‘You have much to learn, Hugh de Villiers,’ he sneered.
‘Not from you.’ Hugh jerked his head around and nodded at Eustace Le Moyne, the new steward, and a few of his retainers. ‘Escort Lord Balvoire and his men off Tallany, Le Moyne.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
He watched as Edmund Balvoire climbed down from the dais. Just as he did so, arrow after arrow hissed through the air, striking as if randomly and yet hitting inanimate objects with absolute accuracy from different directions. Incredibly, the deluge of flying arrows did not strike a single person, but the situation was enough of a diversion to create chaos and everyone dispersed.
Then the outlaw Anselm freed his hands from the rope binding them and punched one of the guards in the face. Damn! The villagers were seemingly helping the prisoner escape into the woods and doing nothing to stop him.
All this had happened in a matter of moments and mayhem ensued.
Hugh turned to Will. ‘Catch him and bring him back—but I don’t want anyone hurt.’
He turned his head and narrowed his eyes. The arrows had come from many directions, but he suspected only a handful of archers had fired them. Yet there was only one of note. One from a particular angle. One who had shot the most and the fastest arrows. One who had to be the leader. And Hugh knew without hesitation who that must be...
Le Renard.
This time Hugh would get him.
This time the outlaw would not get away from him so easily.
Chapter Twenty-One
It had all happened so quickly. Eleanor had knelt very still, perched high under the branches of an old oak tree chosen for its strategic position and also to conceal her with its expanse of foliage. She had sucked in her breath and nervously tied Le Renard’s mask around her eyes and face, hoping that every single one of her outlaws was now in position to play his part in bringing about Anselm’s freedom. An outcome which was anything but assured.
Eleanor had watched as Anselm was led out to the gallows by Father Thomas and taken a few more breaths, knowing that the time had come. Father Thomas would have slipped a small blade into Anselm’s bound hands before he gave the last rites. She’d hoped to God that there would be enough time for Anselm to cut through the rope.
A few of her men had perched in trees surrounding the area and another handful had made their way into the crowd, blending in with the villagers whilst all eyes followed the prisoner.
She’d watched with bated breath as Anselm was led out towards the gallows...but suddenly a pounding of hooves from a different direction made Eleanor turn her head.
Her breath had caught in her throat.
Hugh...? Could it have been?
Oh, Lord, it was Hugh, and he had returned safely to Tallany. Her heart had jumped for joy. He was finally back home. She’d felt like climbing down from the tree and throwing herself into his arms... But, no, she had a job to do.
And she would use this intervention, knowing it would allow her a little more time to put her plans in motion.
She’d moved into range, gripping her arrow tightly and nocking it to her bowstring. She steadied herself, knowing she would have to strike with absolute precision.
The voices at ground level had been drowned out by the rampant beating of her heart. She had felt a tiny bead of moisture on her forehead but had no time to brush it away.
She’d waited for a sign from one of the outlaws in position that Anselm had indeed cut through the ropes that bound his hands.
She would play her part in causing mayhem, helping Anselm to safety.
There was a flash of something in the distance and Eleanor had known it was her sign—the discreet way her outlaws wordlessly communicated with each other.
It was time to act.
She’d struck arrow after arrow with breathtaking precision, sending them flying through the air in different directions, aiming for a wooden post or the branch of another tree. Two of her men had followed suit, adding to the confusion.
She had known the villagers below were intent on aiding the prisoner’s escape, and even the Tallany guards seemed reluctant to recapture him. Only Hugh and his men had thrown themselves into the fray.
Eleanor had smiled as she watched Anselm pull a woollen hood over his head—a similar hood to those worn by every other man around him—before getting away into the woods.
She’d hoped they would all get to safety as quickly. Her smile fell away from her lips and she exhaled, her relief keenly felt.
But this was anything but over, and it was time for her to slip away.
Hugh ran in the direction of where the most arrows had been struck from. He located a tree he suspected had concealed the outlaw, looking above into its branches, but Le Renard had once again disappeared...or had he?
Hugh heard some swishing noises, looked up, and made out a figure swinging from tree to tree ahead in the woods.
Le Renard! It had to be.
Hugh followed on foot and unexpectedly found Eleanor’s grey palfrey tethered to a tree. No doubt she was here, waiting for her friend, but there was no sign of her or The Fox.
Hugh groaned in frustration. He couldn’t have got away, again, especially without a horse. So, where in God’s name was the outlaw?
He stroked the palfrey’s soft muzzle absently, looking around in every direction, when suddenly something fell onto the horse. Hugh looked up to find that he was face to face with Le Renard himself.
‘Greetings, my lord. Thank you for keeping my horse company.’
Le Renard shoved Hugh and grabbed at the reins, pulling the animal to try and get away hastily.
But Hugh was too quick
