Finding Kate by Maryanne Fantalis

Author:Maryanne Fantalis [Fantalis, Maryanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-944728-22-9
Publisher: City Owl Press

By my best reckoning, we had been riding for more than two hours with the waxing crescent moon setting in front of us. Sir William led the way, his destrier’s long strides putting the familiar country surrounding my town far behind us. During this time, Gregory’s pony had two problems. First, it had to keep up with the strong, steady pace of the warhorse, which required frequent outbreaks of a bouncy trot, clearly jarring to its rider. Second, and more vexing, it had to contend with leading my “Conveyance,” whose longer legs meant that he was always covering more ground than the pony. Creeping close, he would brush his nose or shoulder against the pony’s rump, causing the pony to flick his tail in annoyance, or stamp a hoof in warning, or—again—trot away. Conveyance and I found this all rather amusing. The pony did not.

“Milady, please,” Gregory said, “I don’t want my pony to kick.”

“I’m very sorry, Gregory,” I replied. “I don’t want your pony to kick either. But as you are aware, I really have no control.”

“Now, milady,” Gregory said, but that was all I heard.

The pony took that moment, that very moment, to make it clear that the encroachment on his rear end was no longer acceptable. He tucked both of his hind legs under him and lashed out with his sharp little heels. Conveyance, startled and offended by this sudden change in the pony’s demeanor, jerked up and back, but the lead rope prevented him from moving as far as he would have liked. I grabbed his mane, having been denied reins, and slammed my heels down in the stirrups. Conveyance tossed his head against the lead rope and pulled back again, rearing up a little on his hind legs, then a little more.

I wanted to cry out for help, but my throat was frozen, airless.

The pony kicked out again, whinnying at the ruckus.

Conveyance bucked, and I went off.

The world went upside down, slowly, silently, and then I was slammed on my back in the middle of the road in the one place—the one place—that still held any moisture from Friday’s rain. I lay still for a long moment, taking stock, judging whether anything was broken, realizing that some of the soft dampness was horse manure—horse manure on my wedding dress!—until I heard raised voices and forced myself to sit up.

Sir William and Gregory were standing in the road, facing each other. The knight’s rapid, staccato phrases were punctuated by a finger pointed at Gregory’s breastbone. “My lady was in your charge,” he was saying as I approached. “A less tolerant master would beat the stuffing out of you!”

For his part, Gregory looked just as angry, but, as a good servant, he could not articulate it. Fists clenched, body tense, he sputtered and blurted a few words in his defense. “I didn’t—I tried—” I could tell he longed to smack Sir William’s finger away and yell right back at him.

Something about this seemed so familiar….

I struggled to my feet, the back of my kirtle heavy with the damp.

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