THE HEIRESS
EPISODE 35
From U.S Bah ❤ ✌?
By the time the sun had crested the horizon,
Isabelle and Sam had put miles of road
between them and Highcastle. The moon lit
their way until the sky turned pink with dawn.
They’d stopped as briefly as possible at the
Winters’ city house, Isabelle remaining in her
saddle as Sam sprinted inside.
He left further
instructions with the men a-ssembled there in
case Cedric had any difficulty leaving the
palace. When he emerged, a half dozen
Umberwood warriors trailed him, hastily
tacking and mounting their horses.
“Just in case,” Sam said, mounting up beside
her once again. Isabelle didn’t want to think
about what that meant, the urgency to return
home clanging throu-ghher bones. She didn’t
care who Sam brou-ght with them, so long as
they rode quickly.
And ride quickly they did. The eight of them
sli-pped out the city’s northern gate, Isabelle
melting back among the other mounted men
as Sam demanded they open the gate un-der
the orders of Lord Winters.
He showed the
guards the summons from his father, which
seemed to be sufficient for them to allow eight
heavily armed men out of the city in the dead
of night.
No one thought to question the smallest
among them, her hood still pulled up to hide
her face.
They hadn’t dared to gallop once they departed
the well-lit streets of Highcastle, but the
northerners set a gruelling pace nonetheless.
When the fatigue from the days’ events finally
caught up with Isabelle, it was all she could do
to keep herself awake in the saddle. The forest
around them was quiet, save for the jingling
bridles and clanking weaponry of her
companions, the din lulling her to sleep.
Thoughts of her father swirled around her head
as she sli-pped in and out of consciousness,
finally jolting awake as she nearly tipped out of
the saddle. Sam was beside her, but the big
redhead hid whatever fatigue he might have
been feeling.
“Just a little longer, la-ss,” he said. “We can’t
stop until we’re near Dunwood.”
“I’ll be fine,” Isabelle said, unable to stifle her
yawn. Sam was right,
they couldn’t stop until
they reached the small village marking
Kentshire’s border. When the sun finally rose,
Isabelle’s stomach coiled even ti-ghter.
Her escape would be discovered when the
twins woke to discover an empty room, unless
that guard had awakened and alerted the
others sooner.
The thought of being dragged
back to Highcastle when she was so close to
home sent a wave of nausea rushing throu-gh
her. She subconsciously glanced backwards,
as if she could see the ma-ss of guards the
royal family would likely send after her.
But behind her was a wall of muscle.
In the
dawn light, Isabelle could appreciate why Sam
had chosen the six men he had brou-ght with
them. They rode in companionable silence,
each of them armed to the teeth with battle-
hardened looks in their eyes. Most were older
than Sam, their keen gazes sweeping the forest
around them in an automatic reflex to be on
the lookout even as they sat easily in their
saddles. Isabelle had the distinct feeling that
this was not the first time these men had
ridden silently and swiftly throu-ghthe night.
Turning back towards the road to Kentshire,
Isabelle tried to for-ce her thoughts away from
the palace and away from the anger and hurt
still simmering in her gut. She didn’t want to
think about the crown prince, about how the
thought of him sent twin darts of longing and
betrayal throu-ghher.
Tears prickled in her eyes
as she felt the guards’ arms closing around her
once again, Graham standing there like a finely
dressed statue as they dragged her away.
He’d caged her. He’d locked her in her room
like some valuable object rather than a living,
breathing human being. He hadn’t told her
about her father, he’d let the king do it instead
in a most brutal way. He hadn’t even come to
check on her…
Blinking back her tears, she focused on her
anger instead. He was not who she thought he
was. There was no core of kindness un-der his
cruel, arrogant facade. The terrace had meant
nothing, just like their almost-kis-s over the
chessboard. It was all probably a part of
Graham’s grand plan to blind her to the jaws
of the trap closing around her.
Remember my orders , the king had said.
What orders had those been? To lock Isabelle
in her room and throw away the key? Or were
they more devious than that? Had the king
ordered his son to se-duce her, to make her
want to stay in Highcastle rather than leave?
As the chilly air bit into her skin, Isabelle
schooled her breathing and for-ced herself to
relax. She was free of them now and she would
never return, not if she could help it. No matter
what the king threw her way, she wouldn’t go
back. She would sell the contents of her
family’s castle to pay whatever taxes he flung
their way. She would stir a rebellion if she had
to, but she was not going back, not ever.
When they finally stopped to rest the horses
and themselves, no more than a few miles
past Dunwood, Sam tucked them into a glen
away from the main road. He told Isabelle to
rest as he took charge of Alabaster, the rest of
the men sli-pping automatically into some
usual routine. Two of them disappeared into
the forest, no doubt scouting ahead and behind
them, while the others divided the food and
filled their water flasks. Isabelle sat back
against a tree, closing her eyes for a moment.
When she opened them again, it was as Sam
gently shook her awake. She had no idea how
long she’d slept, but the others had already
packed up and mounted their horses. Climbing
back into the saddle, she tried not to wince.
She’d be sore from all the riding, but they were
almost home now. Before they left, Sam
exchanged a few words in Gallic with one of
the men, her friend’s face hardening.
“We’ll have to hurry,” was all he said, before
leading them along the deer track back to the
main road. Isabelle complied wordlessly, her
stomach once again twisting with worry at what
Sam’s scout had seen.
~*~
Graham was exhausted, saddlesore, and
grumpy. He’d wasted no time a-ssembling a
group of men to accompany him, the miles
seeming to fly past as the dozen of them
raced north. He’d left the palace grounds as
quickly as possible, if only so that he wouldn’t
be ordered to lead the ridiculously large troop
his father was a-ssembling to hunt the wayward
heiress. Sam and Isabelle already had several
hours’ head start on them and the nearly fifty
men his father had ordered to pursue them
would never catch up. Graham and his
personal guard were far more nimble than the
slogging ma-ss behind them, quickly covering
ground before changing horses at one of the
royal garrisons on their way.
As Kentshire’s border neared, he began to
wonder if he’d catch her before they made it to
her hometown, Inverloch, the lake town
surrounding Kentshire castle. But he hadn’t
needed to wonder for long. As he and his men
rode towards Dunwood, the scout he’d sent
ahead came racing back towards them.
“They’re not far,” the breathless guard had said.
“They rode throu-ghDunwood no more than an
hour ago.”
“Good,” Graham said, before directing the men
to stop for a quick breakfast at Dunwood’s inn.
None of them questioned him, but then again
that was the reason he’d chosen these men.
Over the years, Graham had a-ssembled himself
a dozen of the palace’s finest as his person
guard, led by William Hunter, a man ba-rely five
years his senior. It hadn’t been easy, shifting
and rea-ssigning men to ensure that he had
nothing but the best without his father noticing.
But Graham had learned quickly that granting
favours to the right people was a far easier
way to manipulate people than the brute for-ce
of the crown that his father so preferred. A few
well-placed bribes among the higher ranking
officers in the royal guard had allowed him to
take whatever men he wanted, unbeknownst to
the king.
“Scout ahead and make sure you’re seen,”
Graham said, pulling William aside before he
dismounted.
“As you wish, Your Highness,” he said, bowing
in his saddle before following the road throu-gh
the village and north into the forest.
Graham watched him go while the rest of the
men made their way inside. William was
obedient to a fault and one of the quickest-
thinking guards Graham had ever come across.
That was why he’d chosen him to lead his
men, because William seemed to know how
Graham thought and was able to remain in
step with the prince’s plots.
Graham doubted, however, that William knew
what he was up to now. The king had
instructed him to bring Isabelle and anyone in
her company back to Highcastle in chains.
Graham couldn’t fail him again without risking
some severe form of punishment, but he had
no intention of shackling Isabelle, not after he’d
locked her in a room and likely broken
whatever had grown between them.
Thankfully, he would only be obliged to arrest
her if he caught her before she returned home.
Backed by the men garrisoned at Kentshire
castle, even his father’s for-ce of fifty men
wouldn’t be able to take her.
So Graham bided his time, enjoying breakfast
with his men as William rode ahead to alert
Sam Winters’ rear scouts that they were gaining
on them. The sight of William would spur
Winters’ men onward, just in case they’d
slowed their pace now that they’d crossed into
Kentshire. The knot of stress that had settled
into an ache between Graham’s shoulders
finally loosened, knowing that she was close.
He’d ridden ha-rd because he’d wanted to trail
her, to be sure that she made it home without
any interruption by Leopold or his Germanians.
As much as Sam’s treachery had frustrated
him, Graham was glad Isabelle was escorted
by some of the realm’s finest warriors. Sam
Winters wasn’t bad with a sword, but his
father’s men were better. Battle-hardened from
years of defending their bleak, northern borders
from raids by the tribesmen that dwelled in the
frozen tundras beyond, Umberwood men were
known as some of the toughest warriors in
Britannia. If Leopold had laid any sort of trap
for her, Graham felt ever so slightly rea-ssured
that she’d be flanked by some of the best that
Umberwood had to offer.
And, of course, that he wasn’t far behind with
his own group of skilled fighters.
Once they’d finished their meal, they caught up
to William on the road, where he sat un-der a
tree, chewing an apple as his horse grazed.
“Bloody Umberwood scouts,” William said,
mounting up as soon as Graham and the rest
of the men had rounded the corner towards
him. “So camouflaged I had no idea I’d pa-ssed
him until I was nearly peppered with arrows.
They know we’re coming now.”
Sure enough, a half dozen arrows littered the
road a little ways ahead. They were scattered
around the ditches to either side. Warning
shots, Graham realized, before he wished that
William hadn’t for-ced the northerners to waste
precious arrows scaring him off. If Leopold lay
in wait ahead, they’d need every weapon they’d
brou-ght…
“Good, then we pick up our pace,” Graham
said, turning his eyes to the forested road
before him. They were less than half a day’s
ride from Inverloch and if Sam had detected
that pursuit was so close on their heels, he’d
be racing there now.
As Graham rode on, coiled ti-ght as a spring as
he strained his ears to listen for any sounds of
fighting, he hoped Leopold would prove him
wrong and not try to ambush the fleeing
heiress. He didn’t want to think about how he’d
react if they turned a bend in the road and
discovered the foreign prince and his men
there, ambushing Isabelle and Sam.
Graham’s hand grazed the pommel of his
sword at the thought, the bloodlust to pay
Leopold back for the frightened look he’d put
into Isabelle’s eyes pounding throu-ghthe
prince’s veins.
To be continued……