Dirick forced his eyes open from the darkness that beckoned him with a soothing aura. There was something…something urgent….
Voices reached his ears, as if from far away. He thought he moved…aye, he must have, for pain ricocheted up his leg and curled in the low part of his back.
The urgency came to him again…then it was gone.
Firm hands pulled and pushed at him, and he wanted to slip into that blackness and sleep…but the urgency kept kneading at him…kneading…like the hands that interrupted his comfort.
Maris.
The name struck his consciousness like a lightening bolt and he jerked awake. Something about Maris…. His eyes were open, blearily focusing on the faces that stared down at him. Maris was not there, he realized dimly…Henry…Bart…Raymond…
Maris…his mind screamed the name, the urgency, but it took all of his effort to pinpoint his concentration. The urgency had aught to do with her…. Maris, his betrothed wife, his beloved….
D’Arcy.
Dirick croaked the name as he struggled to sit upright. God in heaven, he was going to take her! “Maris,” he managed to push from a dry, swollen throat.
Faintly, he heard Henry laugh, though the concern still ringed his eyes. “The man’s worried that he won’t be able to do his wife justice this night…he must be well. ” Nevertheless, the king himself bent toward Dirick. “Can you stand, man?”
Dirick gathered all of his wits and strength and nodded his head, reaching for the hand that was proffered to him. It was a beringed hand, and it belonged to Henry…but Dirick disregarded that fact as he lunged for the offered grip and pulled himself to his feet.
He was in the forest. The members of the hunt had gathered around with their mounts, and the hounds, and even the carcass of the boar. “I must go,” was all he could say once he found Nick with his gaze.
“Ludingdon, what ails you? You must come back to the castle and be tended to!” Henry boomed the order. “Richard! Marcus! Take him and bring him back to the physicians, and do not listen to his arguments! He has delayed my hunt long enough!”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
“How much farther are they?” asked Maris, looking about the forest for some sign of the hunting party. She’d ridden quite far out of London with Michael and Victor and expected to find the hunting party at any time.
Neither man replied to her question, nor did they seem to acknowledge it.
“I do not see them anywhere,” she said more forcefully. “Surely the hunt did not take the party this far from the castle. ” An uncomfortable twinge started in the base of her spine and she reined Hickory up. “Are you certain we are going in the right direction?”
Michael stopped his horse and turned back to her. “Come, Maris, do not question me. ” He grabbed the reins from her hands and began to propel Hickory behind his own mount.
The twinge blossomed into a full foreboding and Maris felt fear curdle in her middle. “I must return to the castle for my wedding,” she said, squinting up at the sun that was beginning to climb down the sky. Panic started to blossom in her belly. Something was very wrong.
Victor laughed and the sound sent a chill up her spine. “Your bridegroom is in no condition to attend the ceremony. There is no need for you to return. ”
Those words held a finality that did not sit well with Maris. It had occurred to her earlier that she’d disobeyed Dirick’s orders to go nowhere without him or Raymond…but her fear for his safety had been the overriding factor in her decision. And, in sooth, she’d forgotten her promise in the terror that he’d been injured.
Michael urged his horse into a canter, and Maris was forced to lean forward and grab Hickory’s mane. Just as she had done when Bon abducted her, she forced herself to examine the situation. She swallowed the fear in her throat. She could not escape on foot, and Michael was in control of her horse. Victor rode so close to her that his mount’s tail brushed against Hickory’s shoulder.
“’Tis not far from here,” he told his father, moving up so that their horses were neck and neck.
Maris was now just behind them, but out of their easy sight as she was towed along on Hickory. She used the opportunity to slip a hand under her skirt and pull forth her dagger. She sent up a prayer of thanks that her mother had warned her never to be without the knife and set to cutting away at the reins. If she were quick, and lucky, she could cut herself free and be off. Mayhap, she and Hickory could outrun her kidnappers. If not—
She stopped her thoughts right there. That possibility was not worth thinking on.
Once again, Maris considered the facts and the situation. Dirick should have learned of her absence by now, and of course he would search for her. That thought eased her a bit.
But as she continued to saw through the thick leather, another thought turned her cold. Michael and Victor talked so certainly of Dirick’s injury…mayhap there was a truth to it and he would not be able to come after her. Mayhap he was dead!
Angry, frustrated tears welled in her eyes and she pushed the thought away. She’d think only of one thing now: escaping from Michael and Victor.
When the reins were nearly cut through, Maris gathered herself and readied her courage, gripping Hickory with her thighs and tightening her fistful of mane. With a final slice, she cut the last bit of leather and kicked her horse to veer suddenly away.
The shout of surprise erupted too close behind her and she leaned forward, urging Hickory as they raced for their freedom. The trampling of hooves in their trail was loud and gaining proximity and she felt tears sting her eyes. “Go, Hickory, go!” she cried into the mare’s ear, kicking her again.