He held out his hand to her, an appeal in his deep blue eyes. The wind gusted, stirring the rough grass of the moorland and ruffling Magnus’s thick hair as he awaited her answer. Izzy found herself staring at him, her mind churning with thoughts and feelings she’d rather not examine too closely.
“Alright,” she heard herself say, not quite sure where the word had come from. She slipped her small hand into his large one and shook it, sealing their bargain. “Agreed. But I expect a full escort back to my car once you’ve found your trail again.”
Magnus’s grip tightened around hers, a brilliant smile lighting up his face. At the sight, a tingle went right through her. “Agreed.”
With that, they set off following Snaffles who resumed his tracking, nose scanning the ground and tail wagging in excitement.
Despite her previous irritation, as they began trekking across the rough, wintry moors and ridges, Izzy was startled to discover she was actuallyenjoyingherself. Eh? What? Well, she supposed shehadcome out here to escape work stress hadn’t she? And if nothing else, this little jaunt was certainly taking her mind off work.
MAGNUS TRIED TO PUTtoday’s strange events from his mind, and focus on following the dog. Snaffles. Really? What kind of name was that for a hunting hound? And in fact, what kind of noblewoman—for surely that is what Isabelle Ross must be—kept a hound like Snaffles anyway? He was big, unruly, slobbery and about as far away from a genteel lapdog as you could get.
Still, if he helped Magnus find the trail, Snaffles could be a prize milk-cow for all he cared. Finally, after all this time, he had a chance of catching up with his quarry. The outlawshad been clever in coming into the Dragon’s Back. It was a maze of boulder-strewn peaks and treacherous trails: easy to get into, not so easy to find a safe way out again.
Which begged the question: what was Isabelle doing out here alone?
He glanced over his shoulder. She was following close behind, picking her way with care over the rocky ground. Her strange attire only emphasized his assumption that she was an eccentric noblewoman—English by her accent. Certainly her bright yellow boots and long coat over a pair of blue trews were like nothing he was used to, but then he didn’t have much experience with noblewomen—particularly English ones.
Her raven hair was pinned haphazardly up, strands escaping to frame her face, and the way she strode along behind him suggested she was used to walking, even though she’d freely admitted that she had a carriage somewhere nearby. Aye, an eccentric noblewoman indeed. She came abreast of him and they walked side by side for a while in silence.
“Ye seem at ease up here, lass,” he finally said. “Not many take to the Dragon’s Back. It isnae exactly a hospitable place.”
She glanced at him, her hazel eyes reflecting the weak sunlight, and shrugged. “I come here as often as I can. It might not be hospitable but it’s a great place to blow away the cobwebs after a bad week. And besides, it tires Snaffles out. Never a bad thing.”
“I imagine not,” he said with a smile. She had such a strange way of talking, so straightforward and honest,not like any noblewoman he’d ever encountered. “Do ye not fear becoming lost?”
She snorted. “Hardly! There are way-markers every mile or so along the trails and I’ve got my GPS on my phone. I think you’d have to work pretty hard to get lost these days.”
He didn’t reply, not sure what she was talking about. Silence fell again.
“So, this thing you’re doing,” she said after a while. “Tracking these people. What is it for? A Mountain Rescue training exercise?”
Magnus’s gaze followed Snaffles, who was sniffing at a patch of heather with an almost obsessive concentration. He didn’t know what Isabelle meant but if she thought it was some kind of training mission he was on, all the better. “Something like that,” he muttered.
Isabelle seemed to accept this answer and nodded, squinting against the wind as they walked.
A yelp from Snaffles drew their attention. The dog had scampered ahead and was now pawing excitedly at a clump of earth, his tail wagging so fast it was a blur.
Magnus hurried over and knelt next to the source of Snaffles’ interest—a heap of nubby chicken bones and a set of footprints pressed into the mud. He picked up one of the bones, eyeing it curiously. It was gnawed clean, devoid of any lingering meat or soft tissue; whoever had discarded it had made sure to get every morsel. The footprints left behind were man-sized, and as he scouted around the area, he found more. The ground here had become softer, changing from pebbles and rock to heather-covered peat and the path theoutlaws had taken led off into the distance, clearly delineated in the thick soil.
Isabelle crouched next to him. “So that’s it? That’s the trail you’re looking for?”
Magnus rose and walked carefully alongside the footprints. The trail was clear for all to see in the mud and no effort had been made to hide it. The outlaws were either overconfident or careless—either of which improved Magnus’s chances.
“Aye,” he muttered, raising his gaze to stare out over the humped and pitted landscape. How far ahead were they? A few hours? A day? “This is the trail I’ve been searching for.”
I’m coming, he thought.So ye’d better sleep with one eye open.
“Great,” Isabelle said brightly. “In that case, I think Snaffles and I have kept our part of the bargain.” She turned and pointed the other way. “Like I said, my car is that way at Marris Head. Snaffles! Come on! Time to go home!”
The dog gave an excited yip and bounded up to his mistress, gamboling around her feet like an overgrown pup. Magnus was struck again by what an odd pairing they were. In his experience of noblewomen—limited as it was—they preferred petite little hounds that could sit on their laps. If Snaffles tried to sit on anyone’s lap they’d likely be crushed. And he was an ugly thing with his big head, massive shoulders, and wobbly jowls from which drool seemed to constantly drip. Aye, a strange companion for a lady, but then Isabelle Ross was a strange lady. In an odd sort of way, the woman and the hound suited each other.
Magnus shook his head, unsure where such thoughts came from. He glanced once more at the outlaws’ trail and then at Isabelle. She and the hound were both watching him expectantly, heads cocked to the side in mirror images of each other.
A promise was a promise, after all.
“Aye,” he said gruffly. “I know the way to Marris Head. I’ll take ye to yer carriage as agreed.” He gave a short bow and then held out his arm like a courtier, a faint smile quirking his lips. “If ye would accompany me, my lady?”
Isabelle laughed. Then she inclined her head and placed her hand on his arm. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”
