The Tudor Witch Book 1 Mistress

1523 Journey (Edited)

He makes a grab for my reins, as I snatch them away from his hands. "Do not be a fool," I say harshly. "I am not playing games. There is something wrong with the forest. Something is not right." I look into his visor, hoping for a glimpse of his eyes. Nothing but darkness. I sigh. "We must leave the trodden path."

As I speak, I slip down from my horse on to the mud below. "Miss Champernowne, come back here." He says, loudly.

"Be quiet. I am not getting down and hiding behind the trees, and you mustn't shout to everyone where I am going." I counter, the empty forest echoing my words.

The knight sighs in frustration. "I understand you have traveled far and that our customs are different from yours. However, this is not the time to be adamant, Miss Champernowne. Now get back on to your horse, My Lady, or I shall throw you over mine!"

Instead of complying, I can not help but smile at his attempt of command.

I hear an exasperated hiss from behind his helm. I leave it be. English men get heated quickly, it appears. I begin weaving through the trees, pulling my horse by the reins behind me.

"I am getting tired of this cursed road. Do not mistake me, Sir, I do not get scared in the dark. In fact, I much prefer it, but something feels wrong."

He hears the loud, hoofbeats of horses behind him before he sees them. Past battles had hardened his senses and he reacts instantly. He steers his horse quickly to meet the oncoming charge. Three large horses come into view as they gallop around a corner on to the straight path. They move swiftly, accustomed to the forest path. Their features are blurred. The moonlight isn't strong enough this far into the forest, yet he knew they were not here for pleasantries. A glint of steel from the first rider confirms his suspicions.

"Miss Champernowne, run." He says, briskly.

I do not need to be told twice. I am already among the trees my horse left behind before he shouted the words. Running through the forest, dodging the trees, having no sense of direction. I trip over stray branches and scrambled up over slippy, mud ridden hills. Twigs snag my clothes, scratching my skin when I push them out of my way.

I do not know if they are behind me or not. I can only hear my heartbeat thudding through my chest. I stop behind a tree, daring to steady myself. A few moments later, my breathing begins to return to normal. I curse myself for my foolishness—running through the forest like a madwoman. My dress is now smeared with mud, my cloak torn to pieces, and my hands are caked with blood. And yet, after all these harrowing hours of roaming through darkness, I have gotten nowhere.

I strain to hear something, but all I can hear is the soft rustle of leaves against the wind, which seem soft in comparison to my still heavy breathing. The moon's light finds it hard to penetrate the dense forest and I can only make out the dark silhouettes of trees against the night sky. I take another slow breath, in and out.

A rough hand grabs my hood and yanks me backwards. All thoughts of escape flee my mind and I scream. A big hand clamps down over my mouth, turning my piercing screams into a mumble of noise.

"What is this I find hiding in the woods?" A man's voice slurs. "Bill said he saw something scuttle between the trees as fast as a little rabbit. Thought he was messing with me so he could have the horses for himself. Bill's a sly thief, you see. He always seems like the fortunate one—always deludes me into getting what he desires. But I guess I am the lucky one this time."

The man's breath stinks like old mead and it takes a lot of restraint not to vomit. He pulls me backwards by my hood and clamps one hand loosely on my mouth. I grip the drawstring of my cape, struggling as I pull forward unhooking the straps. The hood comes loose in the old man's hands but I am not fast enough. His hand pulls tighter around my mouth and his other hand grabs a handful of my white hair which has fallen loose out of the hood.

"Get off me, you English brute," I scream, my words muffled.

"Now, now. Don't be too loud. They're having fun with your young man down there but if they hear a pretty thing like you scream . . . well, who am I to stop them having their fun with you?" The old man says with a smirk.

I kick out at the man, fear rising in the pit of my stomach. It was a futile attempt—it certainly does not help that he has grasped my hair—and to him, my assault has only seemed like a small tap on his leg, not even enough to leave a mark. However pitiful the kick, the man did not take it kindly. Twisting my hair in his fist, he slaps me, hard, and shoves me to the ground. I fall as he releases his hold of my hair. My hand automatically comes up to my cheek. The slap was painful, and the cold breeze does not numb the pain. I make to rise but the man hits me again. I can not help but sob as the man pushes me back into the mud.

"I think I will enjoy this. Such a pretty wench," he slurs.

I lay in the mud, sobbing. The old man shoves me to the side so I am lying on my stomach. Placing his bodyweight on mine, he pulls open my cloak and tries to unfasten his own belt with slow success. A surge passes through me. Fear grips me as I realize what he intends to do. All pain forgotten, I begin to struggle. I try to kick again but he is too heavy. He simply laughs at my futile attempts.

"Such a beautiful wench, you are."

"I am not a wench. I am a lady. So let me go or you will be hunted down and hanged for the crimes you wish to commit!"

"Never been with a lady before," he snickers, fighting with his own clothing.

The glint of metal catches my eye. My attacker, too busy with his own clothing, has chucked his sheath into a pile of leaves to the left of my head. Tucked into his sheath is the cold, sharp steel of his knife. I can not reach the knife, and if I try to grasp it, he will see my intent.

I eye the knife, which glints in the moonlight, and I will it to me. To will it towards me, I must want it enough. I feel a surge of warmth travel through my body and the moon's dim light seems to brighten.

I hear the thrust of the knife before I see it. The man looks at me in bewilderment, then looks down at the blade piercing through his chest. Blood drips down his tunic. He raises a hand to touch the steel, shocked. Taking the opportunity, I crawl out from under him, only to sit a small distance away on the ground in exhaustion. The man looks towards me, his stance swaying. "Witch," he chokes before falling dead into the mud.

I sit there for a few minutes, looking up at the trees and the dark sky. "Witch." I whisper. A small smile crosses my face before I, too, fall on the floor from exhaustion and shock.