Page 92 of Exile's Return
Jonathan gave him a sideways glance. ‘They’ve not seen us. What do you want to do?’
‘Let them see me. I can lead them off. You keep going,’ Kit said.
Jonathan nodded and turned his horse’s head back the way he had come. Kit waited until he was safely out of sight before spurring his horse forward. He wheeled the horse as one of the troopers caught sight of him, alerting the others, and took off across the fields, leading them away from the village and away from Jonathan.
The blood pounded in his ears and the wind blew the hat from his head. He let out a whoop. Not since Worcester had he felt the thrill of the chase. He remembered now what it meant to be alive and how very much he had missed it.
The soldiers were hard on his heels and he heard the crack of a cavalry pistol and swore as something thumped into his right arm. The reins fell from nerveless fingers and for a fleeting moment he swayed in the saddle and almost fell, but there was no time for pain. He gathered himself together, securing the reins with his good hand.
Another pistol cracked behind him and he hunkered low over the horse’s neck, bracing himself for its impact, but this time his horse took the ball, squealing and going down on its haunches before breaking into a frantic, panicked dash to escape their pursuers. Kit meshed his fingers in the animal’s mane, trying to calm it and praying to God that he kept his senses.
A massive hedge loomed ahead and he closed his eyes as the animal ran straight at it, taking it with ease. On the other side, the poor beast went down on its knees and Kit kicked himself free of the stirrups, rolling away as the horse rose unsteadily to its feet and stood with its head drooping, blowing steam in the cold air, its sides rising and falling with the exertion.
On the other side of the hedge, the troopers reined in, cursing. They couldn’t see him through the thicket and he heard swearing as they turned their horses, looking for some way around the obstacle.
Finding his own uncertain feet, Kit took a precious moment to inspect the wound the horse had sustained. It looked as if the pistol ball had scored a gash in its flank but not lodged. Nothing that a good groom couldn’t deal with. He looped the reins over the saddle and sent it on its way, with a hefty whack on its uninjured flank. It jumped forward, breaking into a canter and he hoped that the troopers would follow the horse.
The warm stickiness of blood ran down Kit’s arm and he peered ineffectually at the wound. He didn’t think it was too bad, but now the chase was over it had begun to hurt like the devil and if it kept bleeding, he would freeze to death before morning.The wound needed better attention than he could provide. He pulled the cloth he had worn as a mask from around his neck and, cursing, did the best he could to bandage his arm.
He considered surrendering, but there was no guarantee of assistance. He dared not risk imposing on a stranger, even at the point of a gun. Peg Truscott’s isolated cottage seemed like the ideal refuge — if he could remember where it was.
Keeping to the shadows, he wound his way around the village, picking up a familiar road. The slightest lightening of the sky presaged dawn as Kit found the path leading to the little cottage. The world had begun to roar in his ears and it took all his effort to stay upright.
To his surprise, a thin light showed around the edge of the door of the cottage. The old lady was evidently an early riser, or else the soldiers had got there first. If Peg had a whole regiment of Parliament horse in her cottage, he was beyond caring. He needed shelter and he needed help. He lurched up the path and banged on the door.
‘Who’s there?’ A quavering voice came from within.
‘Mistress Truscott, I seek your aid.’ Kit leaned his forehead against the weathered wood of the door.
It swung open and Kit fell forward. Strong arms caught him as his knees buckled.
‘Need some help, there?’
At the sound of Jonathan Thornton’s calm, measured voice, Kit looked up.
‘Merde! What are you doing here? You and the gold should be halfway to Worcestershire by now.’
‘My horse caught a hoof in a pothole and went down. I managed to get it away from the road but I had to put the poor beast out of its misery.’ His lips tightened. ‘I can’t afford to lose horses and I was quite fond of that one. Don’t tell me you lost your horse too?’
‘So, I got myself shot for nothing?’ Kit grumbled as his legs finally gave way and Jonathan hefted him over to a chair by the fireplace, where he collapsed gratefully into one of the cushioned chairs.
‘This is a pretty pickle,’ Jonathan remarked as he hunkered down beside Kit and began to unwind the roughly tied cloth from around his arm. ‘We’ve got the gold but no horses. Daniel and Agnes are trapped in the castle and you’re wounded.’
‘Ouch! Thornton, let the goodwife deal with the wound. I have more faith in her than you.’
Jonathan ceded his place to Peg Truscott, who tutted and clucked as she poked and prodded. ‘No ball lodged. Just needs cleanin’. Ye’ll live but ye’ve lost a deal of blood. You need to rest.’
Kit nodded, and addressing Jonathan, asked, ‘What did you do with the gold?’
A slow smile twitched at his friend’s lips. ‘I found a hiding place near where I shot the horse. Didn’t want to get caught with the gold on me and I couldn’t carry it, even I had wanted to.’
‘I hope you can find it again,’ Kit remarked drily.
‘Just have to look for a dead horse,’ Jonathan said.
Chapter 40
Agnes woke from a fitful sleep to a world still in darkness as Sarah Truscott entered the room carrying a tray from which the scent of fresh-baked bread rose.
