My Lady Jane(50)

“I knew you was in here,” the farmer growled. “Couldn’t stay away from my chickens, could you? Had to come back for the rest.”

She lifted her hands in a kind of surrender, but that aggravating smile tugged at her mouth. “They were very tasty chickens. I couldn’t help myself.”

The farmer snorted in disgust. “I ought to run you through right here and be done with you. But I’ll turn you over to the magistrate in the morning, and he’ll cut off one of your hands. That’ll teach you.”

I should do something, Edward thought. Save her, somehow. But he was naked and unarmed. Not exactly a knight in shining armor.

The girl stood up straighter. “Or what about this? You let me go, and I’ll steer clear of your chickens in the future.” Without waiting for an answer to her proposal, she feinted to one side and then darted to the other, but the man caught her by the hair. He dragged her away from the door. She struggled, reaching for her knife, but he grabbed it first and tossed it onto the dirt floor.

I really should do something, Edward thought. Now would be good.

“Or maybe,” the farmer said. “I’ll cut off your hand myself. . . .”

Okay, that does it, Edward thought.

There was a flash of light in the hayloft. The farmer looked up, startled, and then the bird that was Edward descended on him, talons clawing at the man’s face. The farmer screamed and released his sword. The girl took this opportunity to knee the farmer in the acorns. He dropped to the floor. She kicked him. She paused then, as if she might say something, one of her smart little lines, but she seemed to think better of it. She just grabbed up her knife and ran.

Edward followed her as best as he could from above. It was a good thing that as a bird he had sharp eyes, because she had a skill for melting into the shadows of the forest. It was difficult for him to navigate the trees. The rain was letting up, at least, a drizzle now, and the moon peeked between the clouds. The girl ran on and on, light on her feet, pacing herself, as if she were accustomed to taking such outings in the middle of the night.

She went for more than a mile or two before she stopped in a small grove to rest. Edward fluttered to the branches in the tree above her. She glanced up.

“Should I be worried about bird droppings on my head?” she laughed at him.

He gave an indignant squawk.

“Come down. You can change back now.” She swung her cloak from off her shoulders. “Here.”

He dropped to the ground, but then he stood there for several minutes in bird form without anything flashy happening.

“You really are a greenie, aren’t you?” she asked. “Do you not even know how to change back, then?”

He changed. Still naked. The girl looked at the ground with a stifled smile and held out the cloak. Edward grabbed it and put it on, which was loads better than the horse blanket, but still left him feeling exposed and drafty.

“Thanks for your help.” The girl tucked a stray black curl behind her ear. “I’d have gotten clear of him myself, but it would’ve been messier.”

“So you’re a chicken thief,” Edward said.

“Among other things,” she admitted.

He’d never met a common criminal before. He would have found the whole thing wildly exciting if he wasn’t so tired of things being so wildly exciting.

“I’m Gracie,” she said, meeting his eyes.

“Is that your first name or your last name?” he said.

She grinned. “Grace MacTavish,” she clarified, and gave a little bow. “At your service.”

“Edward,” he replied simply.

“Not Dennis?” She had dimples, he noticed, not when she smiled so much as when she was trying not to smile.

“Not Dennis.”

“Good. I would have felt sorry for you with a name like Dennis. Shall we go?”

“Where?” he asked.

“Somewhere safer.”

Safer sounded good. Out of habit he held out his arm. She looked at him incredulously, but then she took it and they started walking.

“I would have turned back there,” she said as they made their way through the trees. “But then I would have lost my clothes as well, and it’s a half day’s hard run to the next place I’ve got clothes stashed. And I adore these boots,” she added.

“Turned? So you’re an E?ian?” His heart thudded stupidly in his chest. What was it about this girl that flustered him so?

“Yes, an E?ian,” she said. “I’ve never seen a kestrel E?ian before. You make an attractive bird.”

His stomach turned over. “I’m a kestrel? Are you quite sure that’s what I am?”

“I’m not much for bird watching, but I know my birds of prey,” she said. “Why should that bother you?”

He didn’t answer, but the truth was that in the rules of falconry, which Edward had been practicing since he was a boy, there were certain birds suited to certain stations. The king’s bird was the gyrfalcon, the largest and most majestic bird of them all. As a prince he had worked with falcons (only slightly lesser in grandeur), while his father’s knights had used sacrets; the ladies, merlins; the squires, lanners; and so on and so on.

The kestrel was the smallest and weakest of the falcon species. Only the servants worked with kestrels.