foal. “That colt. I want him, too. Yield them both and I’ll let you live.”
The sound of swords flying from their scabbards rattled in the air as the men behind him drew their weapons. Lord Hamon’s horse pawed and the animal tossed his head as though he had a hornet up his nose.
Simon sidled Addy next to Guy’s black courser. The foal, wedged between them, stood quietly, as if he understood the danger.
Before Guy had the chance to stop her, Sybilla slipped his cloak off her shoulders and dismounted. Her golden hair shining in the morning sun, she strode across the icy road and stood directly in front of Lord Hamon’s maniacal horse.
Arms akimbo, she squared her shoulders and glared up at Lord Hamon. “Let us pass, my lord. The colt is not for sale and Sir Guy doesn’t have your emerald. We are on our way to Ketchem Castle. You will be rid of me forever.”
Lord Hamon’s fair cheeks flashed with red. “Mistress Corbuc, you are as comely as your mother was, but you test me sorely. I don’t mean to buy the colt, I mean to take him. And retrieve my emerald. Now step aside. I have business with these men and no quarrel—today—with you.”
Sybilla glanced across her shoulder at Guy. He watched as her gaze rested on the foal for a moment. She turned and faced Lord Hamon. “No. I will not step aside. I have stepped aside for you for years. Let us pass, or run me through.”
Lord Hamon inched his horse a few steps forward. “Mistress Corbuc, ’twould be a pity to separate your lovely head from your lovely neck. Step aside and do not force my hand.” He lifted his sword.
Sybilla didn’t flinch. She tipped her head slightly to the left and lifted her chin. “Kill me, Lord Hamon…and know that you have murdered the only seed to ever spring from your infertile loins.”
A hush fell across Lord Hamon’s soldiers. Even his great white horse stood still and ceased his incessant snorting.
Simon raised his eyebrows and looked at Guy.
Guy rubbed his forehead and moaned. Good God, what a way to start the day.
A flash of steel glinted in the sunlight as Lord Hamon swung his weapon—just as Regalo bolted, kicking and squealing, raced to Sybilla’s side.
Lord Hamon’s horse pinned his ears back. Teeth bared, he lunged at the foal. Hamon’s blade slashed the space just inches from Sybilla’s head.
Sybilla screamed and Addy, her broomstick tail sticking straight up, whinnied and spun around, nearly flinging Simon from her back.
The old mare bucked. Both rear feet shot out behind her, aiming at Lord Hamon’s horse. They clipped the destrier across the muzzle and a broken tooth went flying.
The white horse, his mouth bloodied, whinnied and reared. Hamon grabbed the reins to keep from falling. Jerking backward, he threw his mount off balance.
The great horse twisted, his head pulled to the left, his feet scrambling on the ice until his massive bulk came crashing down. Lord Hamon landed underneath his mount, his foot trapped beneath the horse’s hips. His voice cracked with pain. “Get him off me!”
Soldiers jumped from their horses. Three men put their shoulders to the horse’s white rump and heaved, while another two grabbed the animal by the mane and pulled.
Regalo darted from the road and headed for the field. Addy raced to follow. Simon’s beefy arms strained against the reins, but she had set the bit between her teeth and he could not hold her back.
Hamon’s face contorted with agony as the white snow beneath him turned red. He beat the ground with his fists. “Bind my ankle before I bleed to death, you fools. The bone is through the skin!”
At the sound of Hamon’s voice, Addy seemed to gallop faster. With Simon clinging to her bony back she raced, gaining on her foal with every surging stride.
Guy galloped Bacchus forward and hauled a shocked Sybilla up and into his lap. “Mistress Corbuc, whatever possessed you to––”
“Sir Guy!” a boy’s voice called from across the field. “Your emerald. Found your bag afore the sheriff got it. I ain’t opened it. Brought it straight to you!”
Sybilla snapped her head up. “Etienne?”
Guy clamped his arm around Sybilla’s waist and spun Bacchus on his heels, pointing the horse toward the field. “Bloody hell, boy—not now!”
Etienne’s small form tromped across the field, through snow drifts as high as his knees. He raised the pouch and shook it, waving it proudly in the air. He cupped his hand around his mouth and called louder. “Your emerald, Sir Guy. I got it.”
He shook the bag high above his head.
Bacchus’ ears pricked. His nostrils flared and he swung his head around to look at Etienne.
Lord Hamon yelled, “Get them. I want that colt. And the boy with my emerald. Kill the girl.”
Horses whinnied and swords clattered. Bacchus squealed and bucked, his stomach rumbling, burping like a hollow drum filled with gas and water. He reared and landed facing Etienne. With the speed of the wind, the great horse charged into the field.
Etienne stopped waving. Panic swept across his face as his eyes shifted from Addy and the foal thundering toward him, to the furry black stallion not far behind them.
With the force of Bacchus’ stride, Sybilla’s head slammed against Guy’s chest. “Etienne! Get out of the way!”
Guy wrapped his arms around her and laughed. “Hold on tight, mistress. I do believe Bacchus thinks the bag is full of oats and if the boy runs, I think we all might escape.”
Sybilla twisted in the saddle to look behind her, her white-knuckled fingers threaded through Bacchus’ wiry mane. “Give the horse his head and they’ll not catch us.”
Guy slackened the reins and leaned forward. “Woohay! Here we go.”
Bacchus powered on, clods of snow-pack flying from his feet. He galloped into the field, roundly overtaking Addy, Simon, and Regalo.
Sybilla cried out, “To the woods, Etienne!”
Guy craned his neck to see behind him. Lord Hamon’s men had fallen lengths behind, their mounts slipping spread-eagled in the snow. Not a horse could run full out and neither did they seem inclined to try, lacking, apparently, the proper motivation.
He grinned and leaned into the icy wind that whipped his hair and stung his eyes. Hell to the devil, the fiery Mistress Green Eyes would defend her friends and her possession against Lord Hamon, or go down trying. She could ride a horse like she was born in the saddle. What a woman! The kind of woman who could defend his hearth and home—if he had one. God’s teeth, she made him feel alive, made his blood rush from his heart and his breath explode from his burning lungs.
He leaned close to Sybilla and laughed, his lips against her temple. “Hail to Bacchus, mistress! He has a demon’s appetite and when he’s hungry, he thinks his feet can fly!”
Chapter Four
Gray
