|
|
|
|
|
|
realized with a shock that she did not know herself. The boy was someone's squire; she had seen him accompanying someone at Court, but she could not remember who. Now she understood why. He was not wearing the colors of his house. That was why the face was only vaguely familiar. One looked at the master, not at the man. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Run, Alinor thought. But run where? There was no place of concealment for her among the open fields; she was no hare to creep in among the low thickets and find a hole in the ground, and the woods were too far. She could not outrun the boy in her full riding skirt. Outrun the boy! That was the least of her troubles. She could hold him off with her knife, but he could not be alone in this. That hunting halloo that had so startled Dawn was to summon those who would really take her. Soon there would be men and horses. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Alinor cursed herself for not slitting the squire's throat at once, but it was too late now. He was sitting up and shaking his head. Hopeless as it was, Alinor took to her heels. On the other side of the thicket she would be out of sight, at least temporarily. She drew her wimple up across her face to shield it as much as possible from the branches and brambles and plunged in where the brush seemed thinnest. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The eye of youthful love is very keen. Although he rode close behind his master, as was his duty, Ian de Vipont was never unaware of Alinor. He knew where she rode, to whom she spoke, and how long she had been away from the Queen's vicinity when she went to talk to Beorn. Even though the distance was considerable, he knew the gray mare and her green-habited rider when they careened off in the chase. Thus Ian was also aware that Alinor was not among the laughing group of hunters who returned. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
For a few moments he hesitated, staring over the fields, hoping to see her merely riding more slowly than the others. For a few moments more he delayed be- |
|
|
|
|
|