Archangel by Le Veque Kathryn

Author:Le Veque, Kathryn
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing
Published: 2011-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

***

It had been a long ride to Bellham Place, the de Lohr residence in London. The weather from the Marches had been terrible and he had ridden through driving rainstorms for three solid days. Mud was his daily companion, up to his horse’s knees in the black and mucky stuff. He had stopped only to rest the horse and eat, plowing through the wet, green plains north of Salisbury and on across the softly rolling hills as he approached London.

He’d stopped the night before arriving in London at a livery he had patronized before, a big place with lots of fresh straw and comfortable for the horses. He’d put his big charger in an end stall and stretched out on a pile of hay in the corner of the stall, lulled to sleep by the sound of his horse chomping on grain and grass.

When he awoke a few hours later, the horse was still eating and he had to grin at the beast. The horse would eat until it exploded so he got up, brushed down his horse, put the saddle back on, and was along his way.

He calculated that he would arrive in Bellham around noon and he was precise in his estimate. It was just the nooning hour as he trekked down the shady, tree-lined road that led to the great gates of Bellham, the sounds of birds and the soft clip-clop of his horse the only sounds in his ears. Then he noticed a group of men leaving Bellham, soldiers, with one man leading the pack. The man was bellowing unintelligible words.

Gart couldn’t tell what was happening until he was nearly upon the group and then, with a jolt of shock, he recognized Julian. It was Julian who had been doing the screaming and Gart didn’t have to guess why. He also didn’t have to guess at the man’s presence at Bellham. Frankly, he was a little shocked to cross paths with the man but the truth was that, at some point, he had expected it. He had planned for it. Just not so soon.

Gart’s helm was on but his visor was up. It was too late to slam it down because Julian, unfortunately, had already noticed him. He was screaming something about making de Lohr pay and hurling curses. Gart reined his charger as far to the right as he could, trying to stay out of Julian’s way because the man was all over the road. His poor horse was frothy and excited. But Julian fixed Gart in the eye and the man’s jaw dropped. The disbelief in his expression was evident, a stroke of luck in the most unexpected of places. He began hollering at the top of his lungs, pointing in Gart’s direction.

“It is him!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “Forbes is here! He is here!”

Gart quickly assessed the escort with Julian; there were at least ten men, perhaps more. They were all scrambling and it was difficult to gauge an exact count. Gart didn’t stop to try and talk with Julian because he knew it would do no good.

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