The Fifth Knight(61)

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“Pick up the pace, men.” Fitzurse’s order sounded above Theodosia, interrupting her rosary.

A faster pace would be even more painful. But she would endure, lose herself in prayer. She gritted her teeth as she tried to start again.

A dark blur shot past on the snow below, then another.

“Wolves!” Fitzurse’s warning echoed through the trees.

Snarls came from ahead, then de Tracy’s shout.

“Get off, you bastards!”

Theodosia twisted in her bonds, frantic that the animals would try and grab for her as she dangled from Fitzurse’s horse.

“Stay still, or you’ll have us over.” Fitzurse’s hand clamped a warning hand on the back of her neck. His stallion skittered beneath them with terrified whinnies and tried his best to bolt, flinging her harder against the ropes that held her. “Use your sword, de Tracy!”

“I’ll lose my hold! I need to — ”

Yowls and snarls drowned his calls.

Theodosia wrenched her head to one side in Fitzurse’s grasp.

Wolves surrounded de Tracy as his horse spun to try and escape leaps, jaws, teeth, claws.

Fitzurse’s stallion bucked, and the ground tipped up to her. She cried out. If the ropes gave, she’d be on the ground.

“Back him, le Bret,” said Fitzurse.

The huge knight urged his powerful animal toward the stricken de Tracy, but the horse would have none of it. It backed away with rolling eyes and flared nostrils.

With a grunted oath, le Bret swung himself from the saddle, stained broadsword in hand. His animal jerked from his grasp on the reins and took off through the trees.

“You oaf!” shouted Fitzurse.

“Sorry, my lord.” Le Bret waded in with his broadsword to slash at the group. He connected with one, and it fled with a howl.

Another clamped its jaws on de Tracy’s bloodstained saddlebag. The bag gave with a loud rip and spewed its contents onto de Tracy’s leg.

“What the devil’s in there?” said Fitzurse.

The wolves howled afresh. Most fell on the bloody chunks that scattered on the snow. But a couple, crazed by the scent of fresh meat, leapt for de Tracy’s leg.

An agonized scream came from de Tracy.

Theodosia cringed in horror. One of the wolves had bitten on his ankle, swung off its paws as the beleaguered knight tried to pull away.

The rest of the pack regrouped, surrounded le Bret, closed him in.

“My leg! It’s got my bastard leg!” De Tracy hung on to his horse by the mane, stirrups lost, as the wolf held tight, pulling, snarling.

“Help us, my lord.” Le Bret wheeled left, then right, as the pack circled closer.

With an exclamation of disgust, Fitzurse jumped from his horse and tethered it in one movement. He made for the group with a yell, brandishing his sword.

Theodosia wriggled frantically atop Fitzurse’s panicked stallion. The wolf pack was consumed with bloodlust, could easily turn on this horse, her ankles. Her face.

A fresh shriek came from de Tracy. The wolf pulled him to the ground, his riderless horse kicking out in terror as it fled after le Bret’s.

The wolf released the knight’s leg, then fell on his throat, tearing out a mouthful of red beard and wet flesh.

Theodosia looked away as bile rose in her throat. Noises from a nightmare filled her ears: the wolves’ snarls, the rip of live flesh, the pitiful screams of the dying de Tracy and le Bret, and Fitzurse’s shouts and oaths.

An animal snorted near to her left. With a start, she moved her gaze to its source, braced for what she knew not.

Screened by a couple of huge fallen tree trunks, Sir Benedict Palmer sat astride an anxious-looking Quercus.

She blinked in case she dreamed. No. He was still there.

He put his fingers to his lips and brought Quercus to her horse’s side. With a neat slash of his dagger, he loosed the stallion’s reins.

A roar of recognition came from Fitzurse, but Benedict didn’t pause. He grasped the stallion’s reins in one hand and jerked Quercus’s reins with the other. Neither horse needed encouragement. With a rapid canter, they set off through the woods, snow erupting from their hooves as they took flight from the murdering pack.





CHAPTER 15

Fitzurse’s stallion surged beneath Theodosia, its long strides tossing her body in the vicious straps that held her. Snow flew up from its rushing hooves and struck her face, her chest. The noose tightened, then loosened, with every step. “Stop! I’m choking.”

“Soon.”

The stallion stumbled on a stride and went to its knees. Theodosia’s weight flung full against her bonds. They held tight, tighter around her neck. She couldn’t breathe. Blood roared in her ears.

“Hold.” Benedict was off his animal, floundering through the deep snow to the stallion’s neck. He held the horse steady with one hand, then pulled his dagger from beneath his cape.