Hunt- Red Riding Hood Retold Read online

  If the man still lived by the time she found him, for searching the forest at night was an impossible task for anyone, even a witch who could fly.

  And if she didn't find him alive, at Midwinter…she would need to find another man.

  Muttering a curse against all brave, foolish men, she headed out.

  Eighteen

  A scream sliced through the air, startling Chase out of his doze. Whatever it was, it hadn't sounded human.

  The sound came again, accompanied by the drum of hooves that sounded exactly like a horse breaking into a gallop. Or trying to.

  His horse.

  Chase twisted, trying to see his mare. Moonlight lit up the clearing almost as bright as day, but it did not penetrate the canopy behind him.

  Short yips and barks came out of the bushes – the sound of excited dogs. Then a third scream, that ended in a gurgle.

  The sickening crunch of bone.

  The wolf had killed his horse.

  The last thing he'd had left of value. Fury rose up, at fate, the wolf, and everything in between. Chase would not let them take everything from him. Not while he still had a strong right arm.

  He began to climb down the tree.

  He slipped a few times, including the last few yards down the trunk, but he did not care. He would kill the wolf, and buy a new horse with the reward.

  Chase reached for his sword, then thought better of it. The sound of the blade sliding out of the scabbard would alert the beast to his presence. Better to use a well-placed arrow, once he could see the creature.

  He took a deep breath, put an arrow to the bowstring, then peeked around the trunk he'd tied his horse to.

  A pair of glowing eyes regarded him.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Dozens of eyes glowed in the dark, all pointed at him.

  Excited dogs, his half-asleep brain had told him. Not dogs. Wolves. A whole pack of them. All staring at him over the carcass of his horse.

  He bolted.

  Chase clawed his way up a tree, then slid painfully down it, hearing a crunch as he landed. Then pain exploded in his leg, blinding him.

  In the dark, he couldn't see the source. Had a wolf closed its jaws on his leg, bringing him down for the pack?

  No. He wouldn't die here, a dog's dinner. He reached for the branches above him, hauling himself up by his arms alone, even as his muscles screamed in pain. But he could not stop – he'd seen dogs jump this high, and wolves were no different. He needed to climb higher, so they couldn't reach him. Up and up and up, until he emerged into moonlight again, at the top of the tree. He sighed and sat down heavily. Surely this would be enough.

  The branch beneath him bent, then snapped, spilling him out into space. Out of the tree, and into the waiting jaws of the monsters below.

  Nineteen

  Rosa headed for the clearing where she'd laid her trap, figuring it was as good a place to start as any. If the knight had heard from the Baron's men that they'd tracked the wolf that far, then he might have had the same idea as she had.

  A scream told her she was heading in the right direction. The wolf had caught something tonight, though that hadn't sounded human.

  It was not yet full dark, but the shadows beneath the tree canopy hid much. She flew lower to get a closer look.

  Her blood froze in her veins at the sight of not one wolf, but at least a dozen, tearing at their prey, which appeared to be a large buck. No, a horse, she realised with deepening horror.

  The knight's horse.

  The man could not be far away.

  As if reading her thought, a tree shuddered violently to her right. Almost as if some large creature had slammed into its trunk, trying to uproot it like the wolf had her perch yesterday.

  Something cracked. A moment of silence, before the tree shuddered again. Now she could see something scrambling madly up the tree. A tree with whip-thin branches, that even she would not have climbed, for it would not hold her weight.

  The knight fell.

  Rosa didn't pause to think whether she'd be able to reach him in time. She had to try.

  Offering up a prayer to the gods of the forest that she would survive this stunt, she swooped beneath the branches.

  Twenty

  Chase was pretty sure death wasn't supposed to hurt this much. He'd remembered stories of paradise and angels, not pain. Unless he'd somehow found his way to hell. But that couldn't be right. What mortal sin had he committed to end up in eternal torment? Falling out of a tree didn't count. Perhaps accidentally shooting that queen had earned him such a punishment.

  He was warm, too, which had to mean hell.

  Chase sighed. Abraham would laugh himself sick. Though he was likely here somewhere, too, for killing kings was just as treasonous as shooting queens. Probably more so.

  He forced his eyes open and stared up at…wooden boards, not stone. Well, the priests back home had never been able to describe hell. Maybe it was all wood, the better to burn sinners with.

  But the only fire here burned merrily in a stone fireplace, which had a pot hanging on a hook above the flames.

  Somehow, he'd expected more screaming in hell. Not the happy crackle of a cooking fire.

  Then the door swung open and a red cloaked figure strode in.

  The devil himself, surely.

  Chase shrank back against the bed beneath him. "Mercy," he whispered. "I did not mean to hurt her. I swear it. Ask the princess. She knows."

  Then the figure turned to hang up the cloak on a hook by the door. It wasn't the devil at all, but the white-haired witch.

  "You!"

  She set her hand on her hip, for the other carried a basket. "And who were you expecting, Sir Knight? Some princess, perhaps?"

  He shook his head. "No, she saved me once, though I did not deserve it. She won't do it again." His mind finally caught up with his mouth. "Did you save me from the wolves?"

  She set her basket down on the table. "Of course."

  "Why?"

  She stared at him for a moment, before saying slowly, "Because it was the honourable thing to do. Saving an innocent from the dark side of a forest he does not understand."

  "I'm no innocent," Chase protested.

  "No?" She scrutinised him. "So you'd prefer for me to take you back out there, into the forest? Maybe stake you out in the snow for the wolves to make mincemeat of you as they did your horse? If you don't freeze to death first, of course."

  Only now did Chase realise he was naked beneath the blankets.

  She'd removed his clothes? What kind of woman…

  "My, what big eyes you have, Sir Knight," she teased. "Be easy. I have no intention of healing a man, only to send him to his death. You are safe here."

  "What did you do with my clothes, wench?" he demanded.

  She folded her arms across her chest. "It's Mistress Rosa to you, you ungrateful lout. And 'twas not I who shredded your clothes, but you yourself, running and climbing and falling through the forest. Why, when I found you, you were wearing little more than rags. You would have died if I hadn't found you."

  Saved by a woman. Again. Chase felt his cheeks grow hot. "Thank you for saving me," he mumbled.

  She waved away his thanks. "No need to blush like a maid seeing her first cock." Realisation dawned in her eyes. "Is that what has you so embarrassed? No need to worry so much, Sir Knight. As a healer, I've seen many such, and I know these things shrink in the cold. Perhaps now you're warm, I can better take your measure…" She reached for the blankets, a wicked look in her eyes.

  Chase clutched them like his life depended on it. "I'll thank you to keep your eyes off my cock!" he said hotly. Though now he thought about it, he wouldn't refuse if she put her hands on it…

  Rosa chuckled and returned to the table. "Ah, I've already seen it. You're a fine size, nothing to blush about. But if you're the modest sort, maybe you should cover it with the blankets when I check the stitches in your leg. They should come out soon – y
our leg is mending nicely."

  "You practised sewing on my leg?"

  "Not so much practised as stitched the flesh together so it would heal." She reached for the blankets again. "Here, I can show you, if you like."

  "No!"

  She shrugged. "Suit yourself, then, Sir High and Mighty. I think I preferred you when you were unconscious. But now you're awake, I suppose you'll be wanting breakfast, so it's a good thing the hens laid plenty this morning."

  While Rosa busied herself with making breakfast, Chase risked a peep under the blankets. Bandages covered his right leg, and encased most of his chest, as well. Broken ribs, he guessed, and his head hurt something fierce, too.

  He watched the woman bustling about, and another, more pressing question came to him. "How did you manage to save me?" he asked urgently. She was half his size. She couldn't have carried him out of there, or fought off an entire pack of wolves.

  Rosa grinned. "Magic."

  "Magic doesn't exist," Chase said. Even he could hear the lie in his words.

  Rosa set both hands on her hips. "It doesn't, does it, Sir Knows-a-lot? Then how do you explain this? I was flying past, when I heard a commotion in the woods, and when I came in close to see what was going on, I saw a man falling out of a tree, in a fall so great it would have killed you. So I magicked you up beside me, and flew you home here, so I could tend your wounds."

  "People can't fly." This he was more sure about.

  She looked smug. "I can."

  That could not be true. "How did you carry me here, then?" he challenged.

  She jerked her head at the corner, where an old willow broom leaned against the wall. "Flew you back on my broomstick, of course. Don't you know that's how witches travel?"

  Come to think of it, he had heard of such a thing. But it was such an impossible idea – brooms that flew – he'd never given it thought before. "Truly?" he asked weakly.

  She shot him a look. "No, you daft thing. Sitting astride a broom is the stupidest thing I ever heard. Why, the wind would go right up my skirts and freeze the very core of me, it would. I'd need to bed a man every time I flew just to warm myself up again, and have no time for healing anyone."

  He had to admit, her words conjured up such a vivid picture that he was more than a little aroused. In fact…

  "Oooh, what a big – "

  "Don't say it!" he begged, trying the cover the tent he'd pitched in his blankets.

  To her credit, she didn't laugh this time. Instead, she shrugged. "Suit yourself, Sir Chase the Chaste. Anyone would think you'd never bedded a woman before." She considered him for a moment. "When you're healed, I could introduce you to a couple of girls at the inn who might be able to help you with that."

  More images popped into his head, making him harder still.

  He gritted his teeth. "Please, Mistress Rosa, can we talk about something…anything else? I was already in enough pain before this, and now…"

  She blinked. "Oh, of course! You're about due another dose of medicinal. I almost forgot. I'll go down to the cellar and fill a jug. That should give you the time you need to…take care of things. Oh, and there's a bowl of water and a cloth beside the bed, so you can wash up after you're done, seeing as you're the modest sort who won't want my help with it." She winked as she knelt to lift up a trapdoor in the floor, then descended the steps until she was out of sight.

  Chase shook his head. What sort of woman talked about sex as brazenly as this one? Most of the women back home had been more…modest. He didn't know what to think. One thing was for sure, though - he'd never met a woman like her.

  Twenty-One

  In the cellar, she sat down on a cask and laughed silently until tears streamed down her cheeks. So much for the brave and bold knights from her mother's stories – or even the show he'd put on for her that first morning. Perhaps she should not have kept him unconscious for two days, for she dearly needed a laugh.

  Then again, if she'd let him wake earlier, he'd have been in a lot more pain. She'd used a fair bit of magic to heal him while he'd slept – magic the man did not believe in.

  And strangest of all…he was the first man she'd ever met who wasn't eager to have a girl handle his man parts.

  So much for spending Midwinter with the man. He'd probably shrink right up like a snail at the very thought.

  Impulsively, she called out, "Are you finished, Sir Knight, or will you need a hand from me in finishing off?"

  "I'm fine – fine! Just a moment!" he shouted back, in a fair panic.

  She headed deeper into the cellar, to where her grandmother had kept the casks of medicinal mead, stronger than the usual stuff, and infused with healing herbs. Making more would take months, so she would have to be careful not to run out, but this would dull his pain better than the sleeping potions she'd given him before.

  She wouldn't mind a cup of mulled mead herself, come to think of it. There were plenty of ordinary barrels she might tap. The knight would not mind a few minutes more to himself, either, she'd wager.

  When she finally climbed the stairs, the knight said, "You sure took your time. I said I was finished a while ago."

  Rosa shrugged. "I didn't hear you." She set the jugs on the table.

  "I shouted loud enough for them to hear me in the village. Gods, what did you do to me? This hurts! I'd give my kingdom for some wine to dull the pain."

  She poured him a cup of the medicinal. "Try this. Then you'll owe me your kingdom, Your Majesty."

  He didn't take the cup. "I have no kingdom. Not even a horse, now. What sort of knight does that make me?"

  "One who's going to drink his medicine so I don't have to listen to you complain." Rosa thrust the cup at him, then folded her arms across her chest until he'd drained it. "There. That'll knit your bones a little more, if the magic's still as potent as I remember. Maybe your ribs will heal by the end of the day."

  The knight choked. "That's not possible!"

  "With magic, almost anything is possible. For a price." A blood price, usually, though she did not tell him that. This wouldn't be the first time she'd spilled blood for a stranger, nor would it be the last.

  His eyes narrowed. "You sound wise for someone who looks so young. How old are you?"

  Centuries, she wanted to tell him, but suddenly she didn't want to play with him any more. "I've seen twenty-two summers, but magic brings its own knowledge with it, wisdom from ages past. And witches learn young that power must be controlled, or there will be consequences."

  "You're younger than me. Younger even than Maja was when…" The knight closed his mouth abruptly.

  "Was Maja your princess?" Rosa asked.

  The knight snorted. "Maja was my sister. She died in childbirth."

  "I'm sorry," Rosa said automatically, then added, "Did the child die with her?"

  "No, the boy lives. In a royal court, ward to the queen, no less. My brother in law could not have done better for his son." The knight shook his head.

  To mention royalty so casually, this knight must be highborn indeed. Ever so much higher than the Baron's family. And he hadn't said that his sister wasn't a princess – perhaps she'd married a prince, for her child to join the royal nursery. What must he think of her, and this cottage? Why, the man must be used to castles and golden plates. No wonder he hadn't wanted to take her clay cup.

  She was lower than the servants who'd brought him breakfast in the morning. Speaking of which…

  "I should do something with those eggs. Are you hungry, Sir Knight?"

  "Chase," he said.

  She mustn't have heard right.

  "My name is Sir Chase. Call me Chase," he explained.

  Rosa nodded. He surely understood proper protocol better than she ever could. "Breakfast, Sir Chase?"

  "Yes! I feel like I haven't eaten for days. Why, I could eat a whole horse."

  Did she dare mention his horse?

  His face fell before she'd opened her mouth. He remembered, then.

  "Just Chas
e. I'm hardly a knight at all without a horse. How the mighty have fallen." He shook his head. "Mistress Rosa, grateful though I am for your care and hospitality, I cannot repay you. The horse and what was in her saddlebags were all I owned in this world. Perhaps you should have left me to the wolves."

  She recognised the despair in his tone. Her spirits had sunk that low at times, too.

  "If you wish to offer payment, I'm sure you'll think of something suitable. I have helped far poorer patients than you, and they manage to find a way to show their gratitude. As for your horse…it seems to me the Baron owes you one, seeing as you lost yours in his service. Things are not so dark as they seem, Sir Chase. Your horse did not survive, but your saddlebags did. Your belongings are over by the window, and when you are well enough to leave your bed, you may have them back."

  He half rose. "My cup? You have my cup?"

  She rummaged through the bags until she found a metal cup. But when she drew it out, it glinted like it was made of gold.

  Not just golden plates. Golden cups, too. This man was no ordinary knight.

  "Thank you, Mistress Rosa. You don't know how much this means to me. It is all I have left of home, to remind me of them." His eyes turned pleading. "Can you stow it safely away again? I don't want it damaged."

  She did as he bade her, wrapping it in the blanket that had covered it before.

  She busied herself with breakfast, but bread and eggs were nowhere near enough to stop her mind from wondering what sort of man the gods had brought into her home.

  Oh, he'd not harm her, she'd make sure of that, but whatever could bring a highborn knight, uncle to a prince, if he was to be believed, to hunt wolves in her woods, must be a curious tale indeed. A tale that he would tell her, she resolved, before the winter was over.

  The least he could do after she saved his life.

  Twenty-Two

  Chase had tried sitting up while the girl was in the cellar, but his ribs had hurt so much, he'd lay back down again, heartily wishing he'd never heard of wolves or witches. Not that young Mistress Rosa was anything like he'd expected. Young and pert and far too knowing for one so young.