A SURPRISE
“Ride!” Ettie whispered it to her horse. She clung to the reins, heart thumping as she rode. The woods were dark, the ground slippery. She was riding Snow-soft and had little experience of her or what she might do. All she knew was that there were four men behind her, intent upon capture.
They mustn't reach me. If they do, they'll realize that I'm not Ambeal.
Holding her breath, heart thudding, Ettie clenched the reins in her fingers and rode.
She could hear the hunting-call behind her, feeling her horse slip on the track beneath her. Hanging onto the reins like death.
“There she is! Go! Get her!”
As she heard the cries – baying like dogs for the blood of a quarry – she realized that Ambeal had ample reason for running away. A father who would send out huntsmen to bring his daughter back has little care for that daughter, other than for the power she could buy him.
I'm glad Alf took her away.
As she clung to the reins, doing her best to guide her cantering horse along the tracks away from branches, she found her heart reaching out for Ambeal.
If the men see me too close, they'll know I'm not her.
She had worn her red ocher riding habit, as close as possible to the red one Ambeal had worn. Her hair was concealed beneath the cape and hood, but if it dislodged from her head, a single shaft of light would betray her. She was almost as tall as Ambeal, and her skill on horseback almost as good. From a distance, she could fool them.
Not if they catch me.
“There she is! Up ahead! Ride!”
She heard the men dangerously close now. As one of them reached for her, she felt his fingers brush her wrist. She screamed. “No!”
She was too close. She could feel him reach out again, and this time his fingers closed around her arm. If he pulled now she would tumble backwards, likely being trampled to death before he could actually pull her toward him.
At that moment, several things happened. Her horse stopped abruptly. She screamed as she was thrown. At the same time, she heard the men shouting, confusion raging in the clearing. There was the sound of hooves thudding in all directions.
“Where did he go?”
“The bastard!”
“Find him.”
Ettie lay where she had fallen, every part of her body bruised. Why had Snow-soft thrown her like that? What had happened? Thank Heaven she had, or she would now be dead, trampled by hoofs, or captive with the soldiers who would have known in moments she was not Ambeal.
Where am I?
Her head was pounding and she had to strain to focus. As she did, she found herself watching a crazy scene.
In the clearing, three horsemen plunged about, clearly confused. A fourth man stood, his leg apparently broken, disoriented and nervous. Her horse was near him, standing still and shivering. Another horse crashed through the thicket, plunging and free.
She listened. Along with the shouting and the conflicting orders from the men, she could hear someone whistling. It seemed to be the whistles that disoriented the horses, for they were fretful and questing, not listening to their riders. She lay where she was.
Someone spooked the man's horse. Made Snow-soft throw me.
An idea started to form in her mind. There was only one person who would have known the command to give Snow-soft to buck. The person who had been training the new horses at Dunkeld all summer. Brodgar.
It can't be. It couldn't be.
She lay where she was. She heard a sudden crash in the bushes.
“There!” one of the men shouted. Another crash.
“Bastard's running. After him!”
“Off!”
One of the men lifted the horn and blew it. Free from the conflicting whistles, the horses seemed to get purchase on reality. They followed the riders' instruction and crashed into the undergrowth, following the sounds, which settled.
Once the men had gone, Ettie realized she was terrified. She was panting with fright, her body shaking, sweat down her skin. She lay where she was in a small ball, unable to move. Every part of her hurt. And she was tired. Too tired to move. Too tired to sit.
She tensed. The tiredness was replaced by fresh urgency. Footsteps. Coming along the path. Coming to find her.
She didn't know what else to do. She rolled into a ball, pulled up the cloak. Lay still and closed her eyes. It was dark and damp here. Perhaps no one would see her. Blend with the leaf-mold, she told herself. That was her only option. She was too tired to run.
“My lady?” a voice whispered.
Something about that voice teased her senses. Soothed her jumbled thoughts. It reminded her of a rooftop, and the sky. Of the forest. Of the close space beside a fire, with tender hands on hers.
No. It's not him. Stay where you are. Play dead.
“My lady? Lady Ambeal?”
It's one of them. A guard. Just sounds similar. It's a trick. Stay where you are.
Ettie curled up tighter, drawing her cloak about herself. Lay still. Pretended to be a log.
“My lady?”
Whoever it was had seen her. There was no hiding. They walked over. She could hear the slow crunch of their feet over leaf-mold. She could almost feel the warmth of their presence, warming the frosty air. She lay still. Felt the person's gaze move over her. Heard them move closer.
“My lady?”
A hand touched her shoulder. She tensed, heart thudding in her chest. She was terrified. Relax. If you play dead, no one will touch you. He doesn't know who you are, remember? Play dead.
Ettie stilled her racing heart, forced her breath to slow. If he turned her over, perhaps he would think the fall had killed her. Hopefully, he'd walk on.
The hand moved, gripping her shoulder, gently drew back the hood. Fingers stroked her hair, gently. Fingers whose touch melted her body. Someone nudged her to her side.
A voice from her gentlest dreams drew breath in utter disbelief.
“Henriette?” Brodgar gasped. “Is that you?”
Ettie moved then. Sat up, laughing and crying. Embraced him.