Morgana.
She started, looked over her shoulder, but Sir Bradford was still working on the horse. Nay, he had heard nothing.
Morgana, you must seek out the boy.
“Logan,” she whispered, her heart hammering. “But where?’
To the north, where the sea is nearly a circle.
“What?” Sir Bradford asked, looking over his shoulder. “Y’re not makin’ any of that devil magic, now, are ye?”
“Not devil magic. I talk to the wind. It says I am to find Logan.”
“Not now, ye ain’t. Y’re staying right here with me.”
“But I must find the baron’s son.”
“What’s that, now?” He dropped his horse’s hoof and listened. Morgana could hear the noise, too. Men on horseback, shouting to each other. Wolf bristled and growled. Sir Bradford grabbed the hilt of his sword. “Be quiet, m’lady. Mayhap they are from Lord Garrick.”
But Morgana saw the furrow in his brow and the set of his jaw beneath his thin beard. “Strahan’s men,” she said, knowing as surely as if she could see into their faces that the riders brought death.
“You stay here. I’ll have a look.” Bradford stole through the underbrush while Morgana waited, her heart beating so loud she could barely hear the sounds of the forest. The minutes passed slowly, and she wondered how long she would have to sit beneath the trees not knowing if the riders were friend or foe.
“Who goes there?” Bradford’s voice boomed through the trees.
“’Tis I, Sir York,” a voice replied.
“Be ye faithful to Lord Garrick?”
“Of course, Bradford.”
“Ahh. All is well, then,” Bradford assured them, though Morgana felt fear in her heart. York had been left at Abergwynn. Surely Garrick would not send a soldier whose loyalty was in question.
“Have ye seen two riders?” York asked. “We’re looking for Sir Ware and the boy, Cadell, from Wenlock.”
Morgana’s heart nearly stopped beating.
“They’ve not been this way,” Bradford replied. “I’ve been here nearly three hours.”
“Then you’re of no use to us.”
“No use? What? York! Do you betray Lord Garrick?” Bradford asked. Then he let out a horrible scream and said no more.
Morgana froze where she stood, heart pounding.
“Come on. Let’s be off!” York commanded, and hoof beats once again echoed through the forest.
Please, God, let him live, Morgana silently prayed as she darted along a deer trail through the woods, searching for Sir Bradford. He was a big man, and soon she found him stretched out on the ground, his body unmoving, a bloody gash deep in his chest. Leaning over, she pressed her hand to his neck, hoping to feel a heartbeat. Sticky blood stained her fingers. His chest didn’t move, nor did any breath escape his lungs.
She felt anguish as she stared down at him. “May your soul rest in peace, Sir Bradford,” she said. Bending down, she closed his eyes, then forced herself to turn her thoughts to Cadell and Ware and the men who were chasing them. She ran through the brush and climbed astrid
e Luck’s broad back. Skirts bunched up over her legs, she dug her heels into the stallion’s sides and turned him toward the north, into the wind.
They’d eluded Strahan’s men, at least for the time being. Now, as Ware led his lathered courser through the forest, he followed the overgrown deer trails he’d traveled in his youth and motioned to Cadell to keep quiet. Branches struck him in the face, and twigs snapped beneath his feet, yet he plowed onward, toward the north, keeping the sea to his left. Swallowing back his fear, he silently prayed that the muted pounding of the surf on rocks would cover the sound of their movement.
His plan was simple. He intended to keep moving until nightfall, hoping that the soldiers behind him would give up their quest. Then he and Cadell would circle back, intercept Garrick, and join forces with him.
And what of Clare and Glyn? What of the servants who risked their neck to stand with you? His gut twisted, and he knew darker fear. “God be with them,” he silently prayed as he shoved a branch from his face.