cowed by the coat of arms on the coach door to complain. She smiled. Perhaps she’d saved a life today. She rather liked the idea that a woman who’d murdered her husband was still running free because she, Mathilda, had intervened.
I’m not helpless,
she thought.
I’m not as helpless as everyone would like me to be.
A secretive smile curved her lips. One day she’d show the world what she could do. She was the daughter of a king, and she knew how to rule men, even if Ryce didn’t.
One day, one day
…
The Melforn shrine was outside the town limits, but not by much. The spreading branches of the
Ryce grimaced before replying. “Is he sure it won’t get us as far as Redpoll Manor?”
“’Fraid not, your highness. There’s a coaching house on this side o’ the town, and they’ll be able to mend it proper. There’s a tavern nearby, with an oak shrine opposite. P’raps Lady Mathilda could rest there while we get the shaft fixed.”
How I loathe being spoken about as if I’m not here,
Mathilda thought.
As if I don’t exist. As if I can never have a say in my own life
.
And isn’t it just typical to pack me off to some horrible cold shrine while the men sit around a warm fire in a taproom and drink ale?
Just then the Sergeant’s mount plunged as a pack of hounds appeared out of nowhere, flowing around the coach and the horses, sniffing and snuffling and yipping. Horntail swore and yelled. “Away with you, you slubbering mongrels! Coachman, put your whip to the curs!”
“Fellhounds,” Ryce said in surprise. “That yipping means they’ve lost their prey.” He stuck his head out of the carriage to have a look, but hastily pulled it back in as the rain gusted. “Difficult for them to keep the scent in a downpour like this. There must be hunters around somewhere.”
“Over there beyond the stile,” said Mathilda. On the other side of the coach, riders were strung across the hillside, all of them angling to where a stile cut through the hedge.
“After a fox, I suppose,” Ryce said.
Mathilda blinked, surprised he was so obtuse. “No, Ryce. The woman.” She called to the Sergeant. “Tell your men not to say anything about the woman to the hunters. You didn’t see her.”
Sergeant Horntail switched his gaze to Ryce, raising a questioning eyebrow. Mathilda gritted her teeth and glared at her brother. For a moment she thought he was going to argue the point, but in the end he just gave a curt nod. The Sergeant rode off to issue his orders.
“It really is none of our business, Thilda,” Ryce grumbled.
“Hunting a woman down with dogs is none of our business?”
“We don’t know what she did.”
“I don’t care what she did; she shouldn’t be hunted like vermin.”
“I think I’ll tell Horntail we’ve changed our minds.”
“Don’t you
dare
!”
The leading rider reached the stile, but his horse baulked at the coach drawn up so close on the other side and refused to take the jump. The huntsman circled around, yelling for the coachman to move the vehicle. Several other riders arrived just as the rain was beginning to slacken, and one of them spoke hurriedly to the first man, gesturing at the coach. The angry expression on the first man’s face disappeared into an ingratiating smile.
Sergeant Horntail spoke to him and then came to talk to Ryce. “They
are
hunting the woman,” he said. “She’s the wife of a landsman from a nearby manor. Apparently she murdered her husband last night. That’s the husband’s brother, Hilmard Ermine, leading them. They saw her cross the stile. I told him we didn’t see which way she went.” His expression was blank, but the set of his shoulders expressed his disapproval.
Mathilda ignored him and glanced again to where the riders in the field still milled around, waiting for the coach to move. They were wet and angry and too cowed by the coat of arms on the coach door to complain. She smiled. Perhaps she’d saved a life today. She rather liked the idea that a woman who’d murdered her husband was still running free because she, Mathilda, had intervened.
I’m not helpless,
she thought.
I’m not as helpless as everyone would like me to be.
A secretive smile curved her lips. One day she’d show the world what she could do. She was the daughter of a king, and she knew how to rule men, even if Ryce didn’t.
One day, one day
…
The Melforn shrine was outside the town limits, but not by much. The spreading branches of the
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