“I’m having trouble breathing.” Brighit’s muffled voice interrupted the squabble.
Peter looked beneath him and into her wide, brown eyes. He shifted just enough that she could take a breath, still using his body to shield her.
“Thank you.” She shoved her hair out of her face.
Peter had taken her down pretty hard. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
Her expression betrayed her fears despite the brave words.
“And I plan to keep it that way,” Peter said.
Mort lifted his head just over the rise. Another arrow flew past, landing just beyond them. Peter grabbed it, bringing it close to his face. “It’s not well made.”
“It didn’t miss my head by that much, my lord.” Mort had pulled his hat off. His feather drooped awkwardly. Its quill sliced in two. “Not much at all.”
“They can’t be soldiers. Or they’d have shown themselves by now.”
Mort lifted his hat above the rise as bait. Another arrow hit with deadly accuracy, ripping it from his hand. It landed to the other side of Mort.
“What type of feather is that?”
“OH! It looks like a parrot feather,” Brighit said.
Both men turned and looked at her.
“See the green here?” She pointed at the line of solid green mixed in with the brown along the flat end of the arrow.
“I’d say there are at least two with bows. One shooting from the left. One from the right. Maybe three feet between them.”
“Who’s to say there are not more?”
Peter raised a finger to his lips. In the silence was the distinct sound of approaching horses.
“More back up arriving?”
Another arrow landed just short of where they lay hidden behind a slight rise in the ground.
“If they move in any closer, we will be at their mercy,” Peter said.
Mort rolled onto his back. “So what do we do?”
A high screech pierced the air just ahead of the horses’ arrival. Dirt sprayed them from the road where at least one horse was pulled up short not far from them. Other horses could be heard from further away. Peter readied his sword and braced himself for the attack. It was never good to go in with brandished swords when the number of attackers was unknown, but he had no choice.
“Ready?” Peter asked Mort.
Brighit cowered beneath him. Another high screech pierced the air. Her eyes widening with the sound.
“I will protect you.”
“Sir Peter,” a familiar voice called to him. “Reveal yourself.”
“Is that—”
The war cry erupted again and it seemed to be coming from the same area as the arrows had. Mort dragged himself in the direction of the sound and snuck a peak above the hill.
“Ha!” Mort turned to Peter and smiled. He stood up before Peter could stop him.
