The youths looked nervously at each other, and then they turned their steeds and kicked their mounts off, leaving the last one of them still gasping on the floor.
Wolff snarled and kicked him again, viciously, with a grunt of dissatisfaction. Choking on his breath, the young man hauled himself to his feet, unsteadily mounting his horse and turning it back down the path.
“I’ll have my eyes on ye!” shouted Alaric as the cowards fled the scene, leaving Hanna standing in the middle of the road, her cloak stained with dust, basket crushed on the ground and hands shaking from nerves and fear as she stared at Wolff in shock.
He gave her a careful once-over, his eyes scanning her slowly from her head to the tips of her boots. He seemed to note she was relatively unharmed, as he nodded in her direction and said, “I’ll not let those pricks bother you again, you hear.”
Hanna blinked. Surprise and relief warring inside her.
Why would Alaric Wolff give a care for her?
“I thank you,” she managed to utter, even as the man stalked back towards the edge of the forest, sending her a lingering look.
“Alaric. You call on me if ye need,” he said in his low, deep voice, before disappearing into the darkness of the trees.
Breathless, Hanna picked up her skirts and hurried home.
But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Alaric was watching her still.
She didn't know if it was relief or fear that she felt in response.
HANNA
The next day, Hanna chose to avoid taking the main road to the cottage, choosing rather to walk the myriad of paths that wound their way through the forest.
She couldn’t shake the memory of the youths taunting her, the terror that had clawed itself up through her chest to lock around her throat as her eyes stung from the dust raised by the horses’ hooves.
The idea of facing that ever again was more than she could bear.
Hanna had thought she had experienced the worst of the judgment from the village when her shame became impossible to hide. Apparently, she had been wrong.
And next time, there might be no one to stand between her and the trouble such men had in mind for her.
The woods were dim, the trees filtering out most of the thin Autumn sunlight to a soft green wash. It was peaceful to walk through, and each new step on the trail felt freeing.
Hanna had often sought refuge in the forest when she was younger, escaping there to avoid her chores or when her mindwas in turmoil. There was a sense that time passed differently under the canopy of ancient branches.
A twig cracked behind her, and Hanna startled, then laughed to herself at her skittishness. It was probably a bird or another animal that was more afraid of her passing than she was.
Even so, she felt increasingly on edge, and she picked up her pace a bit, feeling like a ninny as she started to walk with intention in the direction that would eventually lead her to Maria’s cottage.
Pulling her cloak around her for comfort, Hanna stepped over tree roots and trudged through the thick leaf litter that lined the paths, the spot between her shoulder blades itching with the feeling that eyes were upon her. Now and then, she stopped, the forest eerily quiet as her ears strained to hear if there was something following her.
As the final stretch of the way came into view, Hanna had to physically restrain herself from breaking into a slight run. It was ridiculous, but her chest was tight with anxiety, the usually welcoming sanctuary of the woods suddenly feeling foreign, as if a new presence was held in there now. Something watchful, that was paying her far too much attention.
The edge of the trees came into view, and Hanna clutched her basket tight and marched determinedly towards it, sighing with relief as she stepped into the sunlight once more, winding her way through the ferns and underbrush towards the road and the cottage beyond it.
Another snapping sound rang out behind her, loud and harsh, and Hanna stopped in her tracks, her heart almost flying out of her chest with fright.
“Who is there?” Hanna called out, spinning around and searching the treeline anxiously. Half terrified that something might actually answer her.
She could feel eyes on her, though, and she didn’t want to be afraid anymore. Was so, so tired of always worrying, always expecting the worst.
A long moment dragged itself out, nothing but the wind rustling the leaves of the trees and swirling at the hem of her skirts, and then, finally, something shifted in the gloom of the dense forest.
A man stepped out slowly, a hood drawn up over his head and a rifle slung over his shoulder.
Alaric Wolff.She recognised his lanky form immediately.
