Page 3 of One Knight in the Forest

Chapter Two

“Magdalen!” William’s bellow carried to her on the wailing wind.

Her breaths coming in harsh gasps, Magdalen raced through the forest, branches clawing at her hooded cloak as she ran. Rain pounded through the shifting tree branches overhead. The leather bag tied at her waist bumped against her hip like a lead weight, but she was grateful for the reassurance ’twas still there and hadn’t come unfastened. The items inside, especially the ruby she’d been given by her mother, would provide her with a new life—as soon as she’d delivered the missive to one of the King’s men.

Shouts, distorted by the storm, reached Magdalen. Fear whipped through her, for she couldn’t slow down for even a moment. William and his men-at-arms were gaining ground.

Not long ago, she’d convinced one of Glemstow Keep’s stable hands to saddle her a horse, and had galloped away from the castle, but William had quickly learned of her departure and set out after her. She’d ridden horses since she was a girl, but her mount had grown increasingly skittish and hard to control as the storm worsened. When lightning had split the sky, the horse had whinnied and reared, and she’d almost fallen onto the forest road that had become a dangerous sea of mud. The animal had refused to go any farther, so she’d left it in the shelter of trees and bolted into the woods.

The local town wasn’t far away. She must elude William and his men long enough to reach the outskirts and find help.

Lightning tore apart the sky overhead. Thunder growled, and rain pelted her face, forcing her to halt, shivering, behind a tree and wait until the wind had diminished before pressing on. Twigs and leaves rained down upon her, but she didn’t dare slow her frantic pace to brush the debris away.

Another peal of thunder dulled to an angry snarl, and she caught the cries of the men-at-arms in pursuit. They sounded nearer than before. They were going to catch her, and then she’d have to answer to William.

If that happened, she might be as good as dead.

Run, Magdalen! Run!

She leapt over a rotting log and raced along a narrow deer path that led deeper into the forest. Low-growing, spindly branches snagged on her cloak, slowing her down, while sticks on the ground snapped under her waterlogged shoes. She should have donned boots, but she’d wanted to get away from Glemstow as swiftly as possible.

“This way!” a man yelled.

A blinding flash of lightning illuminated the woods around her in an eerie wash of white. She couldn’t outrun the men-at-arms. She needed somewhere to hide. Now.

Desperately, she looked for a hollowed-out tree stump, or a fallen tree covered with vines—

A gray shape emerged from the undergrowth ahead: a wolfhound, loping toward her. Its bright gaze followed her as she slipped on a half-buried stone, fell to her knees on the loamy ground, and then scrambled to her feet.

Run. Run!

Not five paces in front of her, a man stepped onto the path.

Magdalen stumbled to a halt.

The man held a longbow. The weapon wasn’t primed, but a quiver of arrows hung over his left shoulder. His calf-length, green woolen cloak, brown hose, and knee-high leather boots blended with the earthy hues of the forest.

The archer’s shoulders were broad and muscled beneath his cloak. He was obviously a strong, skilled warrior who could easily fell her by throwing her to the ground, if not by using his arrows. The dog halted beside him, ears pricked, watching both her and the surrounding forest.

Through the pelting rain, Magdalen’s gaze locked with the archer’s. His eyes, thickly lashed, were brown and piercing. Sleek strands of straight brown hair had escaped from his hood and stuck to his angular, aristocratic cheekbones. He was a handsome man, but also a fearsome one, for his expression bore unwavering resolve.

She’d seen him before. Her frantic mind struggled to remember his name. He wasn’t one of William’s guards, but he was friends with William and had visited Glemstow several times in the past. He was…the local sheriff.

She had to get away—

“Lady Suffield.”

Her anxious gaze shifted to the trees to her right.

“Lady Suffield.” This time, the sheriff’s tone held a warning.

“Let me go,” she pleaded, her cold hands curling into fists.

“I am here to help you. We must get you out of the storm.”

She shook her head, partly dislodging her hood. “You are one of William’s lackeys.”

Rainwater dripped down the warrior’s face as his mouth tightened. “Milady—”