it.”
“How did you know? That sometimes it aches in me to touch him?” Sometimes? Like a hundred times a day.
He looked away. “It is the same for me – with Ian.”
“Thank you.” She let her hand rest on his arm longer than necessary. He smiled down at her, raised his free hand as if to tweak her hair. She wanted him to.
He stopped halfway through the movement, turning in the direction of the small grove further down the slope. Alex narrowed her eyes; among the stunted trees she could make out horses, more than one, and she could hear the murmur of voices as well.
“What?” she whispered, made nervous by how tense he’d gone. Two horses stepped into the open, the sun shot sparks off a breastplate, and when two more horses appeared Matthew wheeled, dragging Alex with him.
“Run!”
She didn’t need a second telling. Soldiers – even she could see that. He rushed them through the undergrowth, and Alex had to wade through bracken and heather. From behind came the unmistakeable sounds of pursuit, loud voices telling them to stop.
Gorse tore at her arms, her hands, the tender skin on her unhealed foot broke open, and still she ran, struggling to keep even pace with him. Which was bloody difficult, given the length of his legs. But not even Matthew Graham could outrun a horse, and how the hell would they get out of this one? The ground shook with the approaching horses, a dull throbbing that vibrated up her feet and legs to close like a fist of ice round an unidentifiable point in her belly.
A swift assessment of the terrain, and Matthew turned them sharply to the right. What, up there? He shoved her towards the scree slope, and she stumbled and fell flat on her face on the slippery, shifting rock face. She was up again, scrabbling on all fours. When a shot went off she squeaked, ducking for an instant before increasing her efforts up the steep incline.
Agh! She hopped for a couple of steps, anything to keep weight off her foot. She had a stitch up her right side, she could taste iron in her mouth and her breath was coming in short gasps. Breathe normally! One, two, one, two. There, much better. Her foot – it was killing her, but she was too frightened to even consider stopping, dodging like a hare between boulders and shrubs.
A long stretch of grass, a horse that came at them from the side, and Alex redoubled her efforts. Arms up, arms down. Feet, move your feet. Extend your stride, pretend you’re Michael Johnson or someone. Michael Johnson? He only did four hundred metres, the wimp, this was uphill and much longer. But she tried, pumping legs up and down. Useless; the ground dragged at her feet.
The horse came closer and closer, and when she threw a look over her shoulder, she could see reflections dancing off a long blade. Bloody hell; she was going end up sliced to bits. She hiccupped, moved her arms faster – or tried to. The man cheered as he shrank the gap between them.
“It’s her, it’s her! See? She’s wearing those breeches!” Oh shit; not him again.
She tried to count them; two behind them, one on the far right, and then this enervating Smith character. Yet another shot, and Matthew yelped, limping for a couple of steps before regaining pace.
“They got you?” A wheeze no more, but she had to know. He shook his head, but there was trickle of blood flowing down his calf. A ricochet of sorts; her brain grappled with this, happier to be solving this particular dilemma than the one of how to evade all these damned soldiers.
Matthew pulled her along, plunging down one slope, up the other. It made Alex dizzy. She lost her footing, her hand slipped from his grip, a few decimetres became metres, and the horse was upon her. She tried to run, tripped and landed hard on hands and knees.
Alex made an incoherent sound; it would kill her, those huge hooves would crush her back, her head, her everything. I’m going to die! No, I don’t want to, please, no, no, no, Pappa , help me, Pappa !
“How did you know? That sometimes it aches in me to touch him?” Sometimes? Like a hundred times a day.
He looked away. “It is the same for me – with Ian.”
“Thank you.” She let her hand rest on his arm longer than necessary. He smiled down at her, raised his free hand as if to tweak her hair. She wanted him to.
He stopped halfway through the movement, turning in the direction of the small grove further down the slope. Alex narrowed her eyes; among the stunted trees she could make out horses, more than one, and she could hear the murmur of voices as well.
“What?” she whispered, made nervous by how tense he’d gone. Two horses stepped into the open, the sun shot sparks off a breastplate, and when two more horses appeared Matthew wheeled, dragging Alex with him.
“Run!”
She didn’t need a second telling. Soldiers – even she could see that. He rushed them through the undergrowth, and Alex had to wade through bracken and heather. From behind came the unmistakeable sounds of pursuit, loud voices telling them to stop.
Gorse tore at her arms, her hands, the tender skin on her unhealed foot broke open, and still she ran, struggling to keep even pace with him. Which was bloody difficult, given the length of his legs. But not even Matthew Graham could outrun a horse, and how the hell would they get out of this one? The ground shook with the approaching horses, a dull throbbing that vibrated up her feet and legs to close like a fist of ice round an unidentifiable point in her belly.
A swift assessment of the terrain, and Matthew turned them sharply to the right. What, up there? He shoved her towards the scree slope, and she stumbled and fell flat on her face on the slippery, shifting rock face. She was up again, scrabbling on all fours. When a shot went off she squeaked, ducking for an instant before increasing her efforts up the steep incline.
Agh! She hopped for a couple of steps, anything to keep weight off her foot. She had a stitch up her right side, she could taste iron in her mouth and her breath was coming in short gasps. Breathe normally! One, two, one, two. There, much better. Her foot – it was killing her, but she was too frightened to even consider stopping, dodging like a hare between boulders and shrubs.
A long stretch of grass, a horse that came at them from the side, and Alex redoubled her efforts. Arms up, arms down. Feet, move your feet. Extend your stride, pretend you’re Michael Johnson or someone. Michael Johnson? He only did four hundred metres, the wimp, this was uphill and much longer. But she tried, pumping legs up and down. Useless; the ground dragged at her feet.
The horse came closer and closer, and when she threw a look over her shoulder, she could see reflections dancing off a long blade. Bloody hell; she was going end up sliced to bits. She hiccupped, moved her arms faster – or tried to. The man cheered as he shrank the gap between them.
“It’s her, it’s her! See? She’s wearing those breeches!” Oh shit; not him again.
She tried to count them; two behind them, one on the far right, and then this enervating Smith character. Yet another shot, and Matthew yelped, limping for a couple of steps before regaining pace.
“They got you?” A wheeze no more, but she had to know. He shook his head, but there was trickle of blood flowing down his calf. A ricochet of sorts; her brain grappled with this, happier to be solving this particular dilemma than the one of how to evade all these damned soldiers.
Matthew pulled her along, plunging down one slope, up the other. It made Alex dizzy. She lost her footing, her hand slipped from his grip, a few decimetres became metres, and the horse was upon her. She tried to run, tripped and landed hard on hands and knees.
Alex made an incoherent sound; it would kill her, those huge hooves would crush her back, her head, her everything. I’m going to die! No, I don’t want to, please, no, no, no, Pappa , help me, Pappa !
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