of olde . But it felt real, he felt real and the pain in her leg was very real. She turned her head to look at him.
“What year is this?” she asked.
Miles cocked his head. “It is February, my lady, in the year of our Lord 1275.”
Oh yes, this was definitely a dream. How else could she have walked into the woods in 2012 and come out in 1275? She smiled to herself, blessed relief coursing through her. As far as dreams went, it could have been worse. She’d always wondered why knights in shining armour got such good press, maybe if she stayed asleep for long enough she’d find out.
Then again, a weirdo would say anything and a crazy girl might just believe him.
She closed her eyes gave a final shake of her head and decided regardless of whatever weirdness had befallen her, she may as well go along for the ride.
Chapter Seven
The sun broke through the clouds briefly and the landscape was transformed. The snow, treacherously thick in places, glistened like jewels covering the myriad of rocks littering the high ground. The brightness caused Grace to squint and she released her hold on the saddle to shield her eyes with one hand. She felt Miles’ weight shift slightly behind her as he compensated for her unstable position. She’d dozed briefly, lulled by the gentle motion of the horse, but now she was awake and he was still there, large as life and not in the least dreamlike.
“It’s beautiful up here,” she whispered, despite her resolve never to speak to her captor again. Her voice was swept away by the wind across the moor and lost amongst the surrounding hills. She assumed she’d gone unheard until she felt his breath warm against her ear.
“Wait until you see the view from the top, it’s breathtaking . If the sun holds out and the snow holds off, you’ll see over the border and beyond into Scotland.”
She turned her head out of the wind and into the shelter afforded by his chest so she could be heard, but mainly so she could avoid the feel of his breath on her skin. “Shouldn’t I be blindfolded?” she taunted mildly, she lacked the energy for a fight. “What if I escape while you’re not looking and retrace my steps back to Kirk Knowe ? What happens to your ransom then?”
Miles smiled.
“I can blindfold you if you like, or tie you up if you prefer.” He paused momentarily as she scowled her response. “But there is no need, beneath the snow, lie bog and marsh and deep crevasses which could swallow a horse. There are paths, safe paths known to those who need to travel them. You would never find your way. You would be lost and perish up here.”
Grace knew the ancient lore associated with the high moor. This place high above the world, almost in the clouds had cost the lives of many unwitting travellers and it was said their ghosts travelled the moor at night looking for the right path. Some said the ghosts of Roman soldiers could be heard endlessly marching and drilling at the remains of the old roman fort at Chew Green. Locals knew the moor, knew where shelter could be had when the need arose, but even they were respectful of its ferocity and its history.
“Hmm, we shouldn’t be up here at all,” she muttered sourly. “Not while the army is on manoeuvres.” She recalled the red flags she’d so stupidly ignored. By her reckoning they were probably slap bang in the middle of the ranges.
“Whose army?” he demanded. He pulled the horse to an abrupt stop and Edmund narrowly avoided piling into the rear of it.
“Whose army do you think?” She shook her head, made allowances for the fact he was a little alternative.
He gripped her chin firmly and forced her to look at him. “Whose army?” he repeated fiercely.
Grace jerked herself free, with a frisson of alarm. “Our army, the British Army, they’ve been all over the ranges the last few days, haven’t you seen them?” How could he have missed them? The sound of their artillery rang through the valley on a regular
“What year is this?” she asked.
Miles cocked his head. “It is February, my lady, in the year of our Lord 1275.”
Oh yes, this was definitely a dream. How else could she have walked into the woods in 2012 and come out in 1275? She smiled to herself, blessed relief coursing through her. As far as dreams went, it could have been worse. She’d always wondered why knights in shining armour got such good press, maybe if she stayed asleep for long enough she’d find out.
Then again, a weirdo would say anything and a crazy girl might just believe him.
She closed her eyes gave a final shake of her head and decided regardless of whatever weirdness had befallen her, she may as well go along for the ride.
Chapter Seven
The sun broke through the clouds briefly and the landscape was transformed. The snow, treacherously thick in places, glistened like jewels covering the myriad of rocks littering the high ground. The brightness caused Grace to squint and she released her hold on the saddle to shield her eyes with one hand. She felt Miles’ weight shift slightly behind her as he compensated for her unstable position. She’d dozed briefly, lulled by the gentle motion of the horse, but now she was awake and he was still there, large as life and not in the least dreamlike.
“It’s beautiful up here,” she whispered, despite her resolve never to speak to her captor again. Her voice was swept away by the wind across the moor and lost amongst the surrounding hills. She assumed she’d gone unheard until she felt his breath warm against her ear.
“Wait until you see the view from the top, it’s breathtaking . If the sun holds out and the snow holds off, you’ll see over the border and beyond into Scotland.”
She turned her head out of the wind and into the shelter afforded by his chest so she could be heard, but mainly so she could avoid the feel of his breath on her skin. “Shouldn’t I be blindfolded?” she taunted mildly, she lacked the energy for a fight. “What if I escape while you’re not looking and retrace my steps back to Kirk Knowe ? What happens to your ransom then?”
Miles smiled.
“I can blindfold you if you like, or tie you up if you prefer.” He paused momentarily as she scowled her response. “But there is no need, beneath the snow, lie bog and marsh and deep crevasses which could swallow a horse. There are paths, safe paths known to those who need to travel them. You would never find your way. You would be lost and perish up here.”
Grace knew the ancient lore associated with the high moor. This place high above the world, almost in the clouds had cost the lives of many unwitting travellers and it was said their ghosts travelled the moor at night looking for the right path. Some said the ghosts of Roman soldiers could be heard endlessly marching and drilling at the remains of the old roman fort at Chew Green. Locals knew the moor, knew where shelter could be had when the need arose, but even they were respectful of its ferocity and its history.
“Hmm, we shouldn’t be up here at all,” she muttered sourly. “Not while the army is on manoeuvres.” She recalled the red flags she’d so stupidly ignored. By her reckoning they were probably slap bang in the middle of the ranges.
“Whose army?” he demanded. He pulled the horse to an abrupt stop and Edmund narrowly avoided piling into the rear of it.
“Whose army do you think?” She shook her head, made allowances for the fact he was a little alternative.
He gripped her chin firmly and forced her to look at him. “Whose army?” he repeated fiercely.
Grace jerked herself free, with a frisson of alarm. “Our army, the British Army, they’ve been all over the ranges the last few days, haven’t you seen them?” How could he have missed them? The sound of their artillery rang through the valley on a regular
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