butterflies in your hoods!”
“I’ve got one, Lady Siân!” little Meg cried.
“Is it really a faerie in disguise, Lady Siân?” another little girl asked.
“It’s just all stories, muttonhead. There aren’t no faeries,” one of the older boys taunted the younger girl.
“Are, too!”
“See? They’re all white, and shimmery!” Meg said. “They must be faeries!”
Sudden screams from the children behind Siân made her whirl around in dismay. A strange man—a warrior in plaid—had come out of the woods and sneaked up on them, only to grab one of the children and trot back to the woods with the boy.
Siân picked up a stick and ran after him, shouting for him to let the child go.
She was ignored by the Scotsman, who kept up his ungainly run toward the cover of the trees as he carried the kicking, screeching child.
Siân didn’t think about any consequences, nor did she take note of the sudden, wild pealing of the church bell. She just continued her frantic pursuit of the man, whom she assumed had been one of the Scots involved in the skirmish of the previous week.
By the time the Scot got to the woods, Siân was practically upon him, and when he was finally within reach, she took the long stick she carried and used itto thwack him on the back of the legs. The Scotsman dropped the child. The man was not seriously hurt by her blow, merely taken aback, and he reached again for the boy, his dark eyes flashing dangerously.
“Run Davey,” Siân cried, never taking her eyes from the massive warrior in front of her. “Run!”
The child scooted away and did as he was told, flying past Siân as fast as his short legs would carry him. Siân backed away from the Scotsman, but as she turned to run, she caught her foot in a mole hole and fell, giving the warrior the opportunity to grab her.
Instead, she rolled to the side and thrust the branch up again, swiping him brutally across the face. He reared back with a howl while Siân scrambled quickly to her feet.
The man recovered and made a grab for her, but Siân was too fast. She eluded him once again and darted in the direction of the town, but the big Scot blocked her way.
Clairmont’s knights responded quickly to the alarm. When Hugh and the soldiers reached town, there was no need to stop for an explanation of the frantically clanging steeple bell. Tearful women hugged their children, and townsmen shouted and pointed to the woods. No further accounting was necessary.
Hugh led the men across the hillside, toward the dense forest, certain they would find the culprits who had been lurking in the area since the previous week’s battle. They were unquestionably a threat to the towns-people, and it was up to Hugh and the rest of the knights to rout the interlopers from their hiding places and deal with them.
The ground showed recent signs of the intruders,along with indications of a struggle. Assuming that one of the townspeople had gotten himself caught by the Scots, Hugh motioned the knights to spread out and blanket the area as they moved forward.
Deeper into the woods, a human cry pierced the silence. Hugh rode forward past a bramble thicket, and halted. He dropped from his horse, horrified to find Siân Tudor sitting crumpled on the ground, her skirts tangled in her legs, her knuckles scraped and nails torn.
“Siân!” he said, going to her.
She stifled a whimper with one bruised and scraped hand at her mouth.
“Siân, are you all right?” he asked, crouching next to her.
She nodded her reply, and added tremulously, “There are two m-men, my lord. One is on horseback, the other on foot.”
“Sir John,” Hugh said, turning to speak to the knight, “take the lead. Run them to ground.”
“’Twill be a pleasure, my lord,” the knight responded as he led the rest of the men deep into the forest.
“Siân, you are certain you are unharmed?” The color was gone from her face, even from her lips, and Hugh could not face the thought that she
“I’ve got one, Lady Siân!” little Meg cried.
“Is it really a faerie in disguise, Lady Siân?” another little girl asked.
“It’s just all stories, muttonhead. There aren’t no faeries,” one of the older boys taunted the younger girl.
“Are, too!”
“See? They’re all white, and shimmery!” Meg said. “They must be faeries!”
Sudden screams from the children behind Siân made her whirl around in dismay. A strange man—a warrior in plaid—had come out of the woods and sneaked up on them, only to grab one of the children and trot back to the woods with the boy.
Siân picked up a stick and ran after him, shouting for him to let the child go.
She was ignored by the Scotsman, who kept up his ungainly run toward the cover of the trees as he carried the kicking, screeching child.
Siân didn’t think about any consequences, nor did she take note of the sudden, wild pealing of the church bell. She just continued her frantic pursuit of the man, whom she assumed had been one of the Scots involved in the skirmish of the previous week.
By the time the Scot got to the woods, Siân was practically upon him, and when he was finally within reach, she took the long stick she carried and used itto thwack him on the back of the legs. The Scotsman dropped the child. The man was not seriously hurt by her blow, merely taken aback, and he reached again for the boy, his dark eyes flashing dangerously.
“Run Davey,” Siân cried, never taking her eyes from the massive warrior in front of her. “Run!”
The child scooted away and did as he was told, flying past Siân as fast as his short legs would carry him. Siân backed away from the Scotsman, but as she turned to run, she caught her foot in a mole hole and fell, giving the warrior the opportunity to grab her.
Instead, she rolled to the side and thrust the branch up again, swiping him brutally across the face. He reared back with a howl while Siân scrambled quickly to her feet.
The man recovered and made a grab for her, but Siân was too fast. She eluded him once again and darted in the direction of the town, but the big Scot blocked her way.
Clairmont’s knights responded quickly to the alarm. When Hugh and the soldiers reached town, there was no need to stop for an explanation of the frantically clanging steeple bell. Tearful women hugged their children, and townsmen shouted and pointed to the woods. No further accounting was necessary.
Hugh led the men across the hillside, toward the dense forest, certain they would find the culprits who had been lurking in the area since the previous week’s battle. They were unquestionably a threat to the towns-people, and it was up to Hugh and the rest of the knights to rout the interlopers from their hiding places and deal with them.
The ground showed recent signs of the intruders,along with indications of a struggle. Assuming that one of the townspeople had gotten himself caught by the Scots, Hugh motioned the knights to spread out and blanket the area as they moved forward.
Deeper into the woods, a human cry pierced the silence. Hugh rode forward past a bramble thicket, and halted. He dropped from his horse, horrified to find Siân Tudor sitting crumpled on the ground, her skirts tangled in her legs, her knuckles scraped and nails torn.
“Siân!” he said, going to her.
She stifled a whimper with one bruised and scraped hand at her mouth.
“Siân, are you all right?” he asked, crouching next to her.
She nodded her reply, and added tremulously, “There are two m-men, my lord. One is on horseback, the other on foot.”
“Sir John,” Hugh said, turning to speak to the knight, “take the lead. Run them to ground.”
“’Twill be a pleasure, my lord,” the knight responded as he led the rest of the men deep into the forest.
“Siân, you are certain you are unharmed?” The color was gone from her face, even from her lips, and Hugh could not face the thought that she
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