The Traitor's Daughter (Complete)

Part 3-Run, Zena, Run

 The carriage rolled out of the city, and Zena let out a breath of relief. The sun was just coming up, a pale globe, partially behind the clouds. Zena peered out of the window, having nothing else to do, and thankfully, no co-passengers to ask her uncomfortable questions. Outside, an icy wind blew, making a whistling noise as it passed through the leaves. She rubbed her freezing hands and blew a warm breath on them, then leaned back on the seat, resting her tired body.

She was safe for now, but there were soldiers everywhere. She prayed that she would be able to avoid them. Blackwood Forest was a long ride. They stopped after traveling for a few hours. The horses needed a drink and a rest. By this time, they had left the city behind and were in the countryside. There were meadows on both sides of the narrow road, and a stream flowed nearby. Zena dipped her fingers into the crystal clear, but cold water, then drank her fill before splashing some on her face. It refreshed her, though she shivered with the iciness.

They lit a fire, then sat down, the old coachman and she, and had a meal of the remaining bread and cheese. Paul, the coachman, watered and fed the horses, while she sat against the trunk of a huge oak, basking in the warmth of the fire. They left again on the long journey, traversing the narrow road.

Soon, dark clouds banked up on the horizon. A snowstorm was in the offing.

"That doesn't look good," Paul commented, a frown on his brow.

Zena agreed. Life was going to be tough, without the added dangers of a snowstorm.

They had gone a short distance when they sighted a troop of soldiers coming from the opposite direction. Zena held her breath, praying for them to pass.

"Where to, man?" one of them asked Paul.

"Blackwood Forest," Paul replied, slowing down.

"Are you coming from the city?" he asked again, frowning.

"Yes. On my way to drop the young lass to her village."

"That's a long way to travel." There was a question in the voice.

"The poor girl be going to her Granny's. The old lady be on her deathbed."

"Oh. God bless her soul. Be careful, though. A storm is approaching."

With that, the soldiers spurred their horses and rode by. Zena heaved a sigh of relief. Shortly, it began to snow. Light flakes at first, like a fine powder. The horses plodded on, their bells jingling.

It was soon after sundown that they reached their destination. Paul brought the carriage to a stop in front of the inn at the village.

"Come on, lass. We're here," he said, opening the gate of the cabin.

Zena climbed down, shivering in the chilly wind which blew along with the falling snow.

"Thank you, Paul. What would I have done without you..." she thanked the old man, placing a couple of coins on his palm.

Paul gave a toothy grin, then pocketed the coins.

"You take care, lassie. I'm going to stay here for the night. The horses need rest."

Zena counted the coins left in her hand. She had just enough to spend the night at the inn and a warm meal. Deciding on staying, she had hardly taken a step toward the inn door with the sigh of a stag hanging from it, when she caught sight of two soldiers walking out of the door. They were engrossed in talking and did not notice her, but it was enough to give her a fright. She couldn't stay here. There could be more soldiers inside. She couldn't take the risk.

Resigned to spending the night elsewhere, she turned abruptly and left. The village of Blackwood was surrounded by the adjoining forest it was named after. Zena trudged along the dark village road, noting the small cottages situated along it. The soldiers were walking ahead of her. She kept to the shadows, observing them, till they came to one of the cottages, knocked on it, and went inside.

Zena looked in dismay. She hesitated from going to any doorstep and ask for shelter for the night. God alone knew if the soldiers would come looking. Of course, they were everywhere since the war. She would have to plan cleverly to avoid them.

She had almost walked to the end of the village. The cottages were now few and far between. She had reached almost the edge of the forest. The snow was falling faster now, big, fat flakes. Her feet were growing numb. She needed to find somewhere to stay or she wouldn't make it till morning. Hunger made her dizzy. She regretted not staying at the inn. At the moment, she could not decide which posed a greater danger, the soldiers or the cold.

Soon, she came to a stream, marking the border of the forest. Tired and famished, she sank down on a boulder. The road almost ended here, disappearing into the woods. The darkness looming ahead was scary, to say the least. There could be bears or worse, in there. It was no place for a girl traveling alone. A feeling of hopelessness washed over her. Was this the end then? Was she destined to die here, alone and without a soul caring for her?

Great tearing sobs rose within her chest, shaking her. She did not want to die like this, the thought struck her mind like a hammer, again and again, till the darkness seemed to envelop her mind and she sank into oblivion.

The stillness of the night was broken only by the sound of the galloping horses. Two riders were making their way through the path when their gaze fell on the dark heap lying on the boulder by the roadside.

"Someone's lying here, Dave. Let's stop and see if they need help," said the tall, broad-shouldered man, alighting from his horse. He was dressed in a fine woolen coat and birches, with high boots and a hat. His hair, a little long, as was the fashion, was tied at the back into a queue with a silken ribbon. With a patrician nose and chiseled features, he was quite a sight to look at. An aura of power and command surrounded him, but at the moment, a frown marred his handsome features.

"Seems like a young lad, Your....I mean, sire," Dave said, approaching the inert form and shining his lantern on the figure.

As a beam of light fell on the figure, Dave gasped loudly.

"What is it?" His employer asked.

"It's a young girl, sire. Seems she fainted from the cold. It is no wonder though. The blanket is in tatters, and her clothes are no better."

The tall man came closer, peering to catch a glimpse of her face. She was pale from the cold and her lips were turning blue, but nothing could hide the fact that she was a beauty, with hair the color of spun gold peeking from under her bonnet and sharp features, with a heart-shaped face and a small pert nose. Of course, her eyes were closed, but he could not help guessing that they too would be spectacular.

He bent and picked her up in his arms. She was freezing and stiff with the cold, and her breathing was faint.

"We can't leave her here to die. Come, we'll take her to the manor."