Warrior's Princess Bride by MERIEL FULLER

Ferchar asked me to help them.’
    ‘Then believe me when I say, you are the spit of her.’
    ‘Maybe her mother has a secret.’ Benois strode into the clearing, brandishing a quarrel, which he cleaned with a lump of grass.
    Eyes darkening, Tavia pursed her lips together, determined not to retaliate. She continued eating her bread, watching the flames hiss and lick around the wood in the fire.
    Benois chucked the bloodied grass into a thicket behind him, and handed the arrow to Tavia. ‘Your quarrel.’
    She stared at the fatal tip, glinting in the morning light. ‘I don’t want it,’ she murmured, thinking again of the man dropping dead be fore her eyes.
    Benois studied the quarrel. ‘It’s a shame; the bolt’s well made. You’d be a fool to throw it away, mistress.’
    ‘I don’t want it!’ she repeated, clambering to her feet. ‘You can bury it with him for all I care.’
    ‘No time for that,’ Benois said brusquely. ‘We need to go.’
    ‘Who?’ Tavia said suspiciously.
    ‘Why, you and me, of course.’ Benois’s eyes flicked over her. ‘If you wish to return to Dunswick before dark, then we need to go now.’
    ‘Oh, but…’ Tavia looked frantically at the rounded, shorter figure of Langley, before returning to Benois’s leaner profile. ‘So you’ll take me back?’
    ‘I said so, didn’t I?’ he replied impatiently.
    ‘I assumed Langley would take me,’ she responded, a hint of desperation in her voice.
    ‘I’m afraid I cannot, my lady,’ Langley chipped into the conversation, clapping one hand to his left shoulder. ‘I took a slice in the arm from one of those brigands yestereve. I would be unable to defend you.’
    ‘Oh.’
    Benois raised his eyebrows, sensing her reluctance. ‘Believe me, mistress, escorting you is the last thing I want to do.’
    Tavia fiddled with the long ties of her cloak. ‘If you point me in the right direction, I’ll probably be all right on my own,’ she uttered with more confidence than she felt. ‘I have my crossbow…’ She saw the light flare in Benois’s eyes, and trailed off.
    ‘Which you shoot with admirable precision, my lady,’ Langley complimented her. ‘Why, if it hadn’t been for you—’
    ‘Mother of Mary, don’t give the chit ideas, Langley,’ Benois cut him off forcibly. ‘If it wasn’t for this girl, none of us would be here in the first place. Now, you bury these bodies, and I’ll take her back to Dunswick.’
    And God help us both, Tavia thought.
    Sticking his booted foot into the metal stirrup, Benois swung himself grace fully on to his horse. The leather in the saddle creaked as he adjusted his weight, bunching the reins into one hand as the horse skittered with excitement, ready to go. His cloak spread in gleaming folds across the horse’s rump as he looked over at Langley.
    ‘Give the maid a leg up, Langley.’
    In reply, Langley adopted a sorrowful expression, patting his injured shoulder.
    Benois shot a glance heaven wards. ‘Ah! I forgot.’ Realising the rest of the soldiers were busy digging shallow graves for the bodies, his razor-sharp gaze honed in on Tavia. ‘Can you climb up yourself, maid? We’re running out of time.’
    Looking up at the high saddle of the horse, Tavia sincerely doubted it, but she would try.
    ‘Just jump up,’ Benois commanded arrogantly. ‘Put your foot in the stirrup, then throw the other leg over!’
    He made it sound so easy, thought Tavia, grimacing as she tried to hook her toe into the high stirrup. But, despite Langley holding the animal’s head, the horse shuffled slightly, and she was left bouncing around with one leg on the ground, with the other foot trapped in the stirrup.
    ‘Oh, help! Help!’ she called out. Langley released the bridle and came round, supporting her back so she could disentangle her foot.
    ‘Come on!’ Benois ordered. He hadn’t seen her display of complete ineptitude, as he waited impatiently on the other side of her horse. ‘Langley, stop