Wildewood Revenge by B.A. Morton Page A

head. By necessity they were obliged to accept the sheriff’s offer.
    “What’s happening?” whispered Grace. “Where are we going now?” She clutched the front of the saddle and for once did not resist as he tightened his grip around her waist. He turned the horse away from the sheriff and scanned the accompanying men quickly. Too many to fight and he had not the horse power to flee. He swallowed his unease, unwilling to reveal just how rattled he was.
    “A slight diversion, Mademoiselle, I must ask that you continue this charade,” he breathed hoarsely against her ear. “I do not trust the sheriff. We must ensure we do not give him cause to question our account.”
    “But...but isn’t he the law?” Confusion and fear caused her words to stutter. “Shouldn’t he be helping us?”
    Miles laughed humourlessly. “He acts on behalf of the king bu t is in the pay of the barons. H e upholds his own laws, those that bring the greatest reward.”
    “You know him?” She sounded appalled and Miles winced. He knew far greater monsters than this and recalled occasions when he’d behaved almost as badly.
    “I know the likes of him but I do not know this man personally, and that is in our favour.”
    “Why?”
    Miles smiled sourly “Because he is a collector of bodies and I have no desire to add to his collection.”
    Miles had little inclination to visit The Wedder Inn either. It would take them in the opposite direction from Wildewood and they were frustratingly close. However, he would rather that, than have the sheriff follow him home. He did not need the man’s attention and didn’t enjoy the man’s obvious interest in Grace.
    He was equally puzzled by the sheriff’s lack of interest or knowledge in the missing nun from Kirk Knowe . He’d expected to be questioned and been prepared to feign ignorance. Perhaps the alarm was yet to be raised although that seemed unlikely. They must have missed her by now. He needed to keep her close, particularly at the inn; if they were separated he was unsure what she would do. He’d a lot to lose if she betrayed him, not least the ransom.
    The sheriff rode frustratingly close, slowing his horse to keep pace with Miles. “Your good lady is very quiet,” he stated slyly. “Is all well?”
    “It will be wh en we are able to rest, sheriff. I fear we slow you down. P please feel free to continue your manhunt. W e will find the inn ourselves.” Miles wanted rid of the man but realised that would not be easy.
    “I would not hear of it, Sir,” replied the sheriff. He smirked and Miles held his gaze coolly. Something was afoot but caught up as he was with the mystery of the girl’s identity he couldn’t decide whether the interest of the odious sheriff was mere coincidence or more likely connected. He was certain of one thing. He couldn’t afford to let Grace out of his sight at the inn. If the sheriff were to catch her on her own he would be unable to guarantee her story or her safety.
    A shout came then from one of the men who stood in his stirrups and pointed north where the moor rose again. Riders could be seen in the far distance heading away from them. The remaining Scots raiding party no doubt and the sheriff glanced quickly from the Scots quarry to Grace, shrouded beneath her cloak, sheltered against Miles chest. His face was a torment of indecision and intrigue and it gave Miles a measure of power to know that the man’s greed would naturally have him follow the bounty hanging on each Scottish head.
    “If you are sure you do not need our escort then we will resume our chase,” said the sheriff. “Perhaps we will meet at the inn?” He studied Miles for a moment, as if about to make further comment. Then he hauled the horse around with a cruel hand and headed north. He had Scots to kill.
    Edmund was dumped unceremoniously onto the snowy ground, and with a curt nod, the hunting party were off at a gallop. Miles watched them go, waited until they were out of