‘Well, what are you staring at?’ she demanded. ‘Never seen a woman before?’
‘Well, that answers the first question,’ he said.
‘What does that mean?’
‘You’re a woman.’
‘Oh, very dry!’ She retrieved a sheepskin jerkin from beneath the tree, dusting off the snow and slipping it on. It did nothing to enhance her appearance, thought Rek.
‘They attacked me,’ she said. ‘Killed my horse, the bastards! Where’s your horse?’
‘Your gratitude overwhelms me,’ said Rek, an edge of anger in his voice. “Those are Reinard’s men.’
‘Really? Friend of yours, is he?’
‘Not exactly. But if he knew what I had done he would roast my eyes on a fire and serve them to me as an appetiser.’
‘All right, I appreciate your point. I’m extremely grateful. Now, where’s your horse?’
Rek ignored her, gritting his teeth against his anger. He walked to the dead outlaw and dragged his arrows clear, wiping them on the man’s jerkin. Then he methodically searched the pockets of all three. Seven silver coins and several gold rings the richer, he then returned to the girl.
‘My horse has one saddle. I ride it,’ he said, icily. ‘I’ve done about all I want to do for you. You’re on your own now.’
‘Damned chivalrous of you,’ she said.
‘Chivalry isn’t my strong point,’ he said, turning away.
‘Neither is marksmanship,’ she retorted.
‘What?’
‘You were aiming for his back from twenty paces and you hit his leg. It’s because you closed one eye – ruined your perspective.’
“Thanks for the archery instruction. Good luck!’
‘Wait!’ she said. He turned. ‘I need your horse.’
‘So do I.’
‘I will pay you.’
‘He’s not for sale.’
‘All right. Then I will pay you to take me to where I can buy a horse.’
‘How much?’ he asked.
‘One golden Raq.’
‘Five,’ he said.
‘I could buy three horses for that,’ she stormed.
‘It’s a seller’s market,’ he retorted.
Two – and that’s final.’
‘Three.’
‘All right, three. Now, where’s your horse?’
‘First the money, my lady.’ He held out a hand. Her blue eyes were frosty as she removed the coins from a leather pouch and placed them in his palm. ‘My name is Regnak – Rek to my friends,’ he said.
“That’s of no interest to me,’ she assured him.
3
They rode in a silence as frosty as the weather, the tall girl behind Rek in the saddle. He resisted the urge to spur the horse on at speed, despite the fear gnawing at his belly. It would be unfair to say he was sorry he had rescued her – after all, it had done wonders for his self-esteem. His fear was of meeting Reinard now. This girl would never sit silent while he flattered and lied. And even if, by some stroke of good fortune, she did keep her mouth shut, she would certainly report him for giving information on caravan movements.
The horse stumbled on a hidden root and the girl pitched sideways. Rek’s hand lanced out, catching her arm and hauling her back in the saddle.
‘Put your arms around my waist, will you?’ he said.
‘How much will it cost me?’
‘Just do it. It’s too cold to argue.’
Her arms slid round him, her head resting against his back.
Thick, dark clouds bunched above them and the temperature began to drop.
‘We ought to make an early camp,’ he stated. ‘The weather’s closing in.’
‘I agree,’ she said.
Snow began to fall and the wind picked up. Rek dipped his head against the force of the storm, blinking against the cold flakes that blew into his eyes.
He steered the gelding away from the trail and into the shelter of the trees, gripping the pommel of his saddle as the horse climbed a steep incline.
An open camp-site would be folly, he knew, in this freak storm. They needed a cave, or at least the lee of a rock face. For over an hour they moved on until at last they entered a clearing, circled by oak and gorse. Within it was a crofter’s hut of log walls and earthen roof. Rek glanced at the stone chimney: no smoke.
He heeled the tired gelding forward. At the side of the hut was a three-sided lean-to, with a wicker roof bent by the weight of the snow upon it. He steered the horse inside.