The Traitor's Daughter (Complete)

Part 17-Victor

The moon was out again from behind the clouds, its light illuminating the scene. The man sought the shadows, his hand pressed hard over his arm where the musket had hit him. Blood was spurting out of the open wound, the pungent smell of the gunpowder filling his nostrils. He stopped for a moment, cocking his head to listen to the footsteps following him. His assailants were still on his trail. He could hear their heavy footfall on the deserted road.

He looked ahead, his eyes searching the darkened vicinity. The cottages were scattered to his right, while the road led to an open meadow or grassland on the left. It was his only chance to make his way towards the village. Silently, he inched forward, drawing the least attention, keeping to the shadows. He needed to find a place to hide. The cottages were too obvious and he would be hard-pressed to explain the gunshot. If only he found a place to hide, he could tend to his wound which was bleeding him dry.

The men were closing in on him. He turned into a narrow lane, seeking the cover of the mossy wall alongside the lane. A dozen paces ahead he sighted a structure, most likely a barn. Yes, it was one, he discovered as he neared it. Beyond it was a yard and further lay, a cottage.

The moon again hid behind the dark clouds, cloaking the landscape in darkness. The man seized the chance, darting towards the barn, panting hard as a fresh flow of blood spilled from his wound.

At first sight, the barn door seemed to be padlocked, but a closer look revealed that the lock wasn't fastened. He tried it, and it gave way. He pushed the rickety door and it fell open with a creaking noise. Even that faint sound seemed loud enough to wake the dead in the stillness of the night. He froze for a second, but when no shouts or footsteps followed, he breathed out a sigh of relief.

Cautiously, he stepped inside, his eyes taking a while to adjust to the darker interior of the structure. After a while, he could make out a darker shape inside, swishing its tail. He felt the soft bales of hay underfoot. Seeking a corner, he sank down gratefully on the bundles of hay. The slightly ajar barn door let in enough moonlight for him to make out his surroundings. A cow was tethered at one end of the small building, but other than that, he could see no one there.

Sinking against the wall, he tore a piece from his shirt, then tied it tightly around his arm. The pain was immense, and a lesser man would have fainted from it. An involuntary groan escaped his lips, making him jump in panic, as it echoed around the high-roofed barn.

Within moments he heard the cow become restless as it let out a loud moo.

"Easy, girl," he whispered, praying that no one would hear it.

Then, a low growl fell into his ears. His ears pricked up, all his senses on the alert. In the darkness, he had failed to notice the sleeping hound a few feet away. Now, the animal stood up, shaking its body, its eyes fixed on the stranger. The hound bared its fangs and another low growl issued from its throat.

"Shh....boy, quiet," he tried to pacify the animal, but to no avail.

The dog moved a step further and started barking, the noise deafening in the silence of the night.

He cursed under his breath. Any moment, the hound would pounce on him, sinking its fangs into him, and the ruckus was enough to waken the neighborhood.

Within minutes, he heard footsteps outside, approaching the barn. He held his breath. Was this the end for him? His assailants would finish him off here, and none would be the wiser. He would die in ignominy, without ever proving his innocence.

The barn door opened wide and he heard a voice.

"What's up, Patch? What is it, boy?" said a female voice, entering the barn. She raised the lantern in her hand, and light filled the little building.

Her roaming gaze met that of the man cowering in the corner, and a gasp of surprise left her lips.

"Shh....please don't be afraid," he said rising to his feet. She took a step back, ready to scream for help.

"I....I'm one of his majesty's soldiers. They're after me. Please don't make a noise," he pleaded.

"Who?" she croaked.

"The enemy. They're hunting me. Let me stay the night here, I'll leave in the morning," he said, a prayer in his eyes.

She turned the lantern towards him, and the beam fell on his face. She saw a tall, well-built man with hair like spun gold and blue eyes. He was striking to look at. She wondered if he could really be an ordinary soldier with his handsome looks and noble bearing. But wait! His mouth was distorted with pain.

"You're wounded," she observed.

"Come with me," she urged. "I won't give you away."

He nodded. She went outside, then looked all around. There was not a soul in sight. The men who were after him must have gone another way.

Cautiously, he crept out of the barn, following behind her, not knowing if he was walking into greater danger or not. The woman led him into the farmhouse-style cottage. It was clear now, she must be the farmer's wife. Would her husband be equally understanding or would he hand him over to the enemy who were everywhere, looking for him?

She pushed the door open and they stepped inside. She lighted another lamp and stoked the fire in the grate.

"Take a seat...." she said.

"Victor," he replied to the unspoken question.

"Jane," she said. "Well, let me have a look at the wound."

He held out his arm. She removed the cloth which he had tied haphazardly, and blood gushed out again.

"Wait here, I'll bring the medicine box."

Victor waited, glancing around the room. They seemed to be quite well off from the looks of it, but the room, strangely, lacked any masculine touches.

Jane returned with a basin of hot water, cloths, and a box of herbs. She tended to his wound, washing and wrapping it after applying the medicinal herbs.

He watched her, as she worked. Chestnut hair peeked from the bonnet on her head. She was slender with curves in the right places, and easy on the eyes, with a sharp nose, warm, hazel eyes, and a wide, generous mouth. She wasn't a young girl, he guessed her to be nearing thirty.

Once she was done, she waved a hand at him.

"You can rest here for the night," she said, indicating the couch.

"Won't your...your husband object?" he asked, hesitating to accept her hospitality.

"He's been dead these past three years," she said, a sadness entering her gaze.