href="#ulink_d689476c-4f19-5dcd-82f5-7be9ebb3b6b2">Chapter Two
Aline was dragged slowly back to wakefulness from dreams of violence and fear. Her stomach was on the point of revolting, her head felt heavy, and her limbs were tender and bruised. She opened her eyes but closed them again hastily as a sharp spasm of pain burst across her brow. She swallowed with difficulty through a throat that was dry and raw.
A steady rocking informed her that she was in a moving vehicle, though she could not tell what. Gritting her teeth in readiness for the anticipated pain, she forced her eyes open again. It was less painful this time, and when her vision cleared she pushed herself with shaking arms to a seated position. Immediately an icy wave of nausea crashed over her. She lunged forwards and vomited into a bucket that someone had thoughtfully placed within her reach, clutching the rim as her stomach emptied itself violently.
‘Rock-poppy juice will do that to you, milady.’
The voice was male, and at the sound Aline’s memory attacked her with images. Instinctively she hurled herself back into a corner with a gasp, her hands curling into fists.
‘Who...? Where...?’ Aline asked in a voice far from controlled. She bit down hard on her lip in an attempt to control her chattering teeth.
A young man sat on a wooden chest, a short sword lying across his lap. He looked no more than eighteen, his hair cropped short in the manner of a soldier. His face was not the one she feared to see, and Aline felt her legs go weak with relief.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ the boy asked nervously, passing her a leather-covered bottle.
Gratefully Aline gulped the weak ale, taking in her surroundings as she did so. The vehicle was a small cart, long and wide enough for a couple of tall men to lie comfortably. The upper half was covered with fabric stretched over a wooden frame. The only light came from a gap in the rough spun curtains at the rear. It was not the sort of place anyone would think to look for her.
‘You...you aren’t helping me, are you?’ Aline asked, her heart sinking.
‘I’m sorry, Lady Aline, but no,’ the boy replied. ‘We have orders to take you to Roxholm.’
Aline sagged back down onto the mattress as she attempted to make sense of her memories. Her stomach heaved with mounting disgust as she felt again the weight of Dickon’s body on hers and the scraping of his mouth over her throat and breasts. She rolled onto her side and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly about her body with a soft groan.
‘Are you cold, my lady?’ the boy asked kindly.
Aline shook her head, but her stomach lurched and another cold sweat enveloped her. An image flashed before her eyes of two men fighting. Was this boy her rescuer? It seemed unlikely somehow.
The boy stuck his head through the curtains. ‘She’s awake,’ he called.
Presently the cart jerked to a halt. The boy jumped down from the cart, leaving Aline alone. After a few minutes a grey head appeared through the flaps of the curtain and with a curt nod motioned at her to come out.
Aline climbed out on shaky legs to find three men waiting. Two were dressed in rough brown tunics and leather cloaks: the young man who still held his sword, and an older man who must be at least fifty and was holding a crossbow pointed at her. The third man was clad in a black leather greatcoat. He held no weapon but stood with his legs planted apart and arms folded. Dark brown hair fell in a mess of tangled waves about his face, the ends brushing against the collar of his coat.
‘Lady Aline, I was starting to fear you would never wake!’
His voice was deep and unexpectedly refined. When his blue eyes met her own Aline felt a jolt run through her body as though she had been slapped. The memory that had eluded her finally dragged itself into her mind. This was the man who had wrenched Dickon off her.
‘We’re stopping here for a while,’ he said. ‘The horses need water.’ He rummaged in a basket strapped to the cart and produced a small loaf of bread. He held out a chunk in her direction. ‘Eat this—you’ll feel better with food inside you. Stay where you are and don’t move.’
The older guard brushed past her into the cart and returned with the bucket and a bulging sack that he passed to the young guard. ‘Get the chicken plucked,’ he ordered. He walked over to the stream and began to swill out the bucket. The boy stared at Aline nervously, then pulled a scrawny fowl from the sack and turned his attention to it.
Aline sat on the step of the cart and nibbled the bread, surreptitiously studying her surroundings. Faint sunlight barely broke through the trees, so they were deep in the woods, though on a rough track. The sun was low in the sky, so she reasoned they had been travelling for an hour or two. With luck they were still within the borders of Leavingham. Maybe she could hide in the woods and evade discovery, then she might be able to make her way back home, or at least wait until rescuers came. Surely she would have been missed by now? Or would Dickon delay his discovery to allow his accomplices longer to escape?
Aline finished her bread and stood up. She stretched, arching her back and rolling her head. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the young guard had paused in his task and was watching her. She put her hands to her head, as if dizzier than she truly felt, then with a weak cry staggered slightly, allowing her knees to buckle. If she seemed anything other than weak and helpless her plan would not work. The boy dropped his bird and moved forwards anxiously to catch her before she fell. He helped her to sit down again.
She cast her eyes downwards modestly and with a shy smile whispered to him, ‘Please sir...’ a nice touch, she thought ‘...I need to...umm...I have to...the woods...’
The lad’s forehead wrinkled in confusion and then, as he understood what Aline meant, he blushed deeply. He glanced over to where the older guard was filling the bucket in the stream. The man in black was standing by the horses, poring over a parchment, and had his back to them both. The young guard nodded in the direction of the undergrowth. Aline walked to where he had indicated but to her dismay the boy followed close behind.
With her best attempt at an innocent smile she turned to the lad. ‘Oh, thank you, but you don’t have to come with me. I will not faint again. I don’t want you to get into trouble for not finishing your task in time.’
He looked back to where the half-plucked chicken lay and relief crossed his face. ‘Be quick,’ he said.
Aline walked into the bushes, swaying slightly for effect, then lowered herself onto her hands and knees and crawled slowly away. She moved as quietly as possible in what she hoped was the direction they had come from, keeping the track in sight. Every moment now meant the difference between freedom and recapture. If only she could reach a village she might be safe.
Aline crawled to the edge of the woods and then ran along the track. When she reached a bend in the road an idea occurred to her. With fumbling fingers she unclasped her necklace. For a moment she hesitated, clutching her mother’s keepsake tightly, but her necklace was so distinctive that someone searching for her might spot it and know she had come this way. She carefully looped the necklace over a low branch. The silver glinted in the sunlight and surely could not be missed.
She walked back towards the undergrowth into the trees, then hesitated. It might be better to stay on the road; there would be less cover but it would be faster to travel and with luck her captors would not suspect her of leaving the forest.
‘I
