Falconer's Prey by April Hill

Author:April Hill
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance, Erotic Fiction, Historical, BDSM
Publisher: Blushing Books Publications
Published: 2013-11-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter the Eighth

On The Great North Road to London, The Sixth Day of April in The Year of Our Lord, 1193. May God Keep King Richard!

As Will Fletcher had hoped, the rain continued, making their progress southward slow, muddy and unpleasant. They passed through Nottinghamshire without incident, and keeping off the high road, spent the night in the decrepit, tumbledown barn of a poor farmer willing to accept a shilling for a night’s lodging.

“The night after tomorrow, we will find more comfortable accommodation,” Will promised as they patted down piles of straw upon which to sleep. “We will most likely be beyond the Sheriff’s reach by then.”

“I would appreciate that,” Alice sighed. “A bath would be pleasant, as well.”

He grinned. “We will ride most of tomorrow by the river. That would suffice for a simple country lass, such as you are now.”

“As children, my brother and I often swam in that same river,” she replied, grimacing. “It was as cold as ice, even in July.”

Fletcher settled comfortably onto a thick bed of straw. Even at ease, he kept a cautious eye on the door he had left ajar. “Henry tells me you were a mischievous child and a bright one, whose greatest wish was to be a boy.”

Alice smiled as she remembered. “Yes, it was. My brother Andrew had thrilling adventures, and I was forever being brought in and made to work on needlepoint and French grammar. ’Til this day, I despise needlepoint – and French.”

“And how will you converse with your fine French Lord Reynaud and his family?”

“In English, I presume,” she sniffed. “Geoffrey speaks English with no French accent whatever.”

“Indeed?” Fletcher noted. “And is that not curious? No accent at all?”

“Perhaps, but I have heard it said somewhere or other that our own good King Richard also speaks French with no English accent,” she said sweetly.

Fletcher chuckled. “So I am to be trapped by my own words. All right, then, sleep now, Mistress. I’ll keep watch.”

“But, surely you are weary after today,” Alice suggested. “When will you sleep?”

“When I am back in Sherwood,” he said softly. “Good night, now.”

“Master Fletcher?” Alice asked, her voice low.

“Yes?”

“Will you not use my Christian name, now? And I, yours?”

“If you wish,” he replied softly.

“I do.”

“Good night then – Alice.”

“Good night, Will.”

* * * * *

The morning dawned without rain for the first time since they left Sherwood and by mid–afternoon, the day had turned warm, almost balmy.

“I believe that I have acquired fleas!” Alice yelped, stopping her horse once again to scratch her leg. “I am being continually and viciously bitten!”

Will laughed. “I believe you may be correct. I have had an intense itch under my shirt since we rose. It may well be merely the scratch of the straw on which we slept, but the farmer whose hospitality we enjoyed last night kept a pack of filthy hounds. I saw the animals basking in the sun this morning. The bath you wished is closer than you imagine, however.” He pointed to the river.

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