DANGER IN THE WOODS
The dusk lay heavy on the fields. A warm and gauzy blanket, it stilled sound and blurred the forest into drowsy shadows. A cricket sang in the long grass and somewhere a nightingale called. Conn, clad in a warm cloak and his riding clothes, paced beside the stables, craning his eyes to see the main body of the house.
“Come on, Leona.”
Conn whispered it into the cool evening, stamping in place to keep his feet warm.
I hope she can escape undetected.
Conn sighed. He trusted Leona more than he trusted himself. The secret door, the silver, the stables...all had been part of her plan! He was always far less able to make plans than she was. When they were little, even his schemes for stealing jam tarts always went wrong.
Of course she will make it.
All the same, it felt like she was late. He couldn't help a shiver, feeling a sort of eerie foreboding. Conn paced anxiously, wishing he could see the sundial from here. He was sure she was too late.
Fat lot of help it'd be, Conn! There's no sun.
He shook his head at himself. It showed how jumpy he was.
In his mind, he ran through the route, hoping they'd have time to do it all without pursuit. The plan was simple: They would ride from the manor to the wooded hills and hide there the night, following the road to the abbey, where they would rest in the morning. Conn knew the way, having ridden it two days before. He knew they would be able to pass virtually unseen.
“Come on, Leona.”
He breathed warm breath onto his fingertips, chafing them against the evening chill. She should be here by now. Where was she? He tiptoed forward and risked peering round the side of the stable, looking along the path from the arbor.
All is in place. We should go soon.
He walked to where he had left the horses tethered by the gate around the back.
Footsteps.
It was an unmistakable sound, the sigh of boots over grass, the trudging rhythm. He tensed, listening. Whoever this was, they were small, lightly-built. They were coming fast across the grass.
Leona!
Conn peeped out from round the stables, just in time to see her running toward him. She had a gray riding-cloak on, hood thrown back, her flame-colored hair loose.
“Conn!”
“Leona...”
That was when he saw the shadow. Tall, and menacing. It was someone lurking round the side of the barn. As he drew a breath the silhouette shot out and a hand grabbed Leona's arm. Whoever it was, they dragged her back, away from him.
Leona screamed-
“Leona! Hold on!”
Conn grabbed her hand, but whoever it was had wrapped their arms around her waist and jerked her backward from him, breaking his grasp. Conn swore. Grabbed a staff. He felt the prickling of rage and then lost all restraint and ran, roaring, at her assailant. “Hey!”
Conn cracked the staff against the head of the shadowy figure, who roared and, drawing Leona in front of him to act as a shield, paced back. The man was tall, with a thin, harsh face. He had been a boxer, perhaps; his nose was bent as if it had been broken; arms huge.
“Conn! Help...” Leona whispered it wordlessly.
He looked at her, helpless. He could do nothing! The fiend had positioned her in front of himself and any blow to him would hit Leona. Conn would not risk hitting her. He ran around behind the man, planning to head him off before he reached the copse of trees.
That was when something from high above him hit him very hard on the head. Conn staggered forward. He saw stars. Tasted blood and spat, then jerked upright. He was on his knees. “Leona! No!”
He scrambled up in time to see the tall man lift Leona. He was standing just across from Conn and had her on his shoulder. He passed her up to a man on horseback; a man armed with a staff, who had just hit Conn. A man who smiled at Conn in that familiar way that froze his blood.
“Greetings,” he shouted to Conn in Gaelic.
Conn felt his heart fall through the floor. “You bastard!” he shouted at the Comte. He ran to his horse, but the Comte was galloping away, Leona slung across his saddle, bright hair loose, hanging down.
Conn reached his horse and mounted fast, riding to catch up with the count and his tall, silent assistant, who had mounted too, and was speeding after him.
“Yah!” Conn shouted. He leaned forward and drew in a breath, urging his horse alongside the Comte He could see Leona, hanging over the front of the saddle, bright hair swaying with every jolt of the ride.
Just as he closed the gap, the tall man with the broken nose wheeled round, drawing a sword. Conn drew his. The blades ran across each other, striking sparks. Conn grunted, feeling the blow jar his arm. He wrenched his blade around, raising it for another strike, but the man had spurred away.
“Hey!” Conn screamed. He rode down the path that led to the gates of the estate, racing, trying to catch the two men. The Comte had a head start, but he was carrying two people on his horse and it was quite possible Conn could catch him.
As he closed the gap, the man was there before him again.
Conn shouted at him, raising the sword, but the man raised his too, horse rearing to allow his rider a better aim. As the blade sliced into Conn's arm he shouted in alarm. He felt no pain, not really – just a dull blow. The man wrenched the blade back and then he was riding off.
Conn saw him go, feeling dazed. Then the pain seared into him. He cried out and his arm let go of the reins, his fingers suddenly weak. He reached his other hand to his shoulder, letting the sword drop. His fingers came away red with blood.
“Oh, no,” Conn said in a small voice. “Bastard!”
He could not reach them now. There was no way. He was wounded – badly – and he was all alone in a foreign land. He had made an enemy of Leona's uncle and lost her for good.
“I am such a fool,” he said. He shook his head at himself, bitter and despairing. “I am a fool.”
He turned his horse, guiding them back toward the manor. He had nowhere else to go. If his shoulder was not bandaged soon, he might collapse from loss of blood. And that would be fatal in the woods at night.
I need to get to Cleremont. He will take Leona there. I'll find her.
He gritted his teeth. His shoulder was searing agony, a burning, aching pain as if knives cut it as he rode. He slipped from the saddle and walked, leading his horse with his right hand, trying to ignore the agonizing pain in his left arm.
“Not too long now...not too long.”
He made it a litany, repeating over and over as he walked to the manor. The last thing he remembered was the light at the doorway and someone stepping out as it opened to his knocks and shouts.
“My lord McNeil!” the voice said.
Conn tried to focus on the tall, brown-clad figure, but he could not make his eyes do as he bid them. He closed them and let himself sink, slowly, into dark. Everything went black.