The Last Arrow (Robin Hood Trilogy) by Canham Marsha

Author:Canham, Marsha [Canham, Marsha]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Marsha Canham
Published: 2011-06-04T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Griffyn cursed again. “You! What the devil are you doing out here? I would have thought you had learned your lesson this afternoon and not gone wandering off on your own again.”

She swallowed hard to force her heart out of her throat and back down into her chest. “I … could not sleep. I thought a walk might help. What are you doing here? I would have thought you would be up at the chateau feasting and wining and wenching along with the others.”

“I am not one for feasting or wining on the eve of a tournament. In fact”—he paused while he resheathed his dagger—“I usually walk the night away myself. I have had enough close brushes with death to appreciate the importance of savouring a night like this, since it could well be the last I see.” He glanced wryly at the isolated tents ahead. “Tell me you are not come to ogle and swoon over the Prince of Darkness?”

“No. I am not. I was merely following the river, with no thought to where it led.”

His face angled briefly into the light and she could see the scepticism on his lips. “Well, another twenty paces or so and it follows straight into a rocky gorge. Come, I will walk you back to your own camp.”

“I do not need your company, sirrah. I can find my way on my own.”

“Suit yourself.” He started to walk away, then stopped. “To answer your question, I was just going to check on my horses. If you would care to come along, I would vouchsafe my best behavior.”

She followed the direction of his nod and saw long, low rows of canvas stables strung out along the curving base of the slope.

“Horses? You have more than one destrier?”

“I would make for a pretty poor soldier of fortune if I did not.” She let the comment pass without a rejoinder and he smiled again. “Fulgrin brought the others with him, along with the wagon and supplies.”

“Fulgrin … the squire with the mind of his own? I take it you found him without difficulty.”

“He is always difficult, but refuses to go missing for very long. Come. I stole some excellent apples and would not want my efforts wasted.”

She frowned at his broad back for a moment and, against her better judgment, fell into step beside him. The makeshift stables were lit by torchlight, filled with the warm, musky smell of horse. He walked to the far end of the row of divided stalls, startling a boy who was seated on the ground, dozing.

“Sire!” The lad scrambled to his feet, his face blanching white. “The beasts are fed and watered, sire. I groomed them myself and have let no one else near them.”

“See that you do not. Go down to the river and douse yourself in cold water. I want you awake and alert all night.”

The lad nodded, his neck stiff with terror. “I will be, sire. I swear it.”

Brenna watched the boy stumble away and arched an eyebrow, recalling her opinion of Griffyn Renaud’s tolerance for underlings.

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