All the more reason for her to escape.
Her frustration and confusion did not leave her easily, nor did the sudden feelings of her heart. She gathered the loose reinsof both their horses and tied the animals closer, under the same shelter of the trees where they could still munch on the grass and easily drink from a small brook. The rain had cooled them down, so Montrose could no longer bluster and be angry with her about ‘riding the horses into the ground.’
Despite the rain, she walked back out into the open, her gaze searching the eastern horizon. But with the mist and low clouds, she could see little that would enable her to get her bearings, and she cursed herself for not learning more of the lay of the land when she and her brothers had plundered across the mainland.
Of course she knew well the long list of names of villages to avoid in Ross-shire and could recite them like a song: “Applecross, Dingwall, Suddy, Cromarty, Plockton, Garve, Kyle, Avoch, Knockbain, and Wester.” She needed to stay as far away from them as she should have stayed from the Steering market fair.
Fergus lay at her feet, his nose resting on his paws, eyes closed. He was snoring. Lyall came striding out of the depths of the forest with his arms full of wood, which he dropped on the ground in front of her, knelt down, and built a small, warm fire. She watched him, laughing inside. No knot in his hose.
He glanced up at her from the fire. “What is so humorous?”
She turned away from him and muttered, “Nothing.”
He pulled some food from his pack and handed it to her. “Eat something. We will rest the horses.“ He glanced at Fergus. “And your hound. Perhaps the storm will pass.”
She laughed. “The storm that keeps following us? “
He seemed to smile to himself. “Aye.” Sitting back he ate some fish and cheese.
She took one of the turnips and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. She studied the horizon, where the clouds were almost black. She gestured with her turnip. “Looks as if the storm will not wane.”
“Then we will have a long, cold ride ahead of us.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Beauly Priory.”
Her heart raced at the name. Beauly? Was not that near Dingwall? Would she be safe?
Her mind flashed with the image of a cruel sheriff wearing a deep green wool cloak pinned together with golden leaf brooches, a strap in his hand as he whipped a small frail boy bloody. Beauly Priory was most likely not in the center of any village, since the abbeys and monasteries were towns unto themselves. She decided not to press the issue. If she asked too many questions, he would have questions of his own. So she ate and kept quiet, occasionally watching him.
When it was time to depart, she unrolled the long woolen cloak from her pack and pinned it over the tunic with two leaf brooches she had stolen from a sheriff to distract him from beating a young peasant lad to death.
Montrose was already in the saddle. His look was impatient and thoughtful, as if his mind were leagues away. She repacked her bag precisely, putting each of her few items back in its place.
“I’d like to leave before winter.”
She glared him. “Would you have me shove my belongings in every which way and then have to take three times as long to find what I’m searching for?”
“Mount your horse, Glenna,” he said tiredly.
They rode all day in the rain, finding only a little shelter through woods and forests, and the longer they rode the colder it became, and the muddier. When they could, they rode over grass covered hills at a faster pace to avoid the mud. To the north stood tall granite crags, like massive gray guards of a gateway to another world. To the south, gloomy green woods cloaked in clouds, some trees so massive and old they had sheltered Picts and Norse raiders. Streams rushed over rocks looking more like rivers than they must have merely a few days before.
Once again the storms brought an end to summer. Autumn was clearly there now and raining down upon her. She was wet from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and despite the weather, the whole time she couldthink of nothing but what happened between them, of his touches, his taste and his mouth on hers…and his apology afterwards.
His continued silence annoyed her, especially after the saddle had pounded her so much even her backside was numb. Might as well annoy him. “I do not understand you, Montrose,” she said finally.
“I do not understand myself,” he replied, seeming to connect to what she was talking about without explanation.
“I am supposed to be ashamed over what passed between us?”
“The Devil’s teeth woman! Can you not merely ride in silence?”
“I can ride without ever speaking, my lord. I choose not to do so solely because you want to avoid my questions. I’m disappointed, Montrose. I did not think you were a coward.”
“I will not rise to your bait.”
“What bait? I ask you one question and you are already angry at me? We are at war because you cannot answer a simple question.”
