Warrior's Song by Catherine Coulter

Author:Catherine Coulter [Coulter, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780786223541
Publisher: Thorndike Press
Published: 1983-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

“Faster, Sunnart,” Chandra heard the man Alan yelling at his powerful stallion. He looked over his shoulder and saw that one of the Englishmen had turned from his men and was galloping after them. “Well, lass,” Alan said, his hand hard against the small of her back to hold her still, “it appears that one of the English wants ye for himself.”

She knew it had to be Jerval. He would save her. She managed to rear up just a bit and yelled, “It is my husband, and he will kill you. You must let me go.”

“Yer husband? That lie will bring ye many a fair night in hell. If he were yer husband, ye stupid wench, ye wouldn’t be here now. Ye’d be safe, far away from here. No husband would let his wife dress like a boy and ride into battle. No husband would be such a fool unless he wanted to rid himself o’ ye.

“And ye were by yerself. Ye lie, for even a gutless Englishman wouldn’t be that stupid. Now ye think that coward will kill me? I dinna think so, lass. I’m hard to catch, much less kill. He has a bit o’ distance to cover to catch us. Already his beast is tiring. My Sunnart will get us to safety. Ye will bring me a fine ransom, my little lad. Mayhap that man is yer lover? Aye, but ye no longer please him in his bed? He wants to be rid of ye now? Aye, that’s it, isn’t it?” And he laughed.

Chandra could see nothing, for the dust the stallion kicked up was clogging her nostrils and burning her eyes. Her plan had gone wrong. Everything had gone wrong. She had broken the glass window in the bedchamber. She had, quite simply, ruined everything.

She had to get away from this man, else he might try to use her to kill Jerval. She would not let that happen. She closed her eyes against the dust, then gritted her teeth. He had to make a mistake soon—he had to. Patience, she had to have patience, and remain alert and ready.

“An insistent man, that Englishman,” Alan said after a few more minutes of hard riding. “He doesn’t know the eastern forest—that will slow him. Aye, we’ll lose him in amongst the trees.”

He raised his hand from her back. Instantly, Chandra tried to wrench herself free. She reared up, twisted even as she was readying to hurl herself to the ground. She nearly made it, knew that when she hit the ground, she had to roll fast. She felt the point of a dagger pressing through her clothes, its razor tip nipping the flesh of her side.

“Hold still, wench, else yer lover will find a dead mistress in a ditch. Does he dress ye like a boy because it pleases him to do so? The English are pederasts—all know that—but to dress a lass like a little warrior and send her out as bait—by a man’s balls, that’s a gutless thing to do.

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