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Northumberland

1318

 

 

                                                                                    

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            A light blanket of dew covered the ground and Aleysia’s painted, hooded face. Dawn was about to break and, with any luck, Sir Richard was still asleep in his bed, unaware that she was gone.

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            From her carefully plotted vantage point perched high in a tree, she could see in every direction. How many would come? How many could she possibly kill by midday? She carried thirteen arrows and her dagger. Once she cut the ropes, she wouldn’t have enough time to miss—so she wouldn’t.

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She tried to remain calm, but the silence was too loud. Over the past four years, she’d prepared for everything. She’d even learned to climb trees. She hadn’t been able to train for being completely alone though. She knew she would be, but she couldn’t prepare for the haunting echoes of life around her. She hated the Scots for driving out her beloved villagers and her dear friends. She had no choice but to let them go. She would bring them all back when this was over. But she had to be quick. It had already been almost a pair of months that they had been away. Some stayed with family, others with friends. They couldn’t impose much longer.

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            With the thought of victory firmly emblazoned in her mind, she listened to the quiet, instead of trying to drive it out.

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            According to rumors from Berwick, the Scots liked to attack at first light. From the sound of their pipes last eve, they were close.

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            Would the Bruce send more men after she killed these? Would it ever end?

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            Her eyes caught sight of a flock of birds rising from the treetops not far away. Such an occurrence was not a usual sight. She tensed on her perch, slowly releasing her dagger, watching.

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            She waited with her heart slamming against her ribs. Listening to her breath, trying to slow it down. This was real. There was no way to practice for it. An army of Scots was coming! She couldn’t panic.

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            She heard the sounds of horses and underbrush being trampled. 

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            The waking forest went still as they appeared through the trees along the winding path that led to Rothbury.

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            Aleysia quickly determined that there were at least twenty men. Not a large army as she had feared, but enough to make her task a challenge. Besides that, they were Highlanders, the most savage of them all. The traps had to work.

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            She didn’t move. It wasn’t time.

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            She surveyed the men, trying to determine who was the leader. It didn’t take long to find him once she spotted the priest keeping pace beside him.

 

           A priest. She almost huffed. She should shoot that Judas first for standing with the Scots. 

If she did, she was sure the man riding at his side would immediately fall into action.

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            Patience, Aleysia. Let the traps do their work.

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            She watched the one who had to be the leader. He rode at the head of the group. He was a big man, with straight, broad shoulders, clad in a gray cloak over his Highland plaid. His knees were bare and his hair was long and as dark as his Scottish soul. He exuded confidence in the subtle tilt of his shadowed chin, the straightening of his spine.

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           For an instant, Aleysia forgot to breathe as he set his frost-filled eyes around the forest. 

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           Don’t look up, she prayed. She prayed also that her cloak, dyed to match the colors of the trees, was enough to conceal her if he did. 

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          He didn’t look up but as if sensing something were amiss, he paused his mount, stopping Aleysia’s heart. The priest stopped with him. Thankfully, some of his men continued onward. 

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         Her dagger was sharp. Just a few cuts and the first rope snapped. Aleysia smiled as it released a set of small swinging boulders with sticks sharpened at both ends tied together with rope. 

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         She quit smiling soon enough and almost lost her morning meal when the boulders met their marks and struck two riders in their heads. It was more brutal than she ever imagined and her determination faltered. But what she’d done was necessary. She hadn’t trained for four years just to go soft over death or killing when the time came. People were depending on her. She’d promised to bring them all back when it was safe again.

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The thought of her friends spurred her into action. She drew back her bow and let her arrow fly into the chaos below. She hit three men before the rest realized they were being fired upon. A shout went out and shields were raised.

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She took the moment of them not moving and hiding for cover to run across the thin planks she and her friends had hammered high amid the branches, connecting one tree to another. 

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Cradled between two thick branches, she paused and squatted. She was ahead of them now, watching them making their way forward, slowly and cautiously. 

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            The leader held up one hand to slow his regiment and used the other to hold up his shield. She’d have to take him down but she didn’t have a clear shot yet. Just a bit closer. He was leading them. His eyes were on the ground and everything around it. 

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He heard the cry of a horse as it stumbled over a hidden trap to his left. His face went dark in the filtered morning light as he turned to watch the rider launch forward from his saddle onto a bed of sharpened pikes placed in the ground.

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            The men around him leaped back even while their leader ordered them to be still. Aleysia wanted to put an arrow into him but he protected himself well with his shield. 

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She climbed away instead to another group of branches, where she had a clearer angle of which rope to cut. She picked one that freed a long, sharpened pike from another nearby tree. It swooped down and went straight through a man’s chest and carried him off his horse.

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            “Nobody bloody move!” the leader shouted from his horse. “I will kill the next one of ye who disobeys my order! Off yer mounts! Fall in behind me! Slowly! Eyes open!”

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            They all dismounted and moved into a straight line behind him, leading their horses at their sides, trusting their lives to their commander’s eyes.

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            Aleysia waited while he led them closer to the set of traps—closer to her, until they were once again in range. 

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            She wanted them to believe they were the ones tripping the traps. It kept them from looking up. The leader was clever, making them dismount since most of the traps were set for the height of a mounted man. He would note if spiked boulders were flying about when his men walked in his footsteps. He’d start searching the trees.

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            So she let the men pass beneath her without cutting any ropes. She readied her bow and nocked an arrow, though, while the last of the soldiers were led away.

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            She took the last man and the soldier in front of him down quietly before anyone knew. Without waiting for them to discover that their comrades were dead, she followed the rest from her canopy as they reached the meadow of arrows. So named for the one hundred arrows nocked and ready to fly, ready for weeks. Was it months?

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            Pity that all but one of the arrows would be wasted, as they were set out across the wide field. They were meant to kill many, but because all the men traveled in a single line behind their commander, only one arrow would matter—the first one—aimed at the first in line.

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            The more she looked at him, the more convinced she became that he was the most dangerous, the most savagely alluring man she’d ever set eyes on. It was almost a shame that he had to die. 

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            She shook her head to clear it of any more thoughts or judgments about him. She wanted him to die. She wanted them all to die. They weren’t taking her home, her land.

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            She snatched an arrow from the quiver over her back and raised her bow. She was tired of waiting. If she took away their leader, her traps would take care of the rest of them.

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            She pulled back on the bowstring and watched him through one eye as he turned in her direction. Her fingers trembled for an instant before she released her arrow. It flew. He moved his head an instant before the arrow went through his eye. 

But not completely in time to avoid the metal tip grinding against his left cheekbone.

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           Aleysia’s eyes opened wide. No! How could she miss? 

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          She went still as fury flashed across his icy blue gaze. He found her in the branches. Blood dripped down his cheek. He didn’t reach for his wound but slammed his shield to the ground and reached for his bow and arrow instead.

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          She pulled another arrow from her quiver and nocked it but he was faster. His arrow flew…and so did Aleysia, through the trees, over planks and thick branches, on a path she’d traveled over many times before, until she was gone.

            

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