Chapter 7:
A/N: So very very happy that all of you are enjoying this, and I'm glad you feel like I'm staying true to character, I think that's really important, at least until you've give reason for a characterization change. Really, truly, having a lot of fun writing this.
OoOoOOoOOo
Mary felt her heart plummet the moment the bandit's eyes snapped open. His hand snaked out from beneath his bedroll, fastening like an iron shackle around her ankle, and then yanked back toward himself. Off balance and with one leg pulled from beneath her, Mary fell hard onto her knees. Her hand came free of Bash's, palms scraping on loose dirt and rock. Mary stifled the cry that threatened to escape her lips, not that it would have mattered much. The man's yell had managed to rouse the entire camp, though the heavy haze of lingering sleep made the response slow.
Fear gripped her, wrapping itself around her chest. Not fear for herself, but for Bash, her stalwart protector though this trial, risking his life even now to see her escape. She was reasonably sure Cenisold wanted her alive and equally as sure that he kept Bash breathing out of some perverse sense of amusement. She would not have Bash's death on her conscious, could not bear the though of his loss, of what it would do to Francis, what it would do to her... Desperate, and knowing that time was of the essence, Mary struck out wildly with her other foot, catching the man on the side of his head. His fingers loosed their hold and she scrambled away, fingers tearing into wet earth as she lurched to her feet. Bash's strong hands caught her shoulders as she was halfway up, propelling her along the rest of the way.
The horses were waiting just beyond the edge of the campsite. Bash crouched at Este's shoulder, holding out his cupped hands. "Hurry now," he prompted. A fistful of Este's mane in one hand, Mary stuck her left foot in Bash's waiting grip. With a grunt he thrust her upward, skirts rustling as she threw a leg over the tall mare's back. Once seeing her settled in her saddle, Bash hurried to Shade. Behind them the camp was a flurry of activity, and Bash could hear Cenisold's angry yells, though he could not discern the words, nor did he try, for they mattered little.
Cenisold stood at the center of the camp at the start of the melee, waking more quickly than the rest. He stared fixedly at the lifeless eyes of his sentry, blood already gone dark on his throat. Fury welled up inside him. So much incompetence. So much trouble. He was done with all of it, done trusting tasks to be completed by his subordinates. They had failed him. To make it worse, Henry's firstborn was proving cannier than he'd anticipated, his mistake, and one he aimed to rectify. He halted one of his men with a quick gesture, taking the bow from the man's hands and an arrow from the quiver on his back. The young man had his foot in his stirrup, bouncing lightly as the big gelding took off at a trot after the gray. His employer wanted the Queen out of the way, he'd said nothing of the boy.
Cenisold nocked the arrow and lifted the bow in the precise, deft action of a man accustomed to a weapon. His gaze narrowed, face pinched into something stern and terrifying. Then he loosed. His arrow sailed true, as he knew it would. The man with the scar allowed himself a slow building, feral grin as he watched the bastard heir to France jerk in his saddle as the projectile find its mark, and then slump forward. It was done. Now all he had to do was saddle his horse, and collect his prize.
OooOOoOOOOo
King Henry stood for a long time, his hand pressed over his mouth. Water dripped off both his son and the Lady Lola, pooling beneath them in an ever growing puddle. Each droplet that fell made a tiny splash, like they were accenting each passing moment in time, an interminable wait for the two that stood before him. They had told him the story in detail, Francis speaking quickly, Lola adding a word here and there. And he'd listened in stony silence, his countenance revealing nothing of himself.
His castle had borne witness to a tumultuous series of affairs since the arrival of the Queen of Scots. It hadn't been quiet before that, he knew, but it had been manageable. His sons, had been manageable. Even Sebastian, who dared flaunt rules and etiquette and propriety, had managed to do so with nary a scratch, before Mary. Bash, his firstborn, who reminded him of the best of himself and Diane, unburdened by title, who he'd watched grow into a good man, if perhaps a little reckless. And where had it gotten him? Fleeing for his life in the woods, putting his life in danger for the sake of Henry's alliance. The King stopped himself. He was being a fool, sentiment intruding on his reason. He wouldn't allow it.
"I will send a company of men at first light," he announced.
"At first light?" Francis took a step forward. It wasn't enough. There wasn't time to waste. Mary's life was endangered. They had to be decisive, they had to act now. "That is too long," he said boldly. "We need to..."
"We need to do nothing," Henry cut him off, his voice rising in a booming crescendo, his chest expanding as he faced his son. "What good do you think it would do? Sending out men in the dark, in this storm?"
Francis clenched his jaw, both knowing and hating that his father was right. Truth lay bitter on his tongue. The King's men were not trackers, and the storm would obscure the signs. Bash was the tracker. "Then in the morning I request to go with the men," he said abruptly. "I can lead them to where the attack occurred, help them find signs of their flight."
"You will do no such thing," the King returned sharply. "Do not act a fool Francis. You have no business in those woods. Your obligation is to your country, and for that you must remain safe. To go after bandits..."
Lola hid her grimace. This was getting them nowhere, certainly not any closer to finding Mary and Bash. Of course, their straits could have been even more dire, had any of the bandits bothered to pursue them out of the woods and back to the road. It hit her then, a slam on her senses that left her cold. "They weren't bandits," Lola said suddenly. She clamped her mouth quickly shut, realizing that she had interrupted the King.
Prince and King fell to silence, the weight of their eyes making Lola shift nervously. Even Kenna, seated on a chair behind Henry, glanced to her sharply. "What makes you say that?" Henry asked.
"Firstly, a group of road bandits would probably bypass a target under an obvious armed royal guard."
"Go on."
"They did not follow us my Lord," she said simply. With each word that passed from her lips she became more sure of herself, her theory. "We were overwhelmed and outnumbered and we fled back to the road. But we had no pursuit, which they could have easily made. They had no interest in us. They went after..."
Francis' face was ashen. "Mary..."
OooOOoOooOOoO
Mary and Bash rode through the woods at a fast canter, angling toward the sounds of rushing water on their left. Mary's heart still thudded against her chest, but the terror had seeped from her, enough so that her senses were restored. The ground swelled upward beneath the horses, thickly undergrown, and Mary slowed her mount to a deliberate trot. If they lamed Leste or Shade now, it could mean their end. She forced herself to take a steadying breath and glance over her shoulder for signs of pursuit. Cresting a rise, the ground dropped away steeply on the other side, into a stream bed. Water rushed freely, swirling and eddying around rocks and other debris from the recent storm.
Though neither Cenisold nor his company were in sight, she noticed something equally concerning. Bash rode at their flank, but his head was bowed, shoulders slumped forward as if in exhaustion. "Bash?" she called softly. "Are you all right?" She reined Leste back farther, drawing even with his gelding.
With what seemed like an exceptional effort, Bash raised his head. His brow was adorned in a crown of sweat, slicking his unruly brown hair to his head. His expression was distant and unfocused, his skin clammy and gray. "Positively delightful, you Grace." He attempted a smile, but merely swayed in the saddle as if after one too many glasses of wine. Mary frowned. He held the reins and the pommel of his saddle with his left hand, his upper arm curved close to his ribs. His right arm bent across his stomach, his hand protectively holding his side.
"Bash, Bash stop," Mary laced the words with authority. He looked at her, blinking as if he did not see her. Reaching over her saddle she grabbed Shade's reins and pulled him to a halt. Bash lurched forward in the saddle, a soft gasp escaping his lips, his head lolling forward as if he no longer had the strength to hold it upright. Concerned, Mary grabbed the shoulder of his doublet, levering him back to vertical. Still balancing him in her right hand, Mary reached out with her left and pulled his arm away from his side. He didn't resist.
Dampness coated her fingertips, warm and sticky, and with a sick feeling growing in the pit of her stomach she recognized the metallic scent of blood. The thigh of his breeches was dark with it. Peering beneath his lifted arm, Mary had to stifle a gasp. There, just beneath his armpit, protruded the head of an arrow. Riding to the front as she had been, she could not have seen the fletching emerged from his back, and he had hid the wound from the front from her. "You'd have stopped," he said slowly. "And we'd have been caught, and I'd be dead anyway. At least now, you have a chance." She felt his right hand slide up over the hand she had on his shoulder, offering comfort even now. "Known that the price paid is not so dear to me, as to see you safe."
"Oh Bash." Tears sprang into Mary's eyes and a sob threatened to rip free. She wouldn't have this, wouldn't let it end like this. She sucked in a quavering breath, and gave a fierce shake of her head. "No!" she declared harshly. His eyes widened a little in surprise at her vehemence. "You cannot give up now," she told him. "I still need you to see my way clear of this, do you understand me?" She lent strength to her words, marking them the command of a Queen.
"I am not a member of your Court," he reminded her with a thin smile. "You cannot give me orders."
"Well I'm giving them anyway." she said archly.
Bash shook his head, grinning despite his pain. "You are uncanny."
Mary craned her head, looking around as if her options might lay themselves at her feet somehow. "And I'm not leaving you, if that's what you're after."
"All right," Bash nodded. "If that's the way it is to be."
"It is," she confirmed, straightening in her saddle, her hands coming back into her lap, now stained red with his blood.
Bash steeled himself, her resolve lending him strength. His tongue licked out over cracked lips and he nodded to himself. "Then we need to find a place to hide." With a cluck of his tongue and a nudge of his heels, Bash aimed Shade down the embankment and into the swollen stream, Mary and Leste close behind.
OooOOoOooOOOo
Chapter 7
This was either going to be super long, or a bit short, so I opted for getting a shorter chapter out sooner. Enjoy, and thank you for reviewing!
