Hazel's Promise (The Fey Quartet Book 2) by Emily Larkin Page A

I’m in Glade Forest now. There are no outlaws here . But even so . . .
    Tam pulled up his hose and reached for his stave. The donkey stopped cropping grass and lifted her head, ears pricked, alert.
    Together, they watched a figure come into view between the trees. Tam’s tension eased. Just a lad, slim, youthful, and alone, with a small sack slung over his shoulder.
    Tam put down the stave. “I give you good day,” he called out.
    The lad jerked around, eyes wide and startled beneath his brown hood. Tam saw him take in the tethered donkey, the small fire with its pot of simmering water, himself half-naked at the creek—and relax fractionally. “Good day.” He was even younger than Tam had thought; his voice hadn’t yet broken.
    “May the gods speed your journey.”
    “And yours.” The lad gave a courteous nod and continued along the road.
    “Go back to your grass, Marigold,” Tam told the donkey. “He was no one to be alarmed about.” Unlike the man he’d met an hour ago. A villain, if ever he’d seen one. But Tam had been taller than him, and armed with the stave, and the man had done nothing more than eye the donkey and pass on. And if he tried to follow . . . Well, no outlaws ever found their way into Glade Forest.
    Tam peeled off his hose and braies, tossed them aside, and stepped into the creek. Cold water lapped his ankles.
    He glanced down the road at the retreating figure. The lad had no stave, no weapon of any kind. I should have warned him, he thought uneasily.
    The lad was striding briskly, too far away to call out to. Tam frowned, watching him. There was something about the way he walked, something . . . not wrong, exactly, but not quite right, either. The way his hips moved, almost swaying . . .
    “He’s a girl!” Tam said, his voice loud and startled. And then, “Shit!” He scrambled out of the creek and dragged on braies, hose, boots, tunic. The girl was out of sight, now. Tam doused the fire hurriedly, took two hasty strides down the road, and looked back at his packsaddle. Too precious. He daren’t leave it. Which meant he had to take Marigold, too.
    Even working as fast as he could, it was nearly ten minutes before Tam had the donkey loaded again. “Hurry, Marigold. Hurry!” he said, half-dragging the donkey down the road. “If he sees her, if he realizes she’s not a lad . . .”
    Not just robbery, but rape, too.
    Tam convinced the donkey to trot, and ran alongside her, his stave in his hand. The girl had been walking fast. How far ahead was she now? Half a mile? More?
    Another ten minutes, and they passed out of Glade Forest. There was no sign declaring this fact, no fence or marker of any kind, but Tam knew—just as he’d known when he’d crossed into the forest less than an hour ago. His nose told him, his eyes told him, even his blood told him.
    The narrow cart track from Dapple Vale intersected the broad, dusty road to York. The junction was clear to his eyes, but few travelers noticed it. Only if one carried a pebble from the River Dapple could one be certain of seeing it.
    Tam halted, panting. Where was the girl? Had she gone left, or right?
    Marigold’s ears pricked. Her head swung left.
    “Voices?” Tam said. “Yes. I hear them.”
    Marigold was reluctant to trot again. Tam dragged her with him, around the bend. Fifty yards ahead, he saw three scuffling figures, the girl and two men.
    “Ah, shit!” Tam dropped Marigold’s rope.
    The men had realized their victim was female; he saw that even as he ran. They weren’t going for her sack; they were going for her clothes, trying to rip off tunic and hose. The girl was fighting back, kicking and biting. Her hood came off. A long plait of dark hair tumbled free. One outlaw snatched at the plait, caught it in his fist, yanked backwards. The girl lost her balance with a sharp cry.
    Tam ran even faster. The girl tried to tear her hair free. The other man was closing in, reaching for her legs, evading her