Part 2 (1/2)

Chapter.

FOUR.

Immobilized by ropes and trapped in a windowless stone building, Simon had done his best to withdraw into the quiet of his own mind. Anger and battering at his bonds were futile. Better to inventory his memories of magic, and perhaps find a store of power to use against Drayton when the time came, for that time would surely be soon.

His drifting consciousness snapped to attention when he suddenly caught the scent of innocence that had enraptured him and led to his capture. Every muscle tensed and he instinctively moved toward the scent, only to be jerked to a halt by the ropes that held him in the center of the shed. He sniffed again, wondering if this was the same sweet female or another like her. The same, he decided. Her fragrance was so intense that she must be just outside the door.

She betrayed me to my doom. But not intentionally. Her cry of anguish when the hunters attacked had been genuine. Even if he knew that she would betray him again, he was unable to resist the sweet lure of her purity. He strained against his bonds, remembering the rapturous moment when he had laid himself at her feet.

The door swung open and a cloaked female silhouette appeared against the lesser dark of the night. ”M . . . Meggie is sorry, sweeting,” she said in an unsteady voice. ”Meggie here to let you go.” To his surprise, her words were accompanied by a distinct mental image of her releasing him from his bonds. She could mind-touch?

She stepped forward and banged into the rope that secured him on his right side. The impact jarred the cutting bit of the bridle that had been forced on him, hurting his tender mouth. When he s.h.i.+vered away from the pain, the maiden hissed a word that was not innocent, yet curiously endearing.

She must have brought a knife, for he could feel a blade sawing at the rope, accompanied by a murmuring of soft words. She was treating him as he would treat a nervous horse. He would have smiled wryly if he had been himself.

The line parted and she felt her way round him to find the left line. Once more the cutting. A quaver in her voice, she asked, ”C . . . can you forgive Meggie for helping to capture you?”

He replied by rubbing against her affectionately, barely remembering to turn his head so he didn't stab her. He almost knocked her over in his enthusiasm. She laughed breathlessly and stroked his muzzle. The touch of her gentle fingers was exquisite. ”N . . . nasty bridle. Will you be good if it comes off?”

He rubbed against her again, trying to indicate that he'd follow her anywhere as docile as a lamb. She must have understood, for she removed the wicked bridle and grasped a handful of his mane. ”Must leave without being noticed.”

Recalled from the fog of rapture she inspired, he stepped outside. A guard lay on the ground, moaning softly. Had his sweet maiden laid the fellow out? Impressed, Simon accompanied her through the shadows, his steps as light as he could make them. A light drizzle was starting to fall. Maybe that would aid their escape.

They were nearing the postern when the clouds broke and the light of a nearly full moon flooded the courtyard. A man yelled, ”A thief is stealing the beast! Stop them!”

The blast of a shotgun pierced the night and a shower of vicious lead shot peppered Simon and his escort. The maiden flinched, then cried, ”Go!”

Worried, he tried to see if she was hurt, but she released his mane and took off at a speed that proved she wasn't seriously injured. He followed, trying to place himself between her and the man with the shotgun. More shots blasted through the night, this time from the guard tower above the main gate.

The commotion had woken the castle and several men spilled into the courtyard just as Simon and the maiden reached the postern. She halted and said again, ”Go!”

Aghast, he stopped in his tracks, nostrils flaring. She wasn't coming with him?

She made impatient shooing motions with both hands. ”Meggie will be safe,” she said bitterly. ”They won 't dare hurt the lord's pet simpleton.”

Despite her words, he had no doubt that the approaching men would hurt her, perhaps very badly. He went down on one knee and imagined her mounting him.

She stared, shock on her narrow, angular face. Clearly she'd had no intention of leaving, perhaps couldn' t even comprehend doing so.

Frightened for her safety and yearning for her presence, he whinnied and sent the riding image again. There was another ragged volley of musket shots, and this time he felt a searing pain in his left haunch, a wound far more severe than the birdshot.

His maiden bit her lip, radiating fear and confusion. Then she looked back at the approaching men and her expression changed to steely resolve. ”Want to go.”

She swung expertly onto his back. He scrambled to his feet and almost collapsed from the agony that blazed through his left leg. No bones seemed to be broken, so he tried to block out the pain as he bolted through the postern. A s.h.i.+ver of energy from the protective wards tingled his skin but didn't slow him.

The forest was less than a mile away, and they could lose themselves in its depths. He hardly noticed his maiden's weight, for even without a saddle she balanced lightly as a b.u.t.terfly. Clouds covered the moon again and rain began falling harder, but his unicorn vision was uncannily sharp even in the dark.

They were halfway to the forest when he heard a thunder of hooves behind him. Some d.a.m.nable person in the castle had organized a pursuit with wicked speed. If Simon was riderless and unwounded he could easily outrun the pursuers, but in his half-crippled state, they were gaining on him.

As thunder boomed and lightning lit up the sky, he dashed into the dark shelter of the woods. Branches lashed them as he followed an almost invisible track made by deer.

The pursuers followed easily, their speed barely diminished. One of them must have some magical tracking power. They would be on him in minutes, and what would happen to his maiden then? He had a horrible image of her raped and beaten, her sweet courage brutally crushed.

He tried to use his hunter's talent for concealment, but in his present form he couldn't wield his Guardian powers. Only the inherent magic of a unicorn was available. That gave him speed, strength, and heightened senses, but could not hide them from their pursuers. Frantic, he reached out mentally to his oldest friend, Duncan Macrae, the finest weather mage in Britain, perhaps in the world.

Help me!

Amazingly, he managed to reach Duncan, who was peacefully asleep at his home in Scotland. Jolted into wakefulness, Duncan responded with an incredulous, Simon?

Even as himself, it would have been almost impossible for Simon to explain the situation at such a distance. But desperation gave him the power to communicate a sense of where he was. He visualized a map of Britain where his position pulsed like a star. Pursued! Storm?

Duncan snapped to full wakefulness. I'll see what weather you have to work with. After a pause while he studied the weather patterns of Shrops.h.i.+re, he thought with satisfaction, Excellent.

Only moments pa.s.sed before lightning slashed the sky and thunder shook the earth a bare instant later. The rain tripled in intensity, pounding with the force of a physical blow. Even though Simon was expecting this, for a moment he was thrown off his stride, slipping to his knees on the muddy track. His maiden lurched but maintained her seat.

He scrambled to his feet and resumed his flight through the forest, relying on his improved night vision to save him from cras.h.i.+ng into a tree. Unfortunately his superior hearing could still hear hooves behind him, albeit at a slower pace. With his waning energy, he called Duncan again. More?

He thought he had failed to connect with his friend. Then he heard a faint, More! Take care, Simon.

The connection broke as Duncan concentrated all his power into his weather magic. The wind increased to near-hurricane force and trees began cras.h.i.+ng to the earth behind Simon. A dead tree plummeted across the track too closely for Simon to swerve. Mustering all his strength, he leaped headlong over it. Scrawny branches scratched at his limbs but he managed to clear the trunk without falling.

Along with the turbulent weather, Simon sensed that Duncan was using Guardian magic to blur the trail. He must have guessed that for some reason Simon couldn't use s.h.i.+elding himself. Simon took advantage of the grace period Duncan had given them to run until his heart seemed nigh to bursting. Despite rain and wind, his precious rider clung like a burr.

When even hypersensitive unicorn hearing couldn't detect pursuit, Simon slowed to a walk, his lungs pumping like a bellows. Now what? He was cold, tired, and hurting, and the maiden must be chilled to the bone. They had to find shelter. In his previous exploration of the forest, he'd found a deep, rocky overhang. It was masked by thick underbrush, so there would be some protection from the still-heavy rain.

As he limped wearily through the night, he hoped his maiden knew something about treating wounds, or they might not be going anywhere in the morning.

Numb with cold, Meggie almost fell off the unicorn's back when he nosed through some underbrush below a huge overhanging rock and halted in the protected area underneath. She had thought their escape was doomed until the storm struck. Luck had been with them. Though she had been grazed by several shotgun b.a.l.l.s, the hurts were small. She would be fine, if she didn't freeze before dawn.

The night was very black, but the unicorn's beautiful white coat made him dimly visible even under the rocks-except that part of him seemed to be missing, Worried, she touched the dark area on his left flank and raised her fingers to her lips, tasting the metallic tang of blood. He must have been wounded by a musket ball, which explained the increasing roughness of his gait during their escape.

The unicorn rubbed against her as if asking for help. The poor beast was trembling with fatigue, his sleek coat steaming from the cold rain that had fallen on his overheated body. ”Meggie doesn't know what to do,” she whispered, frustrated. ”M . . . maybe if there was light.”

Wait. She was wearing her cloak, and she usually carried a tinderbox in one pocket. She groped in the cloak and almost wept with relief when she found it. Now if she could find dry wood . . .

Cautiously she felt around in the dark under the deepest area of the overhang, hoping nothing nasty lived there. Once more her luck was in, and she found several dry, broken branches and a drift of leaves. She was responsible for the small fireplace in her castle bedroom, so even working in near-absolute darkness she was able to strike a spark onto the charred fabric from the tinderbox. When it caught, she carefully fed in bits of dried leaves, then twigs and kindling until she had a small fire burning.

She looked up to see the unicorn watching her. Was that worry she sensed from him? Aloud, she said, ”N . . . no one will see the fire, and we need it.”

Though the unicorn didn't reply, she suspected he understood her. He was far more than a horse. ”Meggie will look at your wound after hands warm.”

She held her numbed fingers over the fire and discovered that her right middle finger was bleeding, wounded by a ball from the shotgun. She sucked at the sc.r.a.pe to clean it, grateful the shot hadn't done more damage.

Later she could bandage the finger, but her injury was nothing compared to the gory slash on the unicorn' s flank. Bending to avoid hitting her head on the stone overhang, she moved to his side. His horn caught the light of the fire, s.h.i.+mmering with rainbow highlights.