Exile's Return by Alison Stuart Page A

Fletcher?’
    â€˜He taught me a few useful things.’
    And then left me , she thought.
    â€˜Remind me not to annoy you,’ he remarked drily.
    Agnes checked the kerchief. The cut seemed to have stopped bleeding.
    â€˜Enough of this chatter,’ she said, indicating the dead man. ‘What do we do with him?’
    Daniel shrugged. ‘He isn’t going anywhere. We’ll alert the next village we come to and they can deal with him, but I will save the sensibilities of the travelling public and move him out of sight. Can you take his feet?’
    Agnes recoiled. ‘Touch him?’
    Daniel’s eyes narrowed. ‘He’s not going to hurt you and I can’t manage him alone. Have you never seen a dead man before?’
    â€˜Only those who have died peacefully in their beds,’ she admitted.
    Taking a deep breath, she hefted the man’s feet as Daniel lifted him by the shoulders. As they moved him, the corpse let out a groan.
    Agnes screamed and dropped the man’s feet.
    â€˜It’s only air escaping his lungs,’ Daniel said. ‘Pick up his feet again.’
    â€˜You have obviously had more experience with corpses than I,’ Agnes said hotly, lifting the man’s muddy and disgusting feet again.
    â€˜Too much,’ Daniel agreed. ‘This’ll do. Behind this fallen log. I’ll mark the place.’
    Agnes removed her gloves and wiped the muddy objects on the damp verge as Daniel laid the dead footpad straight, covering the corpse’s face with the man’s own jacket. He carved a cross into the bark of a nearby fallen tree to mark the spot.
    Returning to Agnes, he hefted her back onto her horse and led the animal along the road. They encountered the black horse munching peacefully on a sweet patch of grass a hundred yards away. At his touch the horse obediently raised its head, allowing Daniel to swing into the saddle. Sensing that it was not going to be made to go back the way it had come, the black horse turned with its ears pricked, pulling at the bit.
    Daniel glanced around at Agnes. ‘Do you suppose that beast of yours can move faster? This one wants to stretch its legs.’
    â€˜You mean a race?’ Agnes felt the same thrill of the challenge she had felt when George had issued it. She had been the better rider and George knew it, but it never stopped him trying to best her. It would be interesting to see if Daniel Lovell was made of sterner stuff. She pulled her hat from her head, securing it under her leg and with a whoop kicked the mare into action. Too surprised to resist, the mare took off at a hard canter. They passed the black gelding and she heard Daniel’s answering ‘Huzzah!’ and the thunder of hooves behind her.
    She drew rein at the next crossroads with Daniel half a length behind her. He drew level with her, laughing.
    â€˜What did your mother call you?’ he asked breathlessly.
    â€˜A hoyden,’ she replied, fishing out her crushed hat and restoring it to her head.
    They glanced at each other, and for a brief moment the look they exchanged said nothing else, except that they were both young and the hard ride had been fun and a chance to forget the cares that they carried with them.
    They stopped at an inn for the night and Daniel reported the encounter with the footpads, although he failed to mention the man he had allowed to escape. In the inn parlour, the story of their adventure provoked much shaking of heads and comments about the state of the roads these days, with so many disaffected soldiers taken to brigandry.
    Daniel’s coin bought Agnes a bed for the night in a communal room and a meal. As she pushed the unspeakable mess that passed for some sort of stew around her trencher, she ruminated on the day’s events.
    â€˜Do you suppose the story he told was true?’ she wondered aloud.
    Daniel shrugged. ‘It rang true to me.’
    Agnes sighed. ‘I’ve led a