Rexanne Becnel (11 page)

“… until she is found—not before! And a gold coin to the man who brings her to me!”

Joanna was so unnerved by the dark threat in Rylan’s voice that she struck her shin painfully on a fallen log. “Christ and bedamned!” she muttered as tears of pain started in her eyes, then she immediately cringed at such a profanity. Those were his words, taken directly from his blasphemous lips. How was it they had sprung so readily to her own?

But Joanna had no time to dwell on that unpleasant thought, for the crashing of horses through the underbrush gave evidence that her pursuers were drawing ever nearer. Searching wildly for a hiding place, she spied a gaping hole at the base of the very tree she had stumbled over. The roots lifted above the space like gnarled fingers warding off any threat, and though Joanna normally would have been too squeamish to secrete herself into such a dark, dirty place, she had no time to hesitate. She backed into the hole, her now-bare feet and legs sliding in the wet mud. Then when she was as far down as she could fit, she drew several nearby branches and piles of leaves over her. Though her heart was pounding like a drum, she tried not to think of snakes or worms but only resigned herself to wait.

It wasn’t long. In a matter of minutes she heard horses moving slowly through the wooded area nearer the streambed.

“I’ll take this hill,” one man called to the others.

Joanna’s heart nearly sank at his words. He would find her—she knew he would!

But then, as if in answer to her unsaid prayers, it began to rain. At first the droplets caught in the high branches of the trees, but before long the big drops were plummeting through, filling the forest with sound and movement, and thereby providing her with another layer of protection.

She heard a foul oath—something about the king and women in general—but it was muffled by the storm, and she felt her first glimmer of hope. They might search all morning for her, but she suddenly was certain they would not find her. Not now.

The search moved past her and then beyond, out to the meadow and farther into the woods, judging by what she could hear. Slowly her heart ceased its thundering and her breathing became more normal. But as the pressing fear of capture wore off, Joanna became more and more conscious of her dank hiding place. Rainwater flowed in a steady rivulet through the mud and down her left leg. Something moved at her elbow and she jumped, willing herself to believe it only more of the runoff rain. But she knew she could not stay where she was much longer.

Then there was a sudden scurrying sound just behind her head, and when she turned to see she let out a short scream.

The poor hare who sought its burrow was far more frightened than she, and it dashed madly away from the wide-eyed creature who’d taken over its home. However, Joanna could not concern herself with the terrified rabbit. In a rush all her worst imaginings rose to torture her, and she was certain a nest of snakes squirmed around her legs. With a cry of terror she lurched up from her hideout, scrabbling with hands and knees to escape. Then she crouched trembling behind the log and stared wildly around her, fearing the worst.

But as she huddled there, with the rain beating down on her, her panic slowly abated. All around her the forest was a vague misty place, hidden by the gray curtains of rain. After her dunking in the beck—and her mud bath in that dreadful hole—she found the rain almost pleasant, but she knew its protection would not last forever. Crouching low and glancing nervously from side to side, she began her nerve-wracking escape. From tree to tree and shrub to shrub she scurried, straining her senses for any sign of Sir Rylan and his men. But luck was with her—God was with her, she amended apologetically. God was with her and she would prevail.

At the edge of the forest she halted. Before her a salt meadow stretched toward the dunes, the grasses slowly thinning in the face of the invasive sand. Beyond the dunes was the sea and her sanctuary. Isle Sacré and safety were so near.

She looked off to her left for the place where the stream must give out to the sea. No doubt those men searched for her there. But she could see nothing through the pounding rain, and though that worried her, it also reassured her. They could not see her any better than she could see them, and the rain would surely wash away any trail she left in the sand. She took a tremulous breath. The time to go was now, she told herself. She might never have a better opportunity.

Joanna did not look left or right when she began to run. In one hand she held her soggy skirts; the other she used to balance her headlong flight. Across the salt-grass meadow she dashed, ignoring the cutting sting of the long blades of grass against her legs. As the thick undergrowth gave way to firmly packed sand, she increased her speed, certain someone must have spied her by now. When she reached the first dune she was gasping for breath. Up the low swell of the dune she clambered, trying hard to ignore the painful stitch in her side. Then she reached the crest and tumbled behind one dune and into the embrace of several others.

Joanna lay where she fell, completely winded by her mad dash. The rain pelted her face but she did not turn away from it. Her chest heaved from her exertion; her legs trembled. But she could do nothing but lie there, letting the endless rain wash the sand and grit from her.

Dawn was fully upon the land when she finally peered between the dunes. Although the rain had eased a bit, everything nonetheless appeared gray and obscure. The sea lay just a short distance beyond her, choppy and angry, but thankfully at low tide. Then, as she squinted desperately toward the horizon, she saw the dark shadowy mound that was the island. It was so close! she realized with an enormous sense of relief. Just a short distance down the shore, then across the sand causeway.

But Joanna knew there was not much time. The wind was steadily strengthening, promising a storm that would outdo the previous day’s. The causeway would not remain above water for long, if indeed it was dry even now.

Renewed by the very nearness of sanctuary, she stole between two dunes, then glanced up the beach toward the stream. Still no one in sight. This was her chance. Steeling herself for one last dash to freedom, she lifted her skirts once more, fixed her eyes on the little island, and broke away from the dunes.

The sand nearer the water was hard and she ran much easier there. Plus, the waves would immediately wash away her footprints, she thought with satisfaction.

As she neared the narrow spit of land that linked the island to the mainland, Joanna knew she had waited almost too late. Already the tide was beginning to eat away at the causeway, inching in with every foaming wave. But she would make it, she told herself. She would make it. In the strong wind her hair streamed behind her like a pennant and her skirts billowed like the sails of a Viking ship. Then the rain eased a little and Joanna had her first clear glimpse of Isle Sacré.

It would be close, the grim realization hit her. She might have to wade the last part through the waves. But even if she had to swim, she would do it. If not, she would surely fall prey to Sir Rylan once more. And that she refused to do.

Once she was near enough, Joanna cut across the ankle-deep waves toward the narrow causeway. The early-morning sky was dark and ominous, and the sea was quickly building to an angry froth. The tide was coming in much faster than was normal due to the storm, and Joanna suddenly had second thoughts about her madcap flight to Isle Sacré. Perhaps if she’d stayed hidden beneath the tree roots …

Her pace slowed somewhat in the face of the daunting task she’d set herself, but her momentary doubt was interrupted by a distant shout. When she turned toward the voice, however, her efforts were renewed, for there far down the beach, astride his tall destrier, was Sir Rylan! He stood up in the stirrups, staring toward her, then his horse surged forward, signaling his recognition of her.

Joanna’s heart leaped into her throat. She was undone! Yet even that thought could not force her to give up. With a cry that mingled fear and anger, she doubled her efforts, dashing furiously toward the island. The water dragged at her ankles, the wind flew in her face—her chest heaved with her painful effort—but she refused to give up. She could make the island. She knew she could!

Once she was on the narrow causeway, she chanced a glance back. Already he was half the way to her, leaning low over his mount’s neck and urging it on. She stumbled and for a moment almost fell, but through sheer determination she righted herself. She would not be caught by him—not again! She would never let him use her for his own political gain. Not him nor anyone else!

But even as she fled his dogged pursuit, Joanna could see the sea encroaching upon the causeway. Then the sea closed in, swallowing the narrow spit that led to the island, and her heart truly sank. Through the ankle-deep waves she continued, her legs aching and her lungs about to burst. The waves licked higher, to her knees, then buffeting her thighs. When the water caught at her raised skirts she nearly floundered. But the island was so near she could not give up.

In a final act of desperation she flung herself forward, determined to swim the remaining distance. And for a few strokes, at least, she nearly succeeded. But then she heard the sharp whinny of the horse behind her and at once a hand caught her trailing skirts.

“No—”

Her cry was drowned out as her head went under the water. Though she twisted violently against his hold, he had her as securely as a fish upon a hook. When she surfaced, sputtering and gasping for air, she was immediately pushed under by another giant wave.

“Christ and bedamned!” She heard his oath as he forcibly dragged her out of the water. Then, with his other hand looped around her waist, he pulled her up and across his lap.

Another wave struck them, hitting Joanna fully in the face while she yet coughed and spit salt water. The horse reared in fright and Joanna nearly tumbled back into the sea, but Rylan had as firm a hold on her as he had on his horse. With a fierce curse he drove the horse forward. Joanna could do no more than hang there, limp and bedraggled, as tears ran down her face.

S
LIDING OFF THE HORSE
like a lifeless doll, Joanna landed in a muddy puddle. For several seconds she could do no more than lie there, laboring over every breath, thankful she was beyond the deadly grasp of the angry sea. The past few minutes had been frightening beyond all experience, and she had been certain she would die, sucked under by the huge merciless waves and down to a watery grave.

Perhaps it would have been best, she thought morosely as she heard Rylan dismount. Considering the future he planned for her, death could certainly be no worse. At least dead she would be in heaven with her mother.

Only her mother was not in heaven, she reminded herself harshly. At least not according to the teachings of the church.

Still shaking, she raised herself to a sitting position and pushed her matted hair out of her face. The rain beat down in erratic bursts, stinging her cheeks; the wind howled around her and the waves tore angrily against the shore. But she nonetheless
was
glad to be alive.

At her movement, Rylan turned a furious glare on her, although he still held his horse’s head low against his chest in an effort to keep the snorting animal calm.

“I should have tied you across a packhorse—”

He broke off his threat when his horse jerked back, startled anew by his master’s angry tone. Joanna looked away, as upset with him as she was with the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes. Dear God, but what was she to do now?

Then her vision cleared and her back stiffened as she realized where she was—where they were. It was not the mainland he’d dragged her to, but the island! Around them the sea rose in a violent display, exactly as she’d hoped. But instead of providing her a sanctuary from Sir Rylan and his band of heartless men, it had become a prison, trapping her there alone with the very man she sought to escape.

With a cry of absolute fury she leaped to her feet and stared wildly about her. Far across the dangerous waves she saw the narrow beach with the dunes and forests beyond. Then she turned toward her captor, so consumed by her fury that she could hardly express herself.

“You—” A fit of trembling halted her words and she had to fight for control. “I wish to God the sea had taken you!” Then, before he could reply, she whirled and fled.

She didn’t go very far. The island was not big, and besides, she was too exhausted. As she leaned hopelessly against a gnarled salt oak, clinging to the trunk for support, she grew even angrier as she recognized why he had not bothered to prevent her flight this time. She had no place to escape to; the island was too small for her to remain hidden very long. She was trapped there with him, and unless a miracle came along, her fate seemed to be sealed.

She took several deep breaths, trying to still her trembling and regain her strength. A sudden streak of lightning split the dark sky, followed almost immediately by a clap of thunder. Joanna jumped in alarm, then felt a smug satisfaction when she heard the horse squeal, followed by a string of vile curses from Rylan. Perhaps, if she was very lucky, his horse would trample him to death. Or drag him back into the sea. Or—

But luck was not with her, as events of the past few days had already proven. For she saw Rylan swing up onto the animal’s back and, through sheer strength of will, urge the terrified horse away from the raging sea and toward the sheltering interior of the little island.

Joanna stayed a long time under the weatherbeaten oak, staring unseeingly across the lashing waves to the far shore. To the north, not so very far, was St. Theresa’s, and she wondered what they thought of her disappearance. Did they link it to Sir Rylan? She sighed, slowly regaining her breath. Right now they were no doubt at the morning chapter reading. Soon they would receive the instructions for the day’s activities. Then they would share the morning meal and go off to their tasks. Oh, how she wished she were there right now! How content she would be at her stitching. Never would she drift into idle daydreams of the world beyond her ken. She had seen enough to know it was not for her. Yet it now seemed she was doomed to a life in that very world.