Page 78 of King’s Knight

“I cannot say, my lady. He will be disciplined for leaving his post, of course.”

“You can hardly punish a man for being ill.”

Merewyn saw a flicker of relief in the man’s eyes. He, too, knew the countess to be kindhearted.

The countess looked up just then and saw Merewyn, who was trying very hard to keep her face calm.

Ermentrude gave some order to the swarthy knight and then came toward her. “I see you wear again the archer’s clothing.”

Knowing Alex intended to leave, Merewyn had changed her clothing and her hair was confined to one long plait down her back. Over her bowman’s attire, she wore her warm winter cloak. She carried her bow and quiver of arrows and the gown she had been wearing when she was taken from Talisand. “You have been kind to us,” she said, her guilt niggling at the back of her mind. But she had no regret for freeing King Gruffydd. By treachery he had been captured and by treachery he had been freed.

“It was my pleasure to have you,” said the countess. “If you are seeking your companions, they are helping Sir Alex in the bailey. They want to leave before more snow descends upon Chester. I have had the kitchen wrap some food for your travels. The package lies on the table there.”

Merewyn retrieved the package of food and walked with the countess to the bailey where Ceinder waited.

Alex was already mounted on his great black stallion and the countess went to stand next to him. “Will you be all right?”

“Fortunately, I am not walking,” Alex said. “I am well enough to ride and the pain will keep me awake. I thank you for your kindness.”

Merewyn secured the package and her bow and arrows to Ceinder’s saddle and mounted.

The countess looked at them with anxious eyes, her face full of worry. “Have a care in the woods. The earl’s prisoner escaped last night.”

Alex thanked her and soon they were riding out of Chester’s gate and crossing the River Dee.

The sun glistened on the newly fallen snow. Where the bright rays fell on the white patches, it had begun to melt. Only the snow lying in the shade of the trees was still unaffected. The horses found their way through the thin white coating left on the path well enough, but it was cold and she drew her cloak around her.

Flicking her plait to her back and pulling her hood over her head, Merewyn eyed Alex, watching his face for signs of pain. He winced whenever his stallion’s hooves encountered a rough patch of ground requiring him to brace his right foot in the stirrup, but otherwise, he voiced no complaint. She expected none from a knight who had survived many battles. She had observed the scars on his naked body which, by this time, she was beginning to know well. The wound in his leg was not the first one he had suffered.

They had traveled for what seemed like an hour, riding through the dense conifers in Chester’s hunting forest, when suddenly the canopy of trees exploded with the sound of hissing arrows shooting across their path and thudding into the bark of the large trees.

Ambush! Merewyn’s heart fled to her throat as she reached out to calm Ceinder. Should they seek to run from the outlaws? She looked to Alex for guidance but he was settling his great stallion as his eyes searched the woods. He drew his sword.

Merewyn pulled her bow from the back of her saddle and nocked an arrow.

Ahead of them, Rory and Guy tightened the reins of their horses to halt them from running. The horses tossed their heads and then stilled under the practiced hands of the knights.

A voice came from a tree in a Welsh accent. “Do not think to charge forward, Normans, or you will find our arrows in your backs. We are many and some of us are ahead of you.”

A man’s head emerged from the branches above them. His shoulders and arms were attired in the green and brown of a Welsh bowman. “Look lads!” he shouted. “Norman fruit, ripe for the picking!”

From the trees around them she heard other Welshmen respond to their leader. From their voices and what she could see, she guessed there might be a dozen.

Alex moved his stallion close to Ceinder but, surrounded on all sides, there was no way he would be able to shield her. “We only wish to pass,” he said to the place where the first bowman had appeared. “We are not among those who fight the Welsh.”

“Shall I kill them now?” One of the Welshmen flung the question at an older archer.

“Mayhap,” he replied. “A few of Chester’s men might be a fitting present for the king’s homecoming.”

“We do not serve Chester!” insisted Rory.

The first man pulled back his bowstring and took aim at Rory. “But you came from the castle in Chester.”

Rory said defiantly, “Welsh dogs!”

Another bowman pulled back the string of his bow.

“Aros!” Merewyn screamed. “Peidiwch â saethu. Yr ydym yn ffrindiau!” In Welsh, she had told them to wait, that they were friends.