to look behind her before going over the top of the hill. He could see the sheer terror in her eyes. Sweet Jesus! It was the most emotion he had ever seen there.
This would be more fun than he thought.
He sped up his horse and reached her quickly. She had tripped running down the other side of the hill and lost her speed as he approached her, knife in hand. With one smooth motion, he slipped from his still galloping horse and landed atop her with full force. She felt the wind being knocked from her as she tried to scream. The sound never escaped her lips as his blade found it’s way to the soft flesh of her throat slicing cleanly.
A bubble gurgled from her lips as he pulled her close and whispered, “Too bad. You weren’t much sport after all, wife.”
He dropped her lifeless form then knelt beside her daubing the torrent of blood spilling from her neck and smearing it all over his face, neck and body. Then he picked up her body, threw it atop his horse and quickly ascended to the bottom of the knoll and headed toward the woods. He spent the next hour digging a hole with crude tools of sharpened tree branches and buried the remains. No one would ever find her here. And he would simply tell them that the boar had dragged her off and likely tore her to pieces, leaving the rest to the wolves and buzzards.
He finished the grisly job and wiped the trickle of bloody sweat that threatened to spill from his brow into his eyes. Then biting down hard on a stick, he took his knife and stabbed it cleanly through his sword arm in a place he knew would cause the least injury possible. It was a necessary pain to endure if he was to convince them that he had been gored by a raging boar while trying to save his dear wife. He cringed with the pain and wrapped a piece of torn cloth from his shirt around the wound to staunch some of the blood.
He had received worse injury on the battlefield. He would just have to convince them that it had wounded him in a place that caused his arm to fail. Easy enough.
Mounting his horse, he headed from the woods. Back he would go to the keep to announce her unfortunate demise to the household. He smiled to himself because at last plan number one was complete.
Chapter Nine
Navarre rode into the gate of the keep making sure to look lopsided and near faint in his saddle. The steward, seeing him covered in blood rushed to his side to help the master’s son from his horse.
“My lord, Navarre! Dear Father in Heaven, what has happened?! Where is the Lady Melissande?”
“Melissande.” Navarre gasped. “We…..we were taking our midday meal in the grass by the knoll….at the meadow.” He sagged in the steward’s arms for effect. “We were attacked.”
“Attacked! By whom? Is Melissande lying injured?”
The steward quickly called the housemaid Margery to help him. In moments the entire household including his father were standing by.
“We were attacked by a….a wild boar,” he panted, groaning to emphasize his agony. “I was slashed and my sweet Melissande…she was dragged away by the God forsaken thing. It was frothing at the mouth and I was gored before I could get to her.”
“Navarre,” his father spoke now. “You must save your strength. You have bled immensely. If Melissande is alive, we shall find her.”
“Father, I do not believe she lives. My sword arm was gored badly and I could not use it. I lost so much of my life’s blood that I was unable to chase it to the woods as it dragged her. The beast likely has torn her to pieces and left what he could not finish to the wolves.”
He feigned passing out and Thomas sighed worriedly.
“Take him to his chambers and clean him up. Call the physician to keep an eye on him in case he becomes fevered.”
He paused and turned to the steward.
“Send out five of our best men to look for Melissande and bring her here if she is found. I will be upstairs attending to my son.”
Not far away, Marco was sitting in the
This would be more fun than he thought.
He sped up his horse and reached her quickly. She had tripped running down the other side of the hill and lost her speed as he approached her, knife in hand. With one smooth motion, he slipped from his still galloping horse and landed atop her with full force. She felt the wind being knocked from her as she tried to scream. The sound never escaped her lips as his blade found it’s way to the soft flesh of her throat slicing cleanly.
A bubble gurgled from her lips as he pulled her close and whispered, “Too bad. You weren’t much sport after all, wife.”
He dropped her lifeless form then knelt beside her daubing the torrent of blood spilling from her neck and smearing it all over his face, neck and body. Then he picked up her body, threw it atop his horse and quickly ascended to the bottom of the knoll and headed toward the woods. He spent the next hour digging a hole with crude tools of sharpened tree branches and buried the remains. No one would ever find her here. And he would simply tell them that the boar had dragged her off and likely tore her to pieces, leaving the rest to the wolves and buzzards.
He finished the grisly job and wiped the trickle of bloody sweat that threatened to spill from his brow into his eyes. Then biting down hard on a stick, he took his knife and stabbed it cleanly through his sword arm in a place he knew would cause the least injury possible. It was a necessary pain to endure if he was to convince them that he had been gored by a raging boar while trying to save his dear wife. He cringed with the pain and wrapped a piece of torn cloth from his shirt around the wound to staunch some of the blood.
He had received worse injury on the battlefield. He would just have to convince them that it had wounded him in a place that caused his arm to fail. Easy enough.
Mounting his horse, he headed from the woods. Back he would go to the keep to announce her unfortunate demise to the household. He smiled to himself because at last plan number one was complete.
Chapter Nine
Navarre rode into the gate of the keep making sure to look lopsided and near faint in his saddle. The steward, seeing him covered in blood rushed to his side to help the master’s son from his horse.
“My lord, Navarre! Dear Father in Heaven, what has happened?! Where is the Lady Melissande?”
“Melissande.” Navarre gasped. “We…..we were taking our midday meal in the grass by the knoll….at the meadow.” He sagged in the steward’s arms for effect. “We were attacked.”
“Attacked! By whom? Is Melissande lying injured?”
The steward quickly called the housemaid Margery to help him. In moments the entire household including his father were standing by.
“We were attacked by a….a wild boar,” he panted, groaning to emphasize his agony. “I was slashed and my sweet Melissande…she was dragged away by the God forsaken thing. It was frothing at the mouth and I was gored before I could get to her.”
“Navarre,” his father spoke now. “You must save your strength. You have bled immensely. If Melissande is alive, we shall find her.”
“Father, I do not believe she lives. My sword arm was gored badly and I could not use it. I lost so much of my life’s blood that I was unable to chase it to the woods as it dragged her. The beast likely has torn her to pieces and left what he could not finish to the wolves.”
He feigned passing out and Thomas sighed worriedly.
“Take him to his chambers and clean him up. Call the physician to keep an eye on him in case he becomes fevered.”
He paused and turned to the steward.
“Send out five of our best men to look for Melissande and bring her here if she is found. I will be upstairs attending to my son.”
Not far away, Marco was sitting in the
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