The Hunted...

There was something curiously attractive about a woman who could knock a man off his feet – and he wasn’t thinking metaphorically.

“Keep down,” came the harsh whisper from the woman who had just sent him sprawling with a carefully positioned foot. From his quick glance at her appearance he was unable to ascertain her age or beauty. He noted only the sharp jut of bones thinly concealed beneath skin and the homespun tunic which flapped expansively about her. She crouched beside his prostrate form, her head slanted to one side as if she were straining to hear something.

“Keep your head down.” She hissed forcibly for a second time as her elbow dug into the back of his neck. There was unexpected strength in her small frame and he found he could not shake her off. With a sigh he accepted the futility of his struggle. As he ceased his frustrated movements he remembered the item he had been carrying. His hand slid surreptitiously to his chest where with some relief he registered that the item still lay concealed amongst his clothing. Finally he heard the not-so-distant conversation of men.

“They’re not your friends here to collect. It’s the King’s Men. So keep still.” Her words did not immediately elicit the suspicion they should have raised, instead he surrendered to her. He no more wanted to be discovered by the soldiers than she clearly did. If she was surprised by his sudden stillness or carefully muted breathing she did not show it. Instead her hand glided to the weapon at her hip, her fingers curling around the hilt. Her muscles were tensed and she looked perfectly ready to spring into action at the slightest indication that they had been discovered.

He wondered idly how much damage she would be able to inflict before they killed her. There were five mounted men passing through the clearing, heavily armoured and at least twice her size. She would perhaps have the benefit of surprise and desperation, but ultimately it would not make a difference. If he were a gambling man, and he regularly was, then he realised that only by working together to stay hidden would they stay alive.

Several anxious minutes lapsed as they waited for the patrol to leave and it was several more minutes after that before either breathed easily again. He flexed his toes in the worn leather of his boots, mildly surprised by the extent of his own unease. Unhindered he stood, replacing the cap on his head in a jaunty angle and brushing the twigs and leaves from his clothing. Despite the unpleasant interlude he began whistling cheerfully when he realised that he still had time to complete his business before enjoying that drink in his local tavern.

He stopped whistling however when he felt the sharp prod of a blade at his back.

“Did you really think I was going to let you go?” She asked softly.

“You can have whatever money is in my purse.” He said quickly. She chuckled quietly to herself. Her free arm encircled his waist and her hand crept upwards over his chest. Startled by the intimate position he forgot for a moment the knife at his back.

“Well if that’s what you really want.” He preferred a woman he could get his hands on but he was always willing to adapt his tastes. Besides she had probably saved his life and so it was his duty really to show his appreciation. His thoughts were interrupted by a gale of loud laughter. The woman shoved him away so that he nearly overbalanced again as he stumbled forward. He looked down at his unlaced jerkin but untouched shirt. He yelled suddenly when he realised what she had done.

“Give it back!” He turned around angrily. She clenched the document in one hand whilst the knife was held in the other.

“Why? It’s not yours anymore than it’s mine.” His eyes narrowed and he took a threatening step towards her. “I really wouldn’t if I were you.” Her soft tone was somehow more menacing than his approach had been.

“My friends will be here soon. You won’t be able to fight us all.”

“Your friends are not expecting you for several more hours and on the other side of the river.” She scoffed. For the first time he began to feel nervous. This was beginning to feel more and more like a trap, and less and less like a chance encounter.

“Look -” He began, trying to sound reasonable and flashing his most charming smile.

“I would seriously consider shutting that pretty mouth of yours, unless you want to find out whether the accusation that I murdered my husband has any truth to it or not.” She seemed totally calm, and the blade remained steady in her hand. He began to wonder whether he would have been safer with the King’s Men after all.