She nodded, cowed by my tone, and reluctantly handed me the twitching creature. A rumbling farther along the forest road reached my ears and I pushed her roughly towards a broad oak tree. “Hide.”
We crouched there behind the tree, among the ferns and hawthorns, for several minutes as the thundering of horses’ hooves grew louder. The vibrations filled my chest as the convoy approached—a visiting noble with a large number of guards, coming to enjoy the company of Prince John, I presumed. When I caught sight of the rider at the front of the pack, galloping ahead of the rest of the caravan, I couldn’t help but follow him with my eyes. The stallion’s pitch-black coat glistened with sweat as it tore through the forest at a speed I hadn’t imagined possible of any living creature. The rider’s dark curls rippled behind him as he leaned forward, pressing the horse on, an expression of pure elation on his chiselled face.
His face turned towards us, eyes roving the undergrowth right where we were hidden. I reached out and put a hand over Rosemary’s mouth, holding my breath as the keen, dark eyes of the guard narrowed, and then he faced forwards once more, spurring his horse on.
A second rider galloped a little behind the first, between the black stallion and the first elegantly carved carriage. As they passed our hiding place, I thought I saw frustration in the tight lines of the second guard’s face, as though he were attempting to catch up to the first and failing miserably. I frowned, perhaps the dark-haired man was a new recruit, or a soldier recently returned from the war on the continent, just blowing off steam. He would be in for a stern talking to from the noble in the carriage when they reached their destination, I felt sure.
The remaining guards and carriages trundled past and I held my hand over Rose’s mouth for a minute more, keeping her from speaking or dashing out onto the forest road too soon. WhenI was confident there were no more riders pulling up the rear, we climbed out of the bushes and stood looking down the road towards Sherwood village and Kings Clipstone, the residence of Prince John here in the Royal Forests.
With any luck, they’d run into a band of rebels who’d relieve them of the riches loaded into those carriages and redistribute them among the needy, and more deserving. A cold smile played about my lips at the thought.
Tearing my eyes away from the path the caravan had disappeared down, I felt the rabbit twitch feebly in my hand—I’d almost forgotten it was there in all the commotion. I took its neck in both hands and twisted until I felt a snap and the creature ceased its kicking.
“Come, Rose. We’d better get back to the cottage and help prepare dinner.”
2
STEFANO
Ihopped down from the black stallion I’d commandeered at the marina, chest heaving. I had needed that ride. Weeks spent on a ship sailing from Sicily to the south of England, followed by days on a cramped narrowboat pulled by a carthorse had left me restless.
I stood looking up at the grey stone of the modest castle where I would be hosted by the prince; its crenellations like broken teeth, windows like empty eye sockets glaring down at me. I thought of my home in Sicily, the palazzo with its beautiful mosaics and inlaid marble, and almost shuddered at the brutal ugliness of this place.
“What the devil was that?” Gasped Dominico as he finally caught up to me and dismounted.
I turned, chuckling. Apparently, my good friend and the head of my personal guard had not enjoyed the ride as much as I had. “Sorry,amico, were you shouting to me? I couldn’t hear a thing over the wind rushing in my ears.” I smirked, and Nico shook his head.
“You’re a reckless fool, Stefano. What if there’d been an ambush? Some fugitive hiding in the bushes, or a band of thieves waiting for unsuspecting nobles to rob?”
“Then I would have come upon them first and dispatched them long before you and the carriages arrived. They’d be no match for me and my trustyspada.” I patted the rapier sheathed at my hip, but Dominico’s expression remained grim.
“It is my duty to protect you, my lord. Allow me the courtesy of doing my job.”
I felt my jaw clench at his use of my title but didn’t draw attention to it. There was no point arguing with Nico when he was in one of his moods. We’d trained together since adolescence and were closer than brothers—certainly closer than I was to any of my own three brothers—and Dominico only used my title when he was truly furious with me. But he would come around as soon as he’d had a hot bath and a good meal.
We’d come to England for a fresh start, a new life defending the Royal Forests and all who dwelled within them against the scourge of witchcraft, and I wasn’t going to let Dominico’s foul mood rub off on me when we had only just arrived.
I gripped his shoulder and flashed him a lopsided grin. “You worry too much,amico.”
The carriages pulled up then, surrounded by the prince’s cavalry soldiers. An officer wearing a pristine uniform with Prince John’s sigil pinned to his chest hopped down from the first carriage and hurried over to take the stallion’s reins.
“Ah, there you are,” I said, handing off the sleek black steed. “He’s a fine mount, thank you for indulging me.” The idea of riding in a padded and velvet draped box after the weeks I’d already spent travelling hadn’t compared to the exhilaration of galloping through the woods on that glorious beast. I patted the horse’s sweaty neck. “What’s his name?”
The young soldier bowed his head. “Gethin, my lord.”
“A good, strong name.” I nodded and he led the stallion away. I would have Prince John reassign the horse to me. A lowlysoldier had no need of such a fine animal, and we’d bonded on our brief but memorable journey together.
I watched as servants dashed out from the castle to unload my luggage from the carriages, struggling under the weight of the gifts I had brought for the prince. It had been my father’s idea to bring traditional Sicilian goods to impress Prince John—our estate near Palermo included acres of lemon trees and date palms. Ordering his staff to load my trunks with jars of candied peel and dried dates, and tightly wrapped bundles of spices, my father, Marquis Ugo Di Reinalto, had never looked so proud.
As the youngest of four sons, I had been nothing more than an inconvenience to my father. My eldest brother had been training to take the lordship his entire life. My second brother had entered the monastery after finishing his schooling, and my third brother had joined the Tercio of Sicily, a branch of the Spanish Imperial Army.
I had spent most of my childhood clinging to my mother’s skirt, helping her in the gardens and the kitchen. Until she’d died in childbirth when I was nine years old. The child, my baby sister, had not survived.
After that, my father had had no interest in me and I’d found myself getting into mischief; until a kindly sergeant had taken me under his wing and taught me everything he knew about patrolling the island and rooting out the vile perpetrators of witchcraft.
And that was how I had come to find myself accepting the role of High Sheriff of the Royal Forests in the middle of England, a country hundreds of miles away from my home in the Tyrrhenian Sea. And finally making my father proud.
“Ah, here you are! Lord Di Reinalto, I presume?” Prince John had emerged from the castle and stood at the top of the steps, his enormous bulk draped in furs, his arms held wide. “Welcometo the Royal Forests. I trust your journey was smooth and comfortable?”
