Longbow by Wayne Grant

Author:Wayne Grant [Grant, Wayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781502490568
Google: Fu_arQEACAAJ
Amazon: B00OHZGQQG
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2014-10-12T23:00:00+00:00

Pursuit

Sir Roger de Laval was troubled. Both his daughter and his squire had been absent from the evening meal and it was unlike either to miss a feeding. Millicent was known to sometimes lose track of the hour when out riding. This was often the case in the summer months, when the light lingered well into the evening—but there had been a storm. He would have expected her to return once the rain had ceased.

The Lord of Shipbrook had summoned Sir Alwyn and Declan O’Duinne to join him as soon as the meal was finished. They would ride out to find their wayward charges and again warn the headstrong Millicent not to stray too long from the walls of Shipbrook. It had been four years since they had turned back the last raiding party from the Marches, but this was still a rough frontier.

The two knights and the squire were just leading their mounts from the paddock when a lathered, sway-backed horse trotted into the courtyard and immediately stuck his nose into the water trough. All recognized that this was Roland’s horse. Sir Roger felt his level of alarm rise higher. The group gathered around the tired horse and searched for some clue as to the absent rider.

“Roger, look here!” exclaimed Sir Alwyn. He pointed to a spot near the edge of the saddle.

Sir Roger flinched as he made out the rude message.

“Clocaenog! My God, Alwyn, Millie’s been taken!

“It’d have to be Bleddyn’s men if they come from the Clocaenog,” Alwyn said, grimly. “I thought he’d left us be for good, after we bloodied his last raiding party.”

Roger De Laval thought back to his last encounter with Bleddyn and his raiders. He and Alwyn had cornered them against the River Dee and there was much slaughter, but the leader had managed to swim his little pony across the channel as his men covered his escape with their lives. Bleddyn was not the only raider from the west, but he was the most savage. Rarely satisfied to plunder, he and his men thought nothing of butchering defenceless peasants and burning a hamlet as they fled back across the border.

“Aye, Alwyn, it may be Bleddyn, but may God have mercy on whoever it is,” Sir Roger said, with finality, “for I shall not!”

“What of Roland, my lord,” asked Declan.

“Perhaps, taken as well, or killed,” Sir Roger stated bluntly. “Don’t know how he managed this message—but it had to be him. He’s a brave lad. I hope he lives.” The big knight mounted Bucephalus and motioned to a house servant.

“Tell Lady Catherine what has happened when she returns from Chester. Tell her to remain here. I shall return with our daughter.” The servant bowed in acknowledgement. Bucephalus, sensing his master’s urgency reared, in excitement.

Sir Roger whirled the great warhorse around to face Sir Alwyn and Declan. By now a half dozen men-at-arms had gathered with their own mounts. “Follow me, lads! We go to hunt the Welsh!” He gave Bucephalus a sharp dig with his heels and led his men into the gathering dusk.

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