Page 57 of Beholden
I dragged the cloak about me, not sure whose it was or where it had come from but grateful nonetheless for Gabriella’s thoughtfulness. I sensed her nearby and wanted to grab her into an embrace and reassure myself that she was now safe.
But to do so would be premature. We had a difficult journey ahead, especially once the queen sent out her best knights to track us.
I found another set of oars and dipped them in, adding my strength and speed to Curly’s and Ty’s. Within minutes, the laughter and singing and music faded until the only sound was the rhythmic slap of our rowing.
Chapter
20
Gabriella
Weariness had becomemy constant companion. I simply clung to the pommel and prayed I wouldn’t fall off my mount.
Curly led the way, urging us onward, ever higher and faster. From the tense glances he tossed over his shoulder to the darkening forest behind us, I suspected the queen’s men were getting closer as the evening gave way to dusk. They’d been gaining ground all day, although I didn’t know how Curly could tell.
Our trip by boat across Wraith Lake had been short. When we reached the shore, the men chopped up the boat and pushed it out into the water where it sank, destroying evidence we’d been there. Then we hiked for several leagues before we came upon the horses laden with supplies and food Lord Kennard had arranged for us. The walking had wasted precious time according to Curly. And ever since then, we’d been attempting to outdistance our pursuers.
If only the guards hadn’t noticed our disappearance from the festivities until morning... As it was, apparently someone had discovered our absence sooner rather than later, and the chase began.
Now Curly guided us deep into the foothills on trails only visible to his trained eye and into places I’d never known existed in Warwick—wild land with majestic waterfalls and rushing rivers, along with smaller cascading waterfalls and tributaries. If I hadn’t been so tired, I might have appreciated the grandeur more thoroughly, but I could only think of staying awake and in my saddle.
I’d overheard the men saying that we would stick to the desolate trails as we worked our way north into Inglewood Forest with the hope of eventually meeting up with the other runaway slaves Molly was leading into hiding. The trip would take several more days of hard riding and would tax our mounts to the limit, especially with having to traverse up and down the hills.
What the men left unsaid was that we wouldn’t make half that distance if we didn’t somehow shake Queen Margery’s knights from our trail. I managed a look behind me at Vilmar. His body was rigid with determination, and his face tense with frustration that we weren’t making more progress.
Though he didn’t say so, he was exhausted. His features contained a haggardness that hadn’t been there previously. How long had it been since he’d slept? Since before leading the slave revolt?
The men had shared with me more details regarding their getaway from the Gemstone Mountains—how they’d outwitted the guards, freed all the slaves, and fled with their lives intact. I’d been awed by their bravery. Curly gave Vilmar and Ty all the credit, indicating that if not for their swift ability to silence the tower guards, the escape would have been more dangerous. Certainly many would have died.
Although Vilmar had answered my questions about his Testing and his country’s custom in choosing their next king, he’d been strangely quiet all day. I suspected he was preoccupied with worry over the transfer of Grendel back to Scania. He’d spoken tersely with Ty about it on several occasions. Had he given up his plans to escort Grendel, so he’d be free to act as my bodyguard?
The farther we rode, the guiltier I felt for dragging Vilmar so deeply into Warwick’s problems. They weren’t his to worry about, and yet here he was accompanying me and making sure I was safe. I also blamed myself for his failure to finish his Testing, even though he insisted he willingly chose to end his part of the competition to become king.
Did he feel bound to me because of our betrothal?
His words from last night during the dance came back to me:“I want no one else but you.”He’d spoken them with such sincerity, and yet I couldn’t allow myself to dwell on the affection. We’d been on the precipice of death. And we’d spoken and acted as if we had no tomorrow.
Because Vilmar was a man of honor, he would never go against his word or promise. Nonetheless, I didn’t want him staying with me out of obligation to a vow he made because he hoped to save me. Instead, I wanted to give him back his freedom so he could restore himself into the good graces of his people and yet have a chance at being king. Once they heard of his daring deeds, they’d surely approve.
I’d grown more convinced with each passing hour that I must cut him free as soon as I had the chance to speak privately with him. I would reassure him that Curly could lead me to Inglewood Forest. And there I would establish a new life with the friends I’d made in the mines.
The truth was, I’d never be able to return to my home in Rockland. I would never be secure as long as the queen lived. And I couldn’t ask Vilmar to join me in that kind of existence, no matter how much I’d grown to care about him.
Curly led us down a mossy bank toward another river, the beautiful waterfall cascading from the rocky ledge upriver. When he reached the middle of the river, he reined in his horse and pointed toward the waterfall. “It’s time to be hiding. We’ll take cover there until the queen’s men give up the search.”
“Where?” I saw nothing but the waterfall and the wet granite it flowed over.
“Do ye trust me?” He offered me the first smile all day.
“Of course I do.”
The river was fast moving and frigid. As I guided my horse upriver, the water surged against us, soaking into my fragile slippers as well as into the hem of my gown. The closer we drew, the stronger the current, until I feared it might take us back down to where we’d begun.
Curly halted a few feet from the spray. It rained against us, and if I’d had any hope of staying dry, I lost it.
“We need to go through,” he called to us above the roar of the water. He nudged his horse directly into the pouring stream. He ducked his head and hunched his back, letting the water pound against him. A moment later he was gone. Ty did the same, disappearing into the mist.
Swallowing my trepidation, I urged my steed forward. The creature balked, tossing his head and snorting his fear. But at the slap of Vilmar’s riding whip to his haunches, he lurched into the water flow. For several seconds the water drenched me, and I felt as though I were drowning under a pummeling of ice.
