the baron began. He did not finish the thought, for as the knights, still distracted by Mérian, stepped past her, Bran twisted in their grasp and shook himself free. Snatching a dagger from the belt of his nearest captor, he spun on his heel, grabbed Mérian, and pulled her roughly to him. Neufmarché made a clumsy attempt to snatch her from Bran’s grasp, and almost lost his hand.
“Stay back!” Bran shouted, raising the naked blade to Mérian’s slender neck.
“Bran, no—,” Mérian gasped.
One of the knights made a sudden lunge toward him. Bran evaded the move, pressing the knife to Mérian’s throat and drawing a frightened scream from the young woman. “If you have any care for her at all,” he snarled, “you will stand aside.”
“Stand easy, men,” the baron told his soldiers. To Bran he said, “Do you imagine this will aid you in any way?”
“That we will soon discover,” he said. Turning to the soldiers holding Tuck, he commanded, “Release the priest.”
The knights looked to the baron. He saw the sharp blade pressed against the soft white flesh—flesh he coveted—and could not bear to see it harmed. Neufmarché surrendered with a nod. “Do it,” he said dully. “Let him go.”
“Tuck,” called Bran, “bring the horses!”
The English friar shook free of his captors, giving one a pointed kick, saying, “That is for laying unclean hands on one of God’s humble servants.” He hurried to where the horses had been left on the nearby picket line.
“Bran, let me go,” pleaded Mérian, her fear quickly melting into anger. “This is not meet.”
“I asked you to come with me once,” he said, his mouth close to her ear. “You refused. Now it seems you are to join me whether you will or no.”
Tuck hurried back, leading the horses. He passed one pair of reins to Bran and scrambled into the saddle. Bran, stepping gingerly backward to the horse, pulled Mérian with him.
“Climb up and be quick,” he told her, maintaining his grip on the knife. Gathering her skirts, she put her foot to the stirrup, and Bran, with a sudden movement, boosted her onto the horse and, quick as a cat, vaulted up behind her.
“Farewell, baron,” said Bran, shaking out the reins. “Had you been true, you would have enjoyed the spectacle of your rival’s downfall. Now you will have to content yourself with the knowledge that this day you sealed your own.”
“I will track you down like an animal,” said Neufmarché.
“When I find you, I will gut you and hang your carcass for the birds.”
“You must catch me first, Neufmarché,” said Bran. “And if we are followed from this place, Mérian’s lovely corpse will be all you find on the trail.”
“Don’t waste your breath on them,” said Tuck. “Let us hie from this vipers’ den.”
“Away, Tuck!” With that, Bran slapped the reins across the shoulders of his mount, and the horse leapt ahead. The fat priest followed, and the two riders disappeared with their hostage, passing between the close-set tents and out of sight. The soldiers watched in flat-footed amazement.
“After them!” shouted the baron. “Mérian is not to be harmed.”
“What about the other two?” asked one of the knights.
“Once the lady is safe—and only then,” the baron cautioned, “kill them. If anything happens to her, your lives are forfeit.”
The four knights ran for their horses and clattered off in pursuit of the fugitives. Baron Neufmarché watched until they were out of camp and then returned to his tent, his spirits soaring with jubilation. By the time his knights returned with Mérian, the last heir to the throne of Elfael really would be dead, his unwanted presence a fast-fading memory. The troops promised by his father, the duke, would arrive with the first ships in the spring, and in the council just concluded, he had— through bargaining, wheedling, threatening, and cajoling over many days—finally obtained the support of his vassal lords for his threefold plan.
The unexpected appearance of Elfael’s prince might have swiftly undone all his hard work over the last many days, but fortunately, that problem would be swiftly resolved when the knights returned with his head in a sack. Thus, no sooner than it had arisen, the unforeseen impediment had been cleared. The conquest of Wales could begin.
Friar Tuck was first to reach the little dell where the four had made camp—not far from the fields where the council was meeting, but hidden in a fold between two hills. “Iwan! Siarles!” he shouted, thundering down the hillside to the stand of