Wildewood Revenge by B.A. Morton Page B

and increasingly unresponsive, despite his efforts to shield her from the weather. The horses were disorientated and simply refused to move. Miles slid from the saddle leaving Grace to slump forward awkwardly over the horse’s neck. He secured her with one hand and with the other he led the animal. Behind him Edmund did the same. The two murmuring encouragement to the exhausted beasts. By will power alone they reached the shelter of a cave set high under the escarpment. The natural sanctuary was deep and had been used before for this very purpose. There were remnants of a fire and dry kindling left for such an emergency.
    With the fire lit, Miles used the saddles and packs to create a protective shelter around it and then taking Grace’s arm he guided her into the warmth. She’d been silent since their arrival, her face pale, cheeks sunken. She looked perished. He squatted down in front of her, smoothing the fringe from her eyes.
    “Mademoiselle,” h e rasped, “y ou need to warm yourself. Remove the cloak and allow the fire’s heat to penetrate your skin. We shall wait out the storm and complete our journey at first light.”
    There was no response.
    “Grace!” He took her chin roughly and forced her to look at him. She blinked as if woken from a trance, her eyes rolled back in her head and the shivering began.
    He muttered a curse. “Edmund get some water heated, she’s frozen through.”
    “Worried yer won’t be able to claim yer ransom?” asked Edmund, sullenly.
    Miles shot him a sharp glance. He sensed Edmund’s disapproval. Edmund was a child who should know better. They’d been through many trials together and it rankled Miles that the scrawny boy, now stood in judgement of his motives and morals.
    “Edmund, I don’t have time for this,” he snapped. He glanced back at the girl and sourly conceded that Edmund was correct. He was not assured of the ransom yet.
    He should have taken an alternate route, stopped off at a hostelry where her comfort would have been assured. He might need to do that yet. But he was reluctant to announce his return to the valley until he was good and ready, and safely ensconced at Wildewood . Not while there were soldiers on the moor, ready to cut him down before he could claim his prize. He rubbed her arms roughly with his hands to encourage the circulation.
    Her eyes flashed open. “ Ow , that hurts,” she squeaked and Miles sent up a silent prayer.
    “Mademoiselle, please do not make the mistake of dying.” He forced a smile. “I will not allow it; I have a ransom to collect.” A glowering Edmund thumped the pot of snow on the fire with a shower of sparks.
    “Don’t worry,” Grace replied through chattering teeth. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction. I have no intention of ending up in one of your shallow graves.”
    “My shallow...?” he shook his head, she was definitely mad.
    Initially, she resisted his attempts to keep her warm, and he could understand her wariness. If she’d any inkling of what he was capable of, then perhaps she would have taken her chances in the snow. However, ignorance of his inglorious past, along with coldness and necessity drew her close and eventually in the dead of the night she laid next to him. Her head on his arm, her back to his front, and coldness was replaced by heat.  He tried to move and she whimpered softly, turning to bury her face against his chest. Miles cursed. She was moving against him and he’d been a long time without a woman. He felt the stirring of need and groaned with frustration. Someone was making jest at his expense. A despoiled nun would be worth nothing at all to the bishop.
    She slipped her slender hand beneath his shirt and released a s oft sigh. She snuggled closer, h er hand playing gently against muscles tensed in response. He couldn’t decide if she was particularly unrestrained for a nun or particularly skilled for a spy. His indecision on the matter merely added to his torment. If he