Stolen Child: The Janna Chronicles 2

  About Stolen Child: The Janna Chronicles 2

  Love, revenge, secrets—and murder—in a medieval kingdom at war.

  Forced to flee for her life, Janna sets out in search of her unknown father, hoping to avenge the death of her mother and bring the murderer to justice. Disguised as a youth, Janna takes shelter on a manor farm managed by the handsome nobleman, Hugh. There she encounters mysterious acts of sabotage marked by posies of rue, culminating in the disappearance of Hugh’s young nephew, Hamo.

  Janna can trust no-one in her bid to find out the truth. Godric has turned against her, while Hugh stands to inherit everything if Hamo dies. Can Janna find the child before time runs out—for both of them?

  Contents

  About Stolen Child: The Janna Chronicles 2

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Glossary

  Author’s Note

  About Unholy Murder: The Janna Chronicles 3

  About Felicity Pulman

  Also by Feclicty Pulman

  Copyright

  Prologue

  The scrawny, mud-stained youth froze in his tracks. Someone was coming! He quickly snatched up the snare he’d been about to set and slipped it down the front of his tunic. Should he be seen, he must seem innocent—but he would do all in his power to remain undetected for it could mean the difference between his life or death.

  Nervous, needing a hiding place, he scanned the forest. A sheltering screen of holly bushes nearby was his best, his only option. He raced to them and, wincing, eased himself between the prickly leaves, trying not to shake or disturb them in any way, or make any sound that might betray his presence. Once safely inside his thorny cover, he peeped out to see who was on his trail. Sometimes a guide came through the forest, leading a band of pilgrims, or perhaps a cleric or a nobleman, to safety. When that happened, laughter and chatter usually accompanied their passage, for the travelers would have permission to be in the forest and would be passing through on legitimate business. But this traveler moved silently, and therefore must be alone.

  If it was the forester who pursued him, he was in deadly danger. Gravelinges was a royal forest and the king’s forester patrolled it regularly to protect it from poachers, to make sure that there were always deer and wild boar for the king and his barons to hunt, as well as hares, coneys and even fat doves. Anyone caught red-handed would be hauled to the forest court, where justice was summary and swift: if your life was not forfeit, at the very least your hands could be cut off, so Edwin had heard.

  He looked down at his hands. They were dirty but not blood-stained, at least not so far as he could see. To make sure, he wiped them across a patch of damp grass, then turned them over and wiped them again. He inspected them carefully. Cleaner now, but it was perfectly possible that there might still be blood under his fingernails, for he had killed many creatures while hiding in the forest. Hares, coneys and squirrels, voles, mice and birds—anything to fill his empty, aching belly and keep him alive just a little longer. He felt about him for a small twig and quickly began to scrape it under his cracked and broken nails in a vain effort to lift out the ingrained dirt. He listened as the traveler came closer.

  If not the forester, then who? The servants of his liege lord? Edwin’s heart sank further as he pondered the possibility that he might have been traced here to the forest. He might already have walked into a trap. He cowered in the prickly holly, trying to make himself invisible.

  The walker was a youth, and he was alone. Even better, he seemed unarmed. Edwin cautiously eased some leaves aside so he could see the boy more clearly. His eyes narrowed in calculation as he weighed up the choice of staying hidden and taking his chances, or jumping the youth and catching him unawares. Whether he was here on legitimate business or was an outlaw, the boy might have something worth stealing. He might even have brought food and ale along for the journey. Edwin’s mouth watered at the thought.

  A fallen tree lay close behind him. Edwin reached out and quietly raised a branch that had broken away, testing its strength and weight. It would do. He had the advantage of surprise. A well-placed blow…

  Edwin smiled to himself. His muscles tensed, poised, ready to spring, yet something made him hesitate. He watched as the unsuspecting youth passed close to the holly bushes, flushing a bird from its cover. The boy stopped to look about him, his face open to scrutiny.

  “Who’s there?” he cried.

  Edwin’s eyes widened in surprise. His fingers relaxed their firm grip on the dead branch and his smile broadened. He settled deeper into his prickly hiding place to wait, to watch, and to make quite sure.

  Chapter 1

  The first thing she needed, Janna decided, as she followed the faint trail that snaked through the forest, was to find a pool or stream to wash out her filthy, flea-ridden clothes. Her lip curled in disgust as she looked down at the peasant’s smock and breeches she wore. Not only were they far too big for her, they were stained with sweat and dirt. In fact, they stank, and therefore so must she. She raised her arm to take a surreptitious sniff under her armpit and nearly swooned from the powerful odor released by her action. Even worse than the smell was the itching. Something—or lots of little somethings—was living in her clothes. Janna felt her skin crawl. She longed to scratch her arms, her legs, her body, but she knew scratching would make the itches much worse. Better by far to find somewhere she could strip off and wash herself as well as the garments she wore. It would also give her a chance to inspect the burns she’d sustained in the fire that had so utterly destroyed her cottage.

  If Godric—or even the dashing lord Hugh—could see her now! Janna shook her head as she tried to imagine their reaction. But she must not think of them; she must forget everything about her past life until she had succeeded in her quest to find her father. If he lived—and if she could bring him around to her way of seeing things—then she could think about the past once more, and about the man who had done her and her mother such grievous harm.

  Meanwhile these filthy garments were part of her disguise and she would have to endure them until she found somewhere to cleanse herself. She quickened her pace, hoping that she was heading in the right direction. She needed to put as many miles as possible between herself and those who had burned her home and who wanted to harm her, just in case they discovered the truth. She had heard there was a trail that went north through the forest of Gravelinges to Wicheford on the other side; she hoped she was on it. Her journey would not end there, but it would put the barrier of the forest between her and those whom she had once considered allies and friends. The memory of their treachery cast a dark shadow across her heart.

  The great canopy of branches high above turned the forest into a cool, green dimness. Only a few rays from the setting sun pierced the leafy shield, pebbling the path with coins of gold. Bright spongy moss coated tree roots, while sticky-footed ivy clung to dead and living trees alike, encasing them in ruffled coats of green. The soft groans and murmurs of wood pigeons gave way to an alarmed rattle of wings as they flew away from the sound of Janna’s approach. She felt as if she was walking through an enchanted wonderland, yet loneliness and sorrow walked beside her, step by step.

  She scanned the silent forest for signs of water, and licked her dry lips. She’d been walking for a long time. How much
further before she reached Wicheford? Everyone knew that Gravelinges was enormous, but how big was enormous? Could she walk through the forest before nightfall, or was she already running out of time? She had no way of knowing where she was. Huge beech and oak trees towered above her, silent watchers in the dark forest, interspersed with birch, ash and hazel too, their summer green brighter than the dark patch of holly ahead. Janna shivered. The forest was a dangerous place, especially at night, when it became the demesne of wolves and other fierce creatures.

  Her footsteps quickened, but then slowed again almost immediately. The trail was barely discernible in the dim light. She was further through the forest than she’d ever gone before, so could not rely on familiar landmarks to guide her. She was afraid that, in her hurry, she might misread her way and become truly lost.

  A faint rustle ahead froze her into stillness. Her heart thumped with fright. Slowly, her gaze sifted the landscape. There was a tall thicket of weeds in an open space ahead, which might give shelter to anything from a coney or deer to an outlaw. She watched for shaking leaves for any signs of movement, but all was still. Her gaze moved to the clump of holly bushes and then on and over to several huge oak trees.

  Nothing moved. Janna turned slowly in a full circle, watching and listening. She took a few steps forward, pressing her feet carefully on grass and weeds so as not to make a noise, for she sensed now that she was not alone.

  A silvery trilling set her heart leaping with fear. A pale yellow-gray wood warbler, flushed from cover, flew away. She felt the stir of air from its flight on her cheek. Sweat prickled her shoulder blades. “Who’s there?” she cried, her voice high and wavering with fright. Too late, she recalled that she was wearing a man’s clothes. “Is anyone there?” she tried again, striving for a deeper tone.

  Silence. Janna’s ears stretched to hear a noise that wasn’t her own. She could feel eyes watching her every move. She whirled abruptly, hoping to catch—what? Something animal…or human? She swallowed hard, feeling again the sweat of fear as she recalled the last time she’d been lost in Gravelinges in the dark, when she’d stumbled across the path of a wild boar. In her panic to escape she’d run in circles, enraging it to such a degree that it had charged and almost killed her. If Godric hadn’t been out poaching that night…

  Godric. Janna’s mind skittered hastily away from the image of the villein who had been so kind to her, and who had promised her so much more. She must not think of him, for although he lay heavily on her conscience there was no way now for her to make amends.

  Bringing her mind back to her present predicament, Janna scanned the silent, secret forest, hearing only the frightened thudding of her own heart. She forced her legs to move once more, taking one reluctant step after another while she assessed the situation. Wild animals didn’t only come out at night, she reasoned, but if it was a wild animal stalking her now it would not trouble to conceal the noise of its passage. Which meant that the watcher must be human.

  Could it be the king’s forester? Her mouth twisted in a grimace. She had only her feminine wiles to talk her way around the fact that she was trespassing in the royal forest, and she doubted they would be enough to save her—especially dressed as she was! But if the forester was following her, would he not have shown himself and challenged her as soon as he noticed her?

  Not the forester then. Could it even be Godric, who sometimes came through the forest on legitimate business, guiding people to safety on the other side? Briefly, desperately, Janna wished that it might be him. In spite of feeling deeply ashamed of her behavior, she longed to see him, longed for the comfort of his familiar presence. But she dared not call out once more, for it seemed more likely that the silent watcher was an outlaw, and therefore greatly to be feared.

  Janna had heard numerous stories about those who fled the king’s justice: how they hid in forests and preyed on travelers, seizing whatever they might find and showing no mercy to any who stood in their way. Fear kept her motionless for long moments. God rot it, she thought, wishing she was safely home in her cottage with her mother and Alfred, her cat. She drew in a deep breath to steady herself. Her home, and those she loved, were gone, all gone. She was alone out here, with no kith or kin to comfort her and only her knife for protection. She drew it out of its sheath and, feeling slightly braver with a weapon in her hand, she forced herself to walk on.

  Her way became more open, the tree cover now quite sparse. Janna realized she was no longer climbing. She seemed to have reached the high point of the forest, for the open weedy growth ahead lay downhill before being swallowed into darkness under the trees. She walked toward it and looked about the open glade. It must be very late, for the sun, always slow to disappear in the summer months, had now vanished and light was fading fast from the sky. Even if she hurried, Janna knew she could not get through the forest before it was too dark to see her way. Nor could she keep on walking for fear of straying from the path, which was already so faint as to be almost indiscernible. She’d heard tales of travelers who’d been lost in Gravelinges for days, weeks even. If they survived, they were half mad with fear by the time they were rescued. She must not lose her way.

  Should she then remain here through the night, and continue her journey in the morning? She shivered with unease as she looked about her. She was sure eyes still watched her, yet although her senses were alert for a betraying signal, she could hear nothing out of the way, nor were there any signs of movement. She tried to comfort herself with the notion that it was only her imagination, for an outlaw would not bother to stalk her when instead he could have taken whatever he wished and, by now, be safely on his way.

  She wished she could light a fire. It would bring warmth and a measure of protection from any wild animals that might be lurking nearby, but it might also attract the attention of the king’s forester. She couldn’t risk it. Nor could she risk making a nest of grass out here in the open, not when she was so deep within the forest. If she slept on the ground she would be in danger from any wild creature, animal or human, large or small, that crossed her path. Better, perhaps, to wedge herself up in a tree for the night, she decided. It would be uncomfortable, but she would be in a position to protect herself; she would be safe.

  With her knife, Janna drew a large and careful circle around her feet to mark the faint trail she was following, then cut a long staff of hazel and staked it in the center so that she would be able to see it from a distance. She pulled out her old kirtle, which she’d hidden under her smock, and tied it to the top of the stake. She stepped back and surveyed her handiwork. Her kirtle had been burnt to tatters in the fire and was useless to her, but it made a good beacon. Besides, she no longer needed the disguise of a fat stomach, for anyone who met her from now on would be a stranger to her. Even if, by unlucky chance, she were to come across anyone from her past, she hoped they wouldn’t recognize her anyway—she was no longer Janna, daughter of a wortwyf, she was now a youth called John.

  Janna nodded, satisfied with her arrangements. With frequent glances at her home-made marker to prevent herself from roaming too far, she looked for a tree with a lot of branches to cradle her and keep her fast should she fall asleep and neglect to hold on. She also kept a lookout for any sign of water, or even some juicy berries. Her stomach growled with hunger; her throat was scratchy with thirst. A few creamy white mushrooms caught her eye. She pounced on them, and inspected them carefully before stuffing them into her mouth. They tasted yeasty, of raw, damp earth; they brought saliva to her mouth and helped to fill her hollow belly.

  Janna tried to ignore her discomfort, ignore too the itches that plagued her, and the tickling, biting midges that swarmed around her face. Still she had the uneasy sense that she was not alone. However, if the watcher was human, it seemed he was in no hurry to accost her. Perhaps he intended to wait until she fell asleep? Janna caught her breath at the thought. I’ll stay awake all night, she promised herself, and gripped her knife more tightly as she searched for a tree with
branches reaching down low enough for her to haul herself up.

  There was a thicket of yew ahead, a dark, dense tangle of knitted branches and spindle leaves. Her mother’s voice came into her mind: “Yews are ancient and sacred trees. The druids built their temples nearby them, believing them to be sites of burial and resurrection.” Janna took a step toward them, then stopped as she recalled her mother’s warning. “The fruits and seeds are highly poisonous, so you must be careful, Janna. Stay away from them, if you can. They’re otherworld, and they’re dangerous.” The trees rose before her like a solid wall; she could not penetrate their depths. They would make a perfect hiding place. Should she risk it? It wasn’t as if she was planning to eat any part of them!

  She recalled what else she’d been told about them: that faeries believed yews had the power to render them invisible, and that they used yew to conjure up a darkness into which they might disappear. Janna, too, sought to disappear; it seemed like an omen. She hurried over and eased herself into their sheltering arms, then pulled herself upward from branch to branch. Climbing was so much easier wearing breeches. In fact, just about everything was so much easier for a man than a woman.

  When she could no longer see the ground below, she judged she was high enough to remain unobserved, while being secure enough to defend herself should anyone climb up and attack her. She wedged her body into the interlacing branches and hooked her arms around them for safety. It was almost completely dark now. She couldn’t see anything other than her immediate cover, but she knew her beacon was close enough for her to find it in the morning.

  With a sigh, she closed her eyes, then quickly snapped them open. She must not go to sleep. She touched the purse at her waist, heard the faint crumple of parchment and the clink of coins. Everything she owned that was of value to her was in her purse, including her journey’s purpose: the clues that might lead her to her father.