Page 16 of Lord of the Forest

“Get your basket, your kerchief, and shoes. Leave naught behind. I’ll take you to the road—to the spot from which you must have been taken.”

“I don’t understand.”

He rounded on her. “What is there to understand? This is no game for me. ’Tis a matter of life and death. I cannot be found—it would mean the end for me, and for what I have here. I can’t let them find you in this place. They must not come into the forest, and you must never come here again.”

She gasped, but he ignored it. He must make her hurry, get her away from here before his resolve faltered. As soon as she was ready, he held the loose branches aside and helped her through the impenetrable rank of holly. He wasted no time in blindfolding her—if he took a circuitous route through the forest, she’d soon lose all sense of direction.

They walked for about quarter of an hour, not speaking. She still made as much noise as a herd of wild pigs crashing through the undergrowth. Each sound made him wince, sharpening his alertness and sense of danger. Eventually, frustrated beyond bearing, he picked her up and carried her in front of him.

Without hesitation, her arms went trustingly around his neck. The gesture made his heart lurch.

“Why did you pick me up?” She kept her voice to a whisper.

“You’re as noisy as a country market, Woman. I can’t hear myself think, let alone be aware of peril. We must be near the road now—it has a unique smell, at odds with everything in the forest.”

She sniffed. “I can imagine.”

He carried her a few steps farther. How did one say farewell after this extraordinary encounter? He couldn’t recall ever having bidden someone farewell before, though surely, he must have done if he’d had a family. If only he could remember them—but it no longer mattered.

“Lancelot! Have a care!”

Instantly, he was surrounded by men, and dogs straining at their leashes. Clemence was wrenched from his hands, and he was besieged on all sides by a mêlée of fists, ropes, bludgeons, and chains.

He’d let his vigilance lapse. Now, he was going to pay the price.

Chapter Seven

Clemence, held firm in her father’s arms, watched helplessly as five men assaulted Lancelot, beating and kicking him, wrestling him to the ground. But he was no easy man to subdue. Three times, he threw them off and looked as if he might escape, but thrice they flung themselves on him all at once, bearing him down again, their assault becoming increasingly vicious whenever he landed a blow.

She screamed, then yelled, “No! You’re making a terrible mistake!”

Then, all of a sudden, it was over. A man she recognized as the constable, Master Brimelow, took aim and landed a hefty blow with his club on Lancelot’s head. Her rescuer collapsed insensible to the forest floor.

Kester Bayliss stepped away from the group and came forward as her father released her.

“Mistress Clemence—are you unharmed?”

“What was that scream for?” Her father gave her a shake. “Fair blasted my brains from my skull, that did. Are you not glad to see that villain arrested?”

“William. Master Fitzpayne. Your daughter looks to be shocked. Take her home, and she can tell you her story later.” Sir Kester glanced sideways at the other men, which included Franklin, the Clairbourne Manor steward, and another fellow Clemence had seen assisting the constable in the past. “What she has to say may best be told in private.”

Clemence pushed away from her father and threw herself on the sward beside Lancelot’s limp form. His face was pale, reddening where he’d been struck by someone’s fist. A trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth.

She felt unwell. He’d rescued her from ruffians on the road and kept her safe, and this was his reward?

When someone laid their hands on her shoulders, she thrust them away furiously. “Leave me be. What have you done? This man is innocent of wrongdoing.”

“Let the law be the judge of that.” The constable had stationed himself proprietorially over Lancelot’s body.

She gave him a fierce look. “Let’s not waste any time, then. We have the law’s representative right here—a justice of the peace, no less. Sir Kester—this man is innocent.”

Kester gave her a long look. “The constable has arrested a felon. We must go through due process. Yon fellow has assaulted an agent of the queen, and must be punished.”

“Only because the constable attacked him first. Oh, and I thought you were a sensible man!” She ran a hand over Lancelot’s forehead. “He has done nothing wrong. I was abducted on the road when returning from one of my herb-collecting forays. This man rescued me.”

“And what did he do with you after that?” Her father raised a stern eyebrow. “You’ve been out all night and half the day. Why did he not bring you home immediately?”

She bit her tongue. This was not her story to tell. Slowly, she rose and stared at her interested audience.