The nightingales flicked and flashed through the forest air, diving around the tall elm trees that lined the earthen track. The orange sky of dusk tried in vain to pull the sun up again, though the silver moon lurked in the high, clear, star filled air. The sound of hooves dashed the silence like a heavy drum and broke the peace. All of a sudden a large grey horse burst through the bushes and thundered down the earthen track. It's rider was a tall, handsome man with long, flowing black hair and a clean shaven, determined face. His silver armour and gold hilted sword were a glinting blur as his steed flashed through the clearings of this old English wood. He gazed back with his wide, brown eyes to see three riders rip through the bushes where he came from onto the track and bare down on his mount.
His heels dug into the horses side and the sweat and steam of the tiring beast filled the air around him. He had to think fast. The clanking of his assailants weapons echoed in his mind as he chased the thoughts which would lead him to safety. The forest finally broke onto moor land and his silhouette against the setting sun was like a great painting. His chasers came out of the woods and spurred towards him, though a gap had opened between the hunters and the pray due to thick bushes, false trails and a lot of luck. They appeared in time to see him break for another wood and so they followed in hot pursuit. The moor was still for a few moments after the chasing pack had passed into the forest and as the dragonflies danced in the dusk the grey horse and his silver rider slowly, and silently trotted down the hill and towards a lone farmstead, bright on the moor.
The rider knew his horse was tired as it panted down the muddy hill towards the farm. He also knew that his assailants would not be fooled for too long so he looked to the barn on the edge of the farm where he could hide and maybe even get some sleep. The door was open as he led the animal into the large, dark, lofty barn where he removed it's saddle and hitched it to the post. He flung his armour and sword on the floor and sat in the dark pondering his difficult position.
He must have drifted into a nervous sleep, because he was jolted into consciousness as the large door began to open, revealing a star filled sky. He drew himself up and hugged the wall, wishing that his sword was not on the other side of the barn, hidden with his armour under a hay cart . He tried desperately to stop breathing and wished that he could become part of the wall. A sword blade, rapier-like, slowly edged through the barn door, illuminated by a flickering candle. They'd found him. It was time to let his masculine strength and warrior instincts take over, and as the glove covered hilt appeared, he pounced. He grabbed the wrist, barrelled into the assassin and pulled him down to the floor with the rapier resting on a bare neck. As he struggled to keep his potential killer still he noticed that there was something amiss. There was no one else at the door, and the body in his muscular arms was slight and weak. By the light of the now stricken candle he saw, that in his arms was a young woman, blonde and slight, wearing white, cotton shirts and what was probably her father's gauntlet. With his hand still firmly placed over her mouth, he flung away the blade and turned her round. Her bright, wide, blue eyes looked up into his weathered, beautiful features as her breasts heaved in adrenalin and fear. She was quite beautiful, with slight features framed by flowing blonde locks which ran to the middle of her back.
"Thou must not speak!" He whispered dramatically to her "I am a wanted man and the Lord of this land's men seek me at all hours. I mean you no harm, but you must be quiet". He slowly lifted the pressure from her face and her quivering red lips gasped for air.
"You are a fool sir! Thou cannot stay here! My family and I will be banished for harbouring a criminal, though I would wish for his lordship's death each night." She whispered more in the darkness "What is your name sir? And what is your crime that you must hide in here?"
"My name is Richard of Kent, son of the king's best man and my crime is one of passion. I had loved your Lord's daughter without a word of marriage and had been discovered by her brother. Please, I ask of you one night where I may hide away and on the morrow I will leave". But as he said this the sound of galloping hooves filled the night air and shouts could be heard through the gaping door. To his surprise the girl grabbed his hand and led him hurriedly up the rickety, wooden ladder and into the hayloft, but not before Richard had stamped out the candle. They flung their bodies into the hay as the first of the men stepped through the door. Richard now lay on top of the girl, both bathed in moonlight from a large window some feet above them, and he heard the hunters talk.
