EIGHT
Sativa had managed to saddle her mare, Salt, and fasten the saddlebags to the animal, when she heard approaching footsteps. Swearing silently, she slid into the stall with Salt, praying that the intruder would go away. She held her breath as she peered through the gaps in the stall wall.
Whoever it was did not respond to prayers, for they came into the stable. One of the squires, she thought at first, until the squire came into view.
Sativa almost swore again as she recognised the flaming hair of the woman the shoemaker had been staring at all night. The one who'd been so indispensable at slaying all those monsters. She would not let her lord's bride escape.
"Who's there?" the woman demanded, sliding her dagger from its sheath. "Show yourself!"
Sativa sidled deeper into the s
