Who's Riding Red? by Liliana Hart Page A

poems, a few coins, and a hair ribbon tucked away in a pocket that had been sewn inside her cloak.
    They made it to the outskirts of the village just as dusk was setting in. Small groups of people set up camps under a thick copse of trees, shielding themselves from the wind and rain. Leaves were gathered for beds and animals were hunted for food.
    Phillipa stood in shock, alone and separated from the others. She was eighteen years old and had never stepped outside without her maid or a proper escort. But now she had no one. There wasn’t anyone to bring her food or lay out her clothes. No one to dress her hair.
    Screams shook her from her stupor. Her reactions were slow; her senses weighed down so everything seemed as if it were in slow motion. She didn’t realize what the orange glow was until the others started weeping and pointing. Hampstead was burning. The knights had set fire to all the homes and bodies that carried the disease. And now she didn’t have anywhere to call home.
    Black smoke filled the sky as the sun finally set behind the trees. The soldiers kept anyone who dared from trying to return to town, herding them further into the forest like chattel. No one spoke, though weeping could still be heard. Small fires were made and the smell of roasting meat couldn’t drown out the stench of the thick smoke that filled the sky.
    Phillipa made her way to a large tree and sat at its base, huddling into her cloak as the wind picked up. Howls rent the air and she tried to keep from jumping with fright. The people around her began to whisper, and her teeth started to chatter as Sir Harry Waldrop, an acquaintance of her father began to tell the stories she’d never believed as a child. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
    “It’s said the woods are filled with savage beasts,” Sir Harry began. The crowd moved closer to him and he lowered his voice further. “Those who have seen them say they’ve been cursed by the devil himself. They can walk as humans in the day, but when the night falls, their skin rips and their bones break until they stand in the form of a wolf. Their teeth are sharp and as long as sabers, and their claws can slice a man in two.” 
    Women in the group gasped, while the few children who remained tried to hide their faces. Phillipa herself was scooting farther away from the group, shaking her head in denial at Sir Harry’s words.
    “If you see one,” he continued, “You are as good as dead. You can’t outrun them. And you can’t reason with them, for they have the minds of animals. They won’t show mercy. And they say their leader is the worst of them all.”
    A man spoke up from the back of the group, and Phillipa thought she recognized the voice of Mr. Gillingham. “How can their leader be any worse, if what you’ve said of these beasts is true?”
    “Their leader is said to be soulless. The only one of their kind who was never actually human to begin with. He was spawned by the devil, and he is the cruelest, most vile creature in all of England. Maybe even the world. They call him Wulf.”
    Murmurs of sound rushed around her and Phillipa kept scooting farther and farther away from the people, not caring that leaves were getting tangled in her cloak and that dirt covered her hands.
    “The stories aren’t true, you know,” a deep voice said from over her shoulder.
    Phillipa drew in a breath to scream, but before a sound could escape, a hand clamped over her mouth and an arm tightened around her middle.

 

     
     

Chapter Two:
     
    Phillipa Meets Richard
     
    Phillipa’s eyes grew wide, and she found that drawing a breath was almost impossible. Her lungs tightened and she began to fight against her captor, though it was obvious very quickly that she was no match for his strength.
    “Easy, easy,” the voice said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
    His voice was soothing and gentle, and a part of Phillipa’s mind was instantly eased by his assurance.
    “I’m going to take my hand