“Dougal!” she shouted to him, needing him to come closer. He slowed the mare for a moment, and without warning, her horse reared up, screaming in pain. Three arrows were embedded in the horse’s side, one in its neck.
Saints have mercy, she prayed. If they were shooting at her, then they meant to kill her.
Dougal rode in fast, seizing her from the saddle before she could fall. With his arms around her waist, he pulled her onto his own horse, urging the mare faster. The speed was terrifying, but she marveled that the animal could carry her weight and keep up such a pace.
“They want you dead, don’t they?” Dougal said against her ear. “They don’t plan to take you captive.”
She didn’t answer, her mind frozen at the thought. Closing her eyes tightly, she wondered if there was any escape at all. Or if she would live through this day.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered at last. Likely he didn’t hear her against the thunder of the mare’s pace, but his arm tightened imperceptibly around her waist.
After a time, Lord Eiloch’s men faded into the distance. Dougal changed their direction at one interval, veering off the main road and taking them deeper into the mountains. The shadowed hills were blanketed with green, the morning mist obscuring the forest. He deliberately led them into the heart of the clouded mountains, through groves of fir trees. With the slower pace, Celeste grew more aware of his arms around her and the hard-muscled thighs pressed against her backside.
She did not speak, not daring to break the stillness. Instead, she drank in the beauty of the misted mountains, riding countless miles along a worn path in the trees. Once, they stopped to let the mare drink, but even then, Dougal maintained his silence.
After so many hours, she was beginning to wonder if he ever intended to tell her their destination. They had traveled far past Locharr, and it was now late afternoon. She’d had nothing to eat at all, and her stomach was gnawing itself with hunger. Finally, she could stand it no longer.
As he led her through another valley, she stopped to ask, “Where are you taking me, Dougal?”
“We’ll visit my brother Callum and his wife at Cairnross. Their fortress is a day’s journey away, and we’ll reach it by tomorrow night.”
Tomorrow night? She hadn’t anticipated it would take that long.
“Will the soldiers catch up to us?” Although they had managed to escape Lionel’s forces for now, she didn’t know whether the men could track them here.
Dougal shook his head. “Not this night.” He guided her toward a hidden pathway that led up a steep incline. “We’re a few hours ahead of them now, and it’s too dark for them to find us.” He pointed toward a small pool of water in a small clearing and added, “We’ll make camp here.”
That much was a relief. He helped her dismount and removed the saddle and blanket from the mare, rubbing her down after the ride. Celeste suddenly realized that when the men had shot her horse, they’d lost all their supplies. Dismayed, she went to get a drink from the pond, but the hunger was making her light-headed. “Is there anything to eat?” she asked him.
Dougal withdrew some strips of dried meat from a pouch at his side. “Take these. And I’ll hunt for our dinner while you start a fire.” He gave her flint, and she set it aside while she gathered tinder and wood.
He was gone for a long time. Celeste built a fire and sat beside it, trying to warm herself. Yet, it did nothing at all to dispel her fear. Lord Eiloch’s men weren’t going to let her live. They would hunt her down, and her death meant they would inherit all of Edmon’s lands. Melisandre would be sent away to fend for herself.
Her hands began shaking, though she tried to push back the fear. She hadn’t known, until now, how much danger she was in. She could not go back.
And yet, she must go back. Her sister’s life depended on it.
Dougal returned within the hour with two ducks. While he prepared them to roast, she gathered several stout branches and propped them against a wide tree, creating a small shelter. Using the blanket from Ivory’s back, she covered the lean-to and then unfastened her cloak to cover the cold ground.
Dougal eyed her creation and nodded with approval. “That will do well for the night.” He set up the water fowl to roast and then came to sit beside her. Celeste was aware of his proximity, and she spoke at last.
“Thank you for helping me escape them,” she said, easing to her knees. He was staring at the fire, and though he gave a nod, there was tension in his posture. He looked uneasy, and his hand kept slipping to the dirk at his side as if ensuring it was still there.
“Dougal,” she said softly, “I am sorry for what happened between us. I was hoping . . . we could be friends again.”
He said nothing, but kept his gaze fixated upon the flames. His lack of an answer discomfited her. Was it so hard to be friends? Her earlier fear was replaced by annoyance. To get his attention, she picked a handful of grass and tossed it at him. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”
He stared down at the grass sprinkled over his trews. “You threw grass at me?” The disbelief on his face was almost laughable.
“I didn’t think you’d want me to throw rocks.” She pulled another handful in an invisible threat. “It’s not the first time I threw something at you. Remember the leaves that day when we were in the woods?” It had begun when she’d made an enormous pile of autumn leaves, tossing them in the air.
“I remember what happened after our leaf battle,” he said.
Her smile faded. He’d pressed her back into the leaf pile, his body on top of hers while he’d kissed her senseless. From the feral look in his eyes, he wasn’t thinking about leaves at all.
“I think you’ve forgotten how to have fun, Dougal,” she remarked, flinging the handful of grass on his shoulder. “Or how to smile.”
She tiptoed away from him, slipping into the darkening woods. Hiding behind one of the trees, she waited for him to come and find her. When he didn’t move, she chose a tree with low branches and climbed onto one of them.
