Chapter 4
When Leo woke to a hand closing on his shoulder, instinct kicked in before conscious thought. He grabbed at his assailant as he pushed himself upright, twisting and shoving until he had the culprit pinned to the ground.
The intruder yelped — the pitch much too high for a grown man — and the figure on the stone floor of the farmhouse resolved into Lady Rosamund Hawkhurst.
Leo’s blood ran cold.
It wasn’t an attack.
She had woken him up for his turn at watch, and he had assaulted her.
Lady Rosamund stopped trying to struggle and instead drew a deep breath. Leo blanched, and keenly aware of the family sleeping upstairs, he clapped a hand over her mouth.
‘No, no, shhh,’ he whispered desperately, ‘don’t scream — it’s all right, you just startled me.’
Rosamund stared at him, eyes wide with panic.
He leaned back, trying to take some of his weight off her. ‘I’m so sorry, Your Ladyship.’ He waited for a moment, watching her eyes until the terror had subsided somewhat. ‘I’m getting up now.’
He took his hand off her mouth.
‘Leo Collins, are you joking?’ Leo blinked as an exasperated Caroline appeared next to Rosamund, who had frozen in place still gaping up at him. ‘You had your Hot Enemy pinned under you in the middle of the night and you apologise?’
Leo stared at her for a long moment. ‘My who?’
‘Your Hot Enemy!’ Caroline exclaimed, waving an arm at Lady Rosamund. ‘You’re doing this all wrong! What is the matter with you both?’
Leo was flummoxed. ‘I . . . what should I have done?’
Caroline shrugged. ‘Leaned in close and teased her about her fighting skills? Maybe made a slightly inappropriate comment about the fact that you’re on top of her?’ She looked over at him, clearly about to say more, but fell silent when he met her eyes.
Leo’s voice, when he spoke again, was quiet. ‘What kind of man am I?’
Caroline tipped her head to the side, confused. ‘You’re Rosamund’s Hot Enemy? Obviously?’ She started to walk around them. Leo tried not to look at the expression on Rosamund’s face, uncomfortably aware that he was still pinning his so-called Hot Enemy to the floor, but Caroline didn’t seem to care.
‘You hate her, you don’t trust her, but something about her compels you.’ Caroline gazed off into nothingness, aided by the fact that the room her characters were in was a bit short on details. ‘Something makes you want to be near her, makes you want her even though you shouldn’t. You’re conflicted, torn between duty and a feeling which might be lust . . . or might be love?’ She paused. ‘Ooh, that’s quite good actually, I should put it in the blurb.’
Leo realised that his mouth was hanging open. He shut it with a click.
‘I mean, you think she’s pretty, don’t you?’ Caroline went on, oblivious.
Leo considered how to phrase his next question tactfully. He decided that tact was useless with Caroline. ‘So I should have . . . overpowered her in the middle of the night and then mocked her while she was helpless?’
Caroline stopped short, blinked, and took the seat that materialised next to her, apparently thinking this over. ‘Um . . . well . . .’
Leo bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from shouting. ‘I don’t think that would help the mission,’ he said finally.
Caroline frowned, but nodded. ‘I suppose not. Never mind.’
She disappeared.
There was a sudden easing of pressure as Leo pushed himself off Rosamund entirely and backed away. She scrambled upright, her knife out in front of her, though she could not recall pulling it from its sheath. They stared at each other for a few moments, both breathing heavily, before Leo slowly raised his hands, palms out.
No threat, the gesture said.
Well. She would be the judge of that.
At length, when her breathing had slowed a little, she spoke. ‘What just happened, Captain Collins?’
He had the grace to look ashamed, at least. ‘I was startled, Your Ladyship. I’m sorry.’
Rosamund considered her options. On the one hand, Captain Collins tackling her to the floor in the middle of the night was clearly unacceptable. On the other hand, if she made him angry, he might do it again in earnest, and he now knew that he was quick enough to keep her hands away from her knives. The fact that she was currently armed was only because he’d been foolish enough to let her up.
She wanted to scream. She wanted this guard-turned-death-threat gone. Her body ached, both from the fighting and from the long days of travel. Her throat hurt, her lungs hurt, and her ears were ringing. For a moment she swayed, dizzy, sick, overwhelmed — desperate to be at home and safe.
But reality reasserted itself. She needed this man on her side for the most dangerous part of the journey. I need him to trust me. Rosamund took a careful breath and lowered the knife. ‘It’s all right, Captain. I am unharmed. Surprised, yes. More awake than I would wish to be, yes, but fundamentally unharmed. Are you injured?’
His eyes widened with relief. ‘No, Your Ladyship.’
‘Then be at ease, please.’ She mustered her friendliest smile, but there wasn’t much heart in it. ‘Though if there is a way to wake you up in future without engaging in an impromptu wrestling match, I would be glad to know it.’
He was hard to see in the darkness, but she sensed him relaxing a little.
‘Perhaps a stick?’ he suggested, and she forced out a laugh.
‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ Rosamund sat down in her bedroll, deliberately casual, and put the knife to one side. ‘Good watch to you, Captain.’
‘Goodnight, my lady,’ he said absently, and she closed her eyes and pretended to relax.
‘I can’t believe the pair of you; honestly, I give you the perfect setup, and I get nothing! Not a flirty remark or meaningful staring or even him noticing the way your chest was heaving . . .’ Caroline huffed. ‘What was the point of that?’
‘What did you expect?’ Rosamund growled, turning away from Caroline only to see Captain Collins sitting statue-like by the motionless fire. ‘I thought I was going to die! I thought he’d decided that the bandits should have finished me off, and that my children were going to be left alone, and — ’ Rosamund swallowed hard, her breathing ragged.
Caroline despaired. Why were neither of them acting like proper protagonists? It was very annoying.
‘I thought I was going to die,’ Rosamund whispered again.
Caroline gave up. ‘Well, go to sleep then. We’ll talk about it in the morning.’
‘I am trying,’ Rosamund ground out through her teeth. ‘But, shockingly enough, I don’t sleep easily next to demonstrably dangerous men I barely know! We were supposed to be at an inn, in different rooms. Instead, we’re on the floor of this farmhouse, and he just pinned me to the ground!’
‘It was an accident!’ Caroline protested. ‘And he let you up! Far too quickly, in my opinion!’
‘The fact that he can do it at all is the problem, Caroline!’ Rosamund sat up in her bedroll, glaring. ‘It is not restful to be reminded that I can be easily overpowered by someone who will be ten paces away while I sleep!’ Rosamund’s fingers strayed to her throat, and she swallowed again.
Caroline decided that, for everyone’s safety, exhaustion should overcome her heroine swiftly.
Rosamund was tense and irritable the next day. She and Captain Collins didn’t exchange more than a dozen words, and she recited the Litany for the Dead in silence at midday, mouthing the words while staring straight ahead. She had never been so glad to see a town as she was that evening. And when they entered the inn after handing over the horses, she found herself in luck: there were separate accommodations available for men and women and, best of all, someone to draw her a bath.
Captain Collins was not afforded that particular luxury, since it would dissolve the glue.
Caroline was wondering when “janitorial support for careless, incompetent executives” had been added to her job description when her phone pinged. This was inconvenient, crouched as she was under the expensive ergonomic — and completely drenched — desk of George Radley, CFO. Half-buried in a tangle of soaking wet electrical cables and very glad she knew where the fuse box was, she pulled all the plugs out of their sockets before snaking her hand to her pocket.
It was a message from Henry.
HenryJust reached the part at the inn. Wouldn’t they have a private room?
CarolineNot if they’re trying to avoid attention. I thought about having them travel as a fake married couple, but I decided it was too early for that, so I went for a more historical option.
HenryWonders will never cease.
Even cramped into an uncomfortably small space surrounded by wet electronics, Caroline couldn’t help but smile.
Leo was also glad to see the inn. He had spent the entire day expecting an attack that never came, but he judged that the bustling, brightly lit town was unlikely to harbour many brigands. He was particularly glad not to be sharing sleeping quarters with Lady Hawkhurst again. The inn was safe enough, so he was relieved of his responsibility for her until the morning. She could take care of herself tonight.
She was certainly dangerous enough. He’d been struck by the absolute flatness of her expression when she’d told him, ‘I did what I had to do.’ She also appeared to have a tendency to hide sharp objects on her person.
For some reason, he found that reassuring rather than concerning.
Best not to think about it.
Caroline smiled triumphantly at her laptop screen. It would have been better if Leo had been having all these uncomfortable thoughts while sleeping in the same room (or better yet, the same bed) as Rosamund, but she’d take what she could get. Leo, at least, was shaping up to be a proper romantic hero, though a little less enemy-ish than she’d have preferred.
Her plausible explanation to Henry notwithstanding, Caroline had tried to get Leo and Rosamund to share a private room, but Rosamund had been adamant that she would do no such thing. And her expression had been so hunted when she’d said, ‘Caroline, please stop pushing this,’ that Caroline had conceded the point.
For now.
It was clear that her heroine was very focused, which she supposed was admirable, but that just meant she needed to wear Rosamund down over time. Caroline turned back to the woman in question, who was now relaxing in the bath, an expression of absolute bliss on her face. The bruises around Rosamund’s throat were stark against her skin, and Caroline wondered if Leo would spot them under the collar of her doublet.
She resolved to make sure he spotted them.
In the meantime, the scene went silent and still, and Rosamund groaned as Caroline plopped herself down in a chair next to the copper tub. ‘Will you be soaping your body when Leo barges in to tell you something vital? Or perhaps washing your hair?’
Rosamund closed her eyes. ‘I already washed my hair in the basin, and I doubt Captain Collins is so lost to good sense and decorum as to burst unannounced into the women’s quarters. Unless there are assassins.’ Her eyes snapped open. ‘There aren’t assassins, are there?’
Caroline shook her head. ‘Obviously I wouldn’t be able to tell you if there were, but since you won’t remember any of this when I leave anyway, no. No assassins. An actual night of sleep. For once.’
Captain Collins and Lady Rosamund tackled the next two days of travel with renewed determination, not least because they were well into Bevorian border territory by now and accommodations were few and far between. But if the first part of the journey had been trying, the second was not much improvement. The summer heat had grown uncomfortable, and the biting insects were out in force. The horses were miserable, and so were their riders. Their route took them through several areas that showed signs of recent fighting: too many carrion birds by half, the odd flashes of white on the ground that could only be human bones. They passed uncountable fields ripe for harvest with just a handful of women and children working in them, their pace frantic as they looked at the darkening sky.
That night the weather took a stormy turn, which might have been a blessing after the lengthy drought, especially for the farmers — but the onset of hail threatened both the travellers and the ungathered crops. The lady and her escort were forced to seek shelter once more from obliging, if puzzled, peasantry; this time, however, Leo spent the night in the barn.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to spend the night in the house?’ Caroline wheedled.
Leo shook his head. ‘No, thank you.’
Caroline considered arguing, then shrugged. She could handle a slow burn. They’d be forced into proximity soon enough. Maybe he would miss her while they slept.
The next day brought unrelieved rain coupled with unseasonably chilly temperatures. This did nothing to improve morale, particularly when Rosamund overheard the farmer and her son having a murmured conversation away from the younger children about the possibility of flooding. Rosamund shivered. She and the captain should reach the Grenalla River, which marked the usual border with Abrenia, by the end of the day.
The relentless downpour after the drought had turned the river wild. The water was brown with silt, and Leo noted stray branches from uprooted trees racing along in the current.
Lady Rosamund wiped dripping strands of hair out of her eyes and tugged her hood lower over her brow. ‘Captain Collins,’ she said, her voice strained, ‘I can see your promised accommodation for the night up that hill on the Abrenian side of the river. I am cold, it is pouring with rain, and I am exhausted. Please do not tell me you want us to take a day-long detour because you don’t like the look of the bridge that you yourself led us to.’
Leo resisted the urge to snap at her.
The narrow, rickety rope bridge, the height of three men above the rushing river, required scrambling up and down a steep, scree-covered hill to access it, making it all but useless for soldiers. It had been long abandoned by its Bevorian owner, who lived on an estate far from the borders and probably didn’t remember it existed. Leo had crossed it on a mission to Abrenia two years prior, but time had not been kind, and the river was wide. He was keenly aware of the risk to Lady Hawkhurst.
And the document she carried in her saddlebag, of course.
That said, when he glanced back at his travelling companion, he had to admit that she looked terrible. Her freckles stood out starkly on her pale face, there were dark smudges under her eyes, and her normally bright red hair had been plastered to her head by the heavy rain. Not to mention the despondent look on her face. Perhaps he had pushed her too hard the last few days.
He came to a decision. ‘Fine,’ he said shortly. ‘We cross here. I’ll go first.’
Leo’s horse didn’t like the bridge. Scout stamped and snorted as the captain coaxed him onto the first few boards. Leo couldn’t blame him, but after a tense few minutes of creaking and groaning, horse and rider made it to the other side safely.
‘See?’ Lady Rosamund shouted, already sounding more cheerful.
Leo ground his teeth, forcing the words down. Now was not the time for an argument. The lady dismounted to lead Willow over the bridge, and he began to relax as she stepped carefully over the slippery planks. She and her mount were almost across when something cracked.
Willow squealed, charging forward and shouldering her owner aside.
The rotten wood gave way with a violent screech, and Rosamund tumbled into the water.
The river closed over her head, surrounding her with rushing ribbons of green and brown. Rosamund hit the bottom quickly and pushed off to strike out for the surface, her clothes dragging, her lungs burning.
She broke through the water and gasped, sucking in a great gulp of air. Regaining her bearings, she saw the river had drawn her a short way downstream. She despaired at the height and steepness of the Abrenian bank, but struck out for it anyway. If she could just get out of the current . . . she grabbed for the plants at the water’s edge, ripping several out and slipping off several more, pulled along by the water once again before — there!
Rosamund clamped a hand on a tree root and hauled her upper body onto relatively dry land. She had a climb ahead of her to get back to the level of the bridge, but she was out of danger. For now. She paused, panting, for the space of a handful of breaths.
Then she heard, ‘Catch!’ and something hit her on the back of the head.
‘Ow!’
The captain’s face, white with worry, peered at her over the top of the bank, and now she espied the rope he had thrown down. ‘Take the end!’ She was about to grab for it when a nasty thought occurred to her: the declaration was safely stowed in Willow’s saddlebag. All Captain Collins had to do to be rid of his troublesome charge was let go when she was halfway up, and unlike in the farmhouse, there would be no one around to witness it.
She knew Leo didn’t trust her. Maybe Eudosia had never trusted her either. Maybe she really does think I killed Hugo. Maybe this has all been an elaborate scheme to get me out of the way!
Rosamund’s head throbbed. She rested it against the tree root, trying to think. On the one hand, it was unwise to put herself at the captain’s mercy. On the other, she was probably too exhausted and chilled to make it up the bank on her own. The rope that had caused stars to wink in her vision was dangling off to her left, waving from side to side as the end was pushed downstream by the current. Rosamund dived for it, grabbing on with both hands, and began to pull herself up the treacherous slope.
Halfway up her foot slid out from under her, and her left hand skidded off the rope. Her right shoulder slammed into a stout rock protruding from the bank, and she screamed at the sudden pain but held on. Over the rushing water she heard the captain shouting at her, and she grimaced at the thought of the talking-to she knew she was going to get when she managed to make it to the top.
For a moment Rosamund dangled, gasping, feet scrabbling for purchase. She had grit in her teeth, her wet hair had unravelled and hung full in her face, mud caked her boots and trousers, and sparks of agony shot down her arm. But then the rope started to slide upwards, and Rosamund with it. She swung her left hand back to the rope, helping herself along with her feet as much as she could until finally, blessedly, she crested the top.
Leo gripped her by the forearm and let go of the rope. They both flopped to the ground — he to a sitting position, Rosamund flat on her back. She groaned gently, feeling the rain splash onto her upturned face.
A giggle burst out of her, unbidden.
‘My lady?’
The laughter got more and more uncontrollable, until it was more like crying. She sucked in a few deep breaths, falling silent as the shaking started.
‘Your Ladyship!’ He sounded angry, but she couldn’t control herself enough to speak. After almost a week of danger and misadventure, her body had rebelled against her.
‘Up.’ His voice seemed to be coming from a great distance away, but it brooked no argument. ‘Now.’
She struggled to her feet, shivering. Her knees buckled, and she nearly fell. But then a cloak settled over her shoulders, and an arm snaked around her waist.
‘The shepherd’s hut is there,’ he said, pointing up a small hill in front of them with his free hand. ‘You said yourself that you could see it from the other side of the river. Move.’