The Courageous HEART

Kerrith found herself on the run with Alain - but was the Frenchman to be trusted?

- Michael Malaghan

The ring of standing stones had lain hidden among the crags and hollows of the moor, an ethereal silver mist draping it like a hood. Kerrith and Alain had paused there to partake of bread, pork and cheese, before he had left her with his horse, to explore a little further. But now he had reappeared to find her stuffing his spy's journal back into the saddlebag.

‘I was looking for more of that fine Cornish cheese,’ stammered Kerrith, sweeping her tresses self-consciously from her face.

‘I would think that might be true,’ replied Alain, his French accent sounding almost singsong, melodic, ‘if it were not for the guilty expression upon your otherwise enchanting face. I believe you found something a little less palatable than cheese. And now you realise that the suspicions of those at the inn were indeed correct.’

‘So you admit it? You are a spy,’ Kerrith challenged him. She was watching him carefully – her breathing quick and shallow, her heart racing beneath the bodice of her garnet-red dress. He had stopped six feet from her, and if she were swift enough, she might dart away and be swallowed up by the mist.

Alain seemed to read her thoughts, his lively brown eyes full of intelligence. ‘You are in no danger, Kerrith. Recall, if you will, that it was you who forced your company upon me.’

‘Now I shall be unforcing it,’ declared Kerrith, and she broke into a sprint.

‘No! Not that way!’

As she scurried away, Kerrith heard Alain’s hurried footsteps coming after her but thought it a curious thing for him to shout not ‘Stop!’ or ‘Come back!’ but ‘Not that way!’ Surely when one attempted to flee, the direction mattered little?

A sound, not unlike a thud or a splash, yet something between the two, came from her side. And wondering what had happened, Kerrith slowed, then stopped.