Wildewood Revenge (33 page)

“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.

The fat man had coveted his rations greedily while others had little, and forced foot weary women and children off the road with the ill-mannered riding of his equally fat pony. Naturally the man baulked and threatened all manner of retribution against the travellers for not coming to his aid and at the Scotsman for interfering with his mission, but the travellers merely bowed their heads, stifled their smiles and continued their journey. Angus closed his ears to the man’s whining and took a stick to the idle pony. The Scotsman kept him riding throughout the night and it was a weary pair, both Mayflower and his pony who found themselves back at
Wildewood
.

Miles, by comparison, was well rested and in good spirits.
Wildewood
was suddenly alive with activity and industry. He’d sent John away with some of the men to begin the restoration of the dilapidated ancillary buildings. Under John’s instruction the unstable and fallen stone was cleared away and stacked for reuse. The
Forester’s
were sent into the wood under the protection of the Scots clansmen, to fell the timber required for the repair of the roof and the construction of new timber framed dwellings. Under Edmund’s watchful eye all of the children were set to work fetching and carrying whatever they could to
assist.

Grace sat with John, protected from the biting wind against the shelter of the stable wall, and together they poured over the plans Grace had sketched. John had never seen the like of the buildings Grace had drawn, but she assured him with his skill they were possible. John had an eye for detail and as a master mason he also possessed mathematical abilities far beyond Grace’s, despite her university education. He poured over the measurements and quickly calculated the amount of additional stone required to complete the first phase of Miles’ plans.