Mid-afternoon, four days into the hunt, the men set off from the tent camp cheerfully, the wind lifting their capes as they galloped away. The Duke halted only briefly, rearing his horse back to nod sternly at Juniper, who stood beside her tent with her arms crossed and eyes blazing. His message was clear : do not follow. She bowed with grand sarcasm and watched him go, then kicked a clump of dirt and stalked into her tent.
“The indignity!” she cried to her peregrine, Craquelin, who cocked his head in apparent sympathy. “To be punished for my prowess! I can’t very help the fact that they’re totally inept hunters, can I?” Craquelin picked up his leather hood and began to gnaw on it.
“Exactly,” said Juniper, scooping the falcon up and setting him on her hand as she swept outside to examine her tent. While outside the rest of the camp’s lodgings, one or two banners flew, displaying animals such as hares, foxes or badgers, Juniper’s tent was a mess of colors and fabric. She had captured every heraldic animal in the first three days of the hunt, a feat normally endeavored without success over a fortnight. Apparently this did not sit well with the men, especially after Bors de Gavin had run screaming from the black bear that Juniper easily picked off mere moments later.
Yes, Juniper conceded, perhaps she could have done without riding through the hunting party laughing and waving the three final flags in the stunned faces of some of the most important noblemen of the kingdom. But to be told to stay in her tent all day like some naughty child, (and by a man she brought to the point of begging nearly nightly!) Well, it was not to be borne.
Juniper decisively threw a deep brown cloak about her, pulling the hood close around her face.
“Today, I’ll wear the hood,” she said to Craquelin, replacing him on her shoulder, “and you can go without for a change.” She quickly wrapped up some bread and cheese, mounted her grateful horse and set off for directions unknown. She was out of sight of camp when she realized she’d neglected to bring a weapon of any kind.
“It’s all right,” she said to herself. “I wasn’t planning on hunting anyway. I just hope I don’t meet with any unsavories.” As if suddenly not sure of it, she glanced over her shoulder into the dark of the woods.
After an hour, she came upon traces of the path the hunting party had taken. She raised her head angrily and wheeled her horse in the opposite direction, determined not to meet with any of them. If she strayed too far from camp and needed to find alternate lodging, so much the better. That would certainly send a potent message to the haughty Duke.
She rode for hours, letting Craquelin fly occassionally and slowing to admire some startlingly lovely natural features, hidden grottos and forgotten shrines. When her stomach began to complain, she stopped at an abandoned anchorage beside a lively stream. She laid her cloak and sackcloth on the ground and sat to enjoy her repast, setting Craquelin down beside her to pick as he would at the bread. She smiled, enjoying the sun warming her bare arms, and closed her eyes, listening to the calming sound of running water and wind rustling the leaves.
Juniper tensed and opened her eyes. Intruding into the natural music was the sound of low voices and metal clinking. Was she imagining it? No; the horse stood cautiously listening and the feathers on Craquelin’s wings were splayed in defensiveness.
Juniper motioned quiet to the horse, picked up the peregrine and stepped barefoot silently towards the back of the building, from whence the voices seemed to be emanating. She saw two figures, partly concealed in the shadows of the trees, but both clearly wearing the vestments of the Duke’s guard. Juniper sighed with relief that they were not thieves. Still, what were they doing so far from the hunt? She pressed herself closer to the wall and strained to hear their conversation.
“…the girl I need. She is worth any price to my employer,” said the taller of the two, in a strangely patrician voice.
“I need some guarantee,” said the other in a peasant slur. “…never hurt…when you take her.”
Juniper leaned in closer to better hear. Take her? Who? The taller man removed a ring from his finger and gave it to the other.
“This is your proof,” he said. “Show it to LeBaron. You’ll be further compensated.”
The smaller man laughed in a gravelley tone and pocketed the ring. Juniper quickly took the ring from her own finger and allowed Craquelin to bite it once, then took it back and nodded to the falcon to fly away. When she looked up, the tall man was backing away and his companion bowing to him.
“I’ll do whatcha say, sir,” said the smaller guard as he mounted his horse. “But I don’t see why anybody’d want to hurt Miss LaVerte!”
Juniper felt the blood rush from her heart. Not Emerald! What were they plotting!? She staggered involuntarily from the building into the woods. From here she could see more clearly the short guard riding away in the distance and the taller one unhitching his own horse, his face suddenly illuminated by a ray of sun. It was the same guard she had encountered that night outside Peter Prique’s house! His eyes raised from the bridle and met hers, shock registering darkly.
Without a moment’s pause she ran around the house to where her horse was grazing, stumbled and picked herself up again. She knelt to gather her cloak and rose to find the guard at her back and his knife at her throat. He smiled sarcastically, his eyes fixed on her intensely.
Her hand wandered to her thigh, but found no dagger there. The man came around behind her and put his hand around her throat, removing the blade to his belt.
“Not armed today, are you, Juniper?” he murmured. “I must assume if you were, I’d be at somewhat more of a disadvantage.” Juniper felt her face flush. She glared ahead as his hand tightened and he walked her backwards towards the anchorage.
“As you mysteriously know my name, may I at least have the satisfaction of knowing yours?” she asked through a clenched jaw. He laughed behind her.
“So polite! You must really be afraid, my dear.” She squirmed angrily, but he pulled her further back and tightened his hold. “Don’t worry, I don’t aim to kill you. But if you heard everything that was just said – well, I can’t have you following behind me, can I?”
“Perhaps you should kill me!” cried Juniper, her face flushing with rage. “For if you harm one hair on Emerald’s head, I will come after you with such vengeance as you’ve never seen.”
“I’m sure you will,” said the guard, dragging her into the dank, pitchblack anchorage. “But not for several days.” He wheeled her about and kicked the door shut, shutting out all light. Juniper felt his mouth near her forehead. “My name is Justjohn,” he whispered, and kissed her brow.
“That’s a bastard’s name,” said Juniper.
She felt his hand at her throat, just below her chin.
“Good night,” he said.
Juniper opened her eyes to a bright noon sun streaming through arched open windows. She lay in a clinic wing under crisp sheets, three young nuns peering at her, fascinated. She swallowed and winced in pain.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice barely creaking out. A pretty pale faced nun leaned in and patted her back down onto her pillow.
“Don’t trouble yourself! You’ve got a bad cold, but you’ve passed through your fever.” One of the others nodded aggressively.
“Praise be to God that Sister Lucinda wandered to that old hermitage yesterday, or you mightn’t have been found in time!” said the third nun, as if she couldn’t contain herself. “Set upon by robbers, I take it! And bound up like that! Horrible thing, horrible.” All three nodded, their heads bowed devoutly. Juniper sat up, groggy.
“I have to go…I have to find…” she mumbled.
“No, no, no,” the nuns cried. “A few days more rest, at the very least.”
Juniper’s head pounded, and she grudgingly reclined back onto the bed. The pretty nun’s face perked up and she walked into the hall, returning with Craquelin on a stick.
“Your friend returned to you, I see!” she laughed. “I could tell by the anklet which matched your horse’s bridle markings.” She seemed greatly impressed with her detective work. Juniper smiled weakly.
“One other thing,” said the nun. “He was carrying this.” She reached into her pocket and drew out a ring, handing it to Juniper.
Juniper examined it. A heraldic ring – a falcon and a unicorn. Only royals bore a unicorn on their crest. Why was that peasant bastard carrying this?
“Good work, Craquelin,” she said before her throat swelled and her eyes shut by themselves again, leading her into a fitful slumber.
