Passion's Exile Read Free Page B

send it barreling down the road.
    Which it refused to do. Instead, the contrary nag snorted in complaint, standing its ground.
    “Bloody hell!” Her heart in her mouth, Rose drew the small eating dagger from her belt and jabbed at the horse’s hindquarters. With a startled snort, it bolted, charging off at a gallop.
    Then Rose ducked into the cover of the woods to wait.
    She didn’t wait long. She held her breath as the pursuit roared closer and closer. Finally the riders passed in a maelstrom of rocks and dirt, thankfully gulled by Rose’s cloak, which still flapped atop the fleeing horse like a passenger. How long the riderless palfrey would keep running, she didn’t know, nor could she guess how soon Gawter’s men would discover her ruse. She had to move away from the road at once.
    Wink had perched in a nearby oak. Rose retrieved her, and the two of them fled through the dark forest.
    Rose ran for what felt like miles, until she grew breathless and could no longer see the thoroughfare. Her lungs burned, and she pressed her palm to the sharp ache in her side.
    “I think…we’ll be safe now,” she gasped, perusing the woods surrounding them.
    Unfortunately, there was little to differentiate one tree from another. If she found her way to Stirling, ‘twould be by God’s grace. If she made it by morning, ‘twould be a miracle. Surrendering the horse had not only banished her from the main road to Stirling—it had cost her precious time.
    She gazed up at the small patch of the heavens visible above the treetops, at the stars twinkling like gems. She hoped she remembered how to find…
    “That way is north.” She pointed toward the northern star. “Stirlin’ lies to the south.” She moved her arm in a half-circle to the right. “That way.”
    Naturally, her finger pointed toward the densest, deepest, darkest part of the wood. She swallowed hard, vividly imagining the fierce wolves that were probably licking their chops even now.
    Then she frowned. There was no point in fueling the fire of her fears. Besides, hungry animals weren’t her only problem. She’d sent most of her belongings down the road on the satchel affixed to the palfrey. All that remained with Rose were her falcon, a purse full of coin, and the single surcoat on her back. She couldn’t afford to get lost in the woods, not with so few provisions.
    “Come along, Wink,” she said with forced optimism. “‘Twill be an adventure. We’ll find the way. Ye keep watch for wild beasts.” She glanced up once more toward the night sky to get her bearings. “And I’ll keep prayin’ to Saint Christopher to get us safely to The Black Hound.”

CHAPTER 2
     
    This eve, the night before Saint Anselm’s, marked two years since he’d left Mirkhaugh, but for the man known only as Blade, it felt like a lifetime. Anselm was a fitting saint to commemorate the beginning of his own exile, he thought, as he pissed out his third pint of ale against an oak tree in back of The Black Hound.
    The cursed longing for Mirkhaugh was strong in him tonight. Whether ‘twas being so near the manor of his birth, the significance of the date, or just the extra tankard of ale he’d drunk, he couldn’t say. But he felt the beckoning tug of home like a chain wresting a hound to heel.
    A dying star streaked across the indigo sky, and he shivered, less from the unseasonably cool breeze than the doubt plaguing his spirit. Change was clearly in the air.
    Perhaps Wilham was right. His trusted brother-in-arms had told him ‘twas time for Blade the Wanderer to die, and for Sir Pierce the Knight to be reborn, to return home. Two years, he’d said, was long enough for the people of Mirkhaugh to forget, long enough for them to forgive.
    Maybe he could go back, Blade thought, staring at the stars twinkling in the dark sky.
    But then the bloody image that was never far from his mind invaded his hopes, and he closed his eyes against a wave of pain. It didn’t matter what anyone