Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(78)

He wasn’t going to get away with it.

Biting off groans of pain, she pushed her right leg over the side of the bed. The thigh was heavily bandaged and her trousers on that leg were in tatters, but it didn’t matter. She was going to leave this place and track down Gaetan de Wolfe and his thankless men. She was going to show them that they couldn’t treat a Saxon that way. Treat her that way.

A woman who clearly adored him.

Perhaps, most of what Ghislaine was feeling was hurt and disappointment. A man she was coming to have feelings for had lied to her. He’d made her feel what she thought she’d never feel again and then he’d run off like a coward. Was that the extend of Norman bravery? Only on the battlefield and not of the heart?

She was going to catch up to him and tell him what she thought of him.

Both feet came to rest on the uneven dirt floor and she struggled to regain her balance. She was in so much pain that sweat was beading on her forehead, but she fought it. She was determined to leave and nothing was going to stop her. But as she pondered that thought, she caught sight of a body hunched over one of the tables.

Startled, she froze, watching the figure in the darkness for a few moments only to realize that whoever it must have been sound asleep. The figure hadn’t moved in spite of the noise she’d made. Terrified that it was someone Gaetan had paid to keep her confined, she knew she had to run before they captured her and tied her onto the bed. She had to run from that dark smelly place and never look back.

Carefully, she rose to her feet but it wasn’t easy; the pain in her right thigh was beyond measure. It didn’t work particularly well, either, so it was very difficult not to make noise as she hobbled towards the door. Once, the body sprawled on the table shifted and made a noise, like snoring, and she froze, waiting to see if he awoke. Fortunately, the figure didn’t move again, so she continued straight out the door and into the dark night beyond.

Camulos was right behind her, pushing past her as she headed out into the dark street. She didn’t even know where she was; her mind was still cloudy, but she didn’t realize it. To her, she was thinking perfectly clearly but the truth was that she wasn’t thinking straight at all.

She was… somewhere. Some town, somewhere, and she had to find Gaetan and his ungrateful knights. Was she in Worcester? She could see an abbey to her right, looming big and dark against the night sky, but she didn’t recognize it. She was almost in a dreamlike state where things were familiar but not exactly as she remembered. Nothing made any sense at the moment.

There was a road beside the church, however, heading out of the town and across a river. Perhaps it was Worcester, after all. Worcester had a bridge across the Severn, a well-traveled bridge. If she took the road out of town, then she would be able to find safety in the trees or in a field before looking to the night sky to find her bearings. She didn’t want to stop in the town, fearful that there were more people Gaetan had paid to keep her there. She couldn’t trust anyone, not even the priests.

There were some clouds, however, and the sky had shifted because of the lateness of the hour, which caused Ghislaine some concern. If she couldn’t use the night to guide her way, then surely she would find her bearings when the sun came up. She would recognize the landscape or perhaps even ask someone if she didn’t.

Dragging her bad leg and being followed by the big dog, she made her way out of town as quickly as she could, clinging to the buildings, staying in the shadows, fearful she’d be caught. Camulos remained right by her side but she couldn’t pay any attention to the dog. She was too concerned with making a break for freedom and ignoring the pain from her throbbing leg. It was slow going, made worse by the fact that she had to duck into the shadows on more than one occasion because there was someone in the street. She didn’t even have her dagger with her, stripped by de Wolfe, no doubt.

She was defenseless.

With the nightbirds singing to their mates as the only sound in the dark, she made her way around the side of the cathedral where she could hear the gentle trickle of the river. She could also smell the dampness. There was a rock wall and she clung to it, making her way up a path that ran between the wall and the river, trying to walk with that painful leg and having no idea where she was really going, only that she was going to find Gaetan.

But pain and exhaustion soon overwhelmed her. Ghislaine came to the point where she really didn’t have any thoughts in her head other than the searing pain in her leg. Just one more step, she told herself. Just one more step…. She began to live for that one more step, limping severely because it hurt so badly to walk. But she would push through it. She had to make it to freedom!

Somewhere up ahead, she could see a bridge, lit by torches against the blackness of the night. There were men up there, too, even though it was very late and they were more than likely protecting the crossing. Perhaps they were even there to keep her from crossing, men that Gaetan had paid to keep her inside this dark stench-filled city.

If Gaetan has paid those men to keep me here, then I must take their attention away from the bridge!

Ghislaine could only think of sneaking past those men. She could see two, at least, as she drew closer. The river was surrounded by foliage and grass and, before she sank down into it to hide, she picked up several small rocks from the path she was walking on. As she faded into the foliage to watch the bridge at close range, Camulos wandered after her.

The bridge itself was wooden and not very well made. It looked as if it had been the victim of too many repairs. As the men at the mouth of the bridge huddled around a fire and drank from a wooden pitcher, Ghislaine began to throw rocks under the bridge, sometimes hitting the wood, sometimes hitting the water. She wanted those men to go down and see what it was so that she could slip across the bridge. Her leg may have been weak, but her arms were strong. She was able to throw the rocks far enough to adequately hit the wood of the bridge.