The Warrior's Damsel In Distress. Meriel Fuller
the slope, leather-shod feet slipping on the icy grass. Eva lost her footing only once, sliding down on to her side, but quickly rolled to spring up into a standing position once more, pulling Peter with her. He was grinning, loving the adventure. She smiled back, reassuring, but inside her heart was tense, stricken with anxiety. She had had enough adventures to last her a lifetime; she had no need of any more.
A stone wall, four feet thick, encompassed Melyn Town and Castle, an extra line of defence constructed by Katherine’s ancestors out of hefty sandstone blocks. As far as most people knew, the only way through this wall was via the town gatehouse, manned day and night by Katherine’s house knights. But Eva knew differently. She headed for a clump of hawthorns clustered together at the point where the wall ended at the cliff edge, high above the churning river. Behind these thorny shrubs, laden with red berries, was a narrow door, a secret entrance known only to Katherine’s closest confidants.
Pushing back the curtain of ivy, Eva twisted the handle, forcing the stiff iron latch to rise. She clutched Peter’s hand. The castle was before them, a short walk away. The moat gleamed with glossy blackness, surface like grease-covered silk, weed-strewn depths treacherous even to the strongest swimmer. Eva’s stomach gave a queasy flip; she looked away. A guard walked along the battlements, his burning torch flaring down on to the water, a wavering light. The gatehouse with its two circular turrets loomed up before them, a wooden drawbridge crossing the inky waters of the moat. Even in this crepuscular gloom, Eva saw that the drawbridge was down. Katherine had chosen not to listen to her after all.
‘Careful,’ she whispered to Peter, crouching down so that her face was on a level with his. ‘I would stay here, out of sight for the moment. Only come when I call you.’
‘And if you don’t call?’ A faint whine laced his voice. He was tired and hungry, Eva knew that. But those knights might have come through the town gate already; she had to make sure the castle was safe.
‘Then run and hide,’ she replied, trying to keep her tone light, jolly. ‘I’m supposed to be looking after you and I don’t want your mother coming after me in a rage if something happens to you.’
Peter grinned. One of his top teeth was missing, giving him an impish air. ‘All right,’ he agreed, poking the toe of his boot into a tussock of grass. ‘I’ll stay here.’
Eva walked slowly up the path towards the gatehouse, heart thumping erratically. The stone walls rose before her, studded with moss, giving the façade a lumpy, diseased appearance. A climbing rose straggled out over the low, pointed arch, bobbing, adrift, ripped from its moorings in a previous gale and never secured again. The silence of twilight crowded around her; only the rippling sound of water from the moat and an owl’s lonely hoot hollowed out the dusk.
Fingers brushing stone, she rounded the bottom of one circular turret. The portcullis was up. She peered into the narrow entrance, slightly irritated by her over-vigilant behaviour; she had managed to frighten everyone, both Peter and his mother. Lit by a single torch, the cobbled passageway was empty, leading to two closed wooden gates at the far end that gave access to the drawbridge. A single guard leaned against the sturdy criss-crossed planks, chin hunkered down to his chest and his arms folded tightly, so that his gloved hands could tuck beneath each armpit for warmth.
‘John,’ she said, recognising him, stepping forward into the torchlight.
His head jerked upwards in surprise. ‘Eva,’ he exclaimed. ‘Finally. The Lady Katherine was concerned. She said you were looking for Peter. Did you find him?’
‘I did. He’s waiting outside until I call him.’ Her shoulders slumped in relief. ‘There’s no one else here?’
‘No,’ said John. ‘Those horsemen probably found an inn in the town. Or perhaps they were travelling further, maybe to Dodleigh.’
‘I’ll fetch Peter.’ Happiness, coupled with relief, bubbled up in her chest. Spinning on her heel, she strode out of the gatehouse.
Stopped. A hand flew up to her mouth in horror.
A group of knights clustered before the gatehouse, reining in their mounts. Metal bits and stirrups gleamed in the feeble light; chainmail shone. Their approach had been silent, stealthy; they must have slowed the animals to walking pace for the last few yards over the spongy grass. So they had come here, after all.
‘John!’ Eva called out, her voice stricken with panic. ‘John, come here, now!’
The lead horseman lifted his visor, his face lined with tiredness. White hair clung to his creased, sweating forehead. ‘Don’t be frightened, maid,’ he spoke slowly. ‘We come in peace.’ The three golden lions of the King decorated his red woollen surcoat, gleaming threateningly.
John moved alongside her, holding the flaring, spitting torch aloft. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘What do you want?’
The knight leaned forward in his saddle, gingerly, as if trying to ease some pain. The saddle creaked beneath his weight. ‘I trust we have reached Melyn Castle? The home of Lady Katherine de Montagu? The niece of King Edward?’
‘Aye, my lord, that is correct,’ John answered.
‘In that case, I have a message for the lady, written by the King, her uncle, and I have orders from him to deliver it only to her. No one else.’ The old knight produced a scroll of parchment from his saddlebag, and waved it at them.
His huge destrier snorted, canting to the right impatiently, revealing the five or six other horsemen behind him. The other men were much younger, bodies sitting lithe and easy in the saddles, not showing any of the aches and pains displayed by their leader. Eva watched as another knight lifted off his helmet, resting it on the saddle before him, turning to murmur something to his companion.
Silver eyes shone below slashing eyebrows; a shock of brindled hair, wayward, vigorous. And the shadow of bronze stubble across a square-cut jaw. She recognised him instantly. A low cry, unbidden, ripped from her. Her heart smashed in fear against the wall of her chest.
It was the man who had made her life pure hell. The man who had stripped her of all her worldly goods, all her possessions, her livelihood. He had returned.
Terror loosened her mind, logic unravelling. The ground dropped away, tilted. She staggered back, her arms flying outward, clawing the air, battling some invisible attacker. Her limbs sagged, as if someone had stripped the muscles from her legs and replaced them with wet, useless rope. Shocked, reeling, a sob tore from her throat, a raw, guttural sound that split the air. No, no, not him! How could he have found out where she was?
Eva sprang away from the gatehouse, unthinking, darting back the way she had come with Peter. Pure animal instinct drove her; she had to run, escape. A shudder tore through her at the thought of him catching her again; he would surely kill her this time, after what she had done. She stumbled forward, boots snagging on lumps of tussocky grass, keeping her gaze fixed on the line of oaks beyond the town walls: the forest; her refuge and a place to hide.
Peter’s slight figure emerged from behind the shrubs where she had left him, a worried expression on his thin face, flushed red with the cold.
‘Go to the castle, now!’ Eva gasped out as she rushed towards him. ‘It’s me they’re after, not you. You will be safe!’ Reaching out, she gave him a little push, as if to emphasise her point.
‘I want you to come too,’ he whined, catching at her sleeve, slowing her step momentarily. His bottom lip trembled.
‘No! Do as I say!’ Her breath punched out in truncated gasps. Wrenching the fabric from his grasp, she pulled away, biting her lip at the brusqueness of her words. But it was the only way. Peter was a sensible boy; he would understand when she had time to explain the situation. ‘Go to the castle now!’ His mouth trembled as he turned and began to run. Watching his bobbing flight, her eyes watering against the icy chill of evening, she realised the knights hadn’t