Page 97 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

“So who was threatening to kill your dog?” Gabriel asked gently. “And why?”

The fisherman got shakily to his feet, steadying himself on the wall. “Men came to me yesterday, and they hit me with sticks, and they hit Posey, and they said they knew of the coming of the godless round table, and that I must go to the dark-haired girl knight who pulled the sword and tell her of the Grail, and that… that she would not be able to resist the glory, and would follow me to see it. And so I did what theysaid, God forgive me, and I took her to the place, and now they have her.” His eyes filled with tears. “I come to ask your pardon, sire, for I have been a terrible coward, and deserve any punishment you see fit.”

Comprehension dawned, and Gabriel stood back up very abruptly. “Someone asked you to lead Bridget away from town? And then kidnapped her?”

He exchanged a glance with Sir Hurst, who was now taking this very seriously.

“Yes,” said the fisherman. “Although I do not know that her name is Bridget, only that she had dark hair to the shoulder and stayed at the cottage and she wore the sword.”

Gabriel was halfway through the door, Sir Hurst at his heel, when he turned and said, “When? When did this happen?”

“An hour ago, sire, or two, I cannot say. Please, say that you will—”

“I forgive you,” Gabriel said hurriedly. “Don’t worry about it. You love your dog. I understand. I have a cat, I’d probably die for him. Excuse me.”

When he reached Gwen’s room, he knocked, and she opened the door fully armored in polished steel plate, Adah standing at her side.

“Bridget’s in trouble,” he said in a rush, and Gwen nodded, white-lipped and resolute.

“I know,” she said, sheathing her sword. “Let’s go.”

Peter the fisherman told them of the crack in the rock and the passageway beyond, a series of caves and tunnels used by smugglers that burrowed away from the village, right out from underneath all those carefully spaced guard patrols Sir Hurst had ordered.

It was the fastest Gabriel and his remaining knights hadever readied themselves, mounting up and heading northward. When they summited the hill and cantered in a line across the wind-tossed grassland, twenty riders behind them, Gabriel thought they must have looked like a tiny invading force; a bannerless host, riding out to face an unknown enemy.

“Why her?” Gwen had said through gritted teeth, as they rushed to their horses. “Why not take a shot at you, or me, or any of the other knights? WhyBridget?”

Unfortunately, the answer to these questions was that Gabriel had absolutely no idea. He felt for Gwen, who was beside herself, and poor Neil, Bridget’s squire—he hadn’t said much, but he’d had a sick, frightened expression on his face since Gwen had gone to tell him what was wrong.

When they reached the place where the cave opened out, they followed the only road until they came upon a man riding toward them. When asked if he’d seen any other riders, he shook his head, eyes suspicious beneath his knitted brow. Next, they came to a farmhouse; the man inside shrugged and said nothing, his arms folded, watching them all warily as they trampled the grass outside his house to mush.

“I don’t believe this for a single second,” said Sir Hurst when they regrouped. “They know something, but they’re not telling.”

They were just about to hasten away when they heard shouting inside the house, a slamming door—and then one of the farmer’s daughters came rushing down the path.

“I saw riders no more than an hour ago,” she cried. “Heading east!”

“Thank you,” Gwen said, tossing her a bag full of coins; her father, watching from the doorstep, uncrossed his arms, suddenly very interested indeed.

They took the easterly turning, then came to a spidery crossroads.

“Which way?” said Adah, looking from each road to the next as if they might offer clues. “East, still?”

“We’ll split up,” said Sir Bowen. “Ride each road for around a mile, report back.”

So they parted ways, Gabriel riding with Sir Hurst and half the guard. The road they took was long and featureless, and after a while, Sir Hurst swore and turned his horse, and they returned to the crossroads.

Sidney, who had ridden off with Arthur, was waiting with a triumphant look on his face.

“Look,” he said. “We found this. She’s a genius, and my wedding has saved the day.”

The pale posy, crumpled, dead, and flattened now from days spent tucked away in some forgotten pouch or pocket, was undeniably the same as the one Gabriel had pinned to his own jacket.

They followed the road until a village came into distant view, looking like it sat at the end of the world, with nothing but cliff and sea beyond—at which point Sir Hurst pulled them aside into a copse of trees.

“They’ll see us from a mile off, here. If we ride in full force, they’ll know we’re coming and hide her.”

“How do they know we won’t knock down their doors and burn their village to the ground if they don’t hand her over?” said Sir Leonard, sounding surprisingly bloodthirsty.