“Rowena is more worried about any son I might bear,“ she reassured her sister. “I won’t be gone longer than a fortnight. Just try to stay out of her way, as best you can.”
When the cramping shifted again, she felt the telltale presence of bleeding. She was not with child. But she would do anything in her power to get help, whether that meant taking a lover or finding someone to protect them.
And when it was done, she and Melisandre would be safe.
Glen Arrin, three days later
Dougal MacKinloch walked alongside the mare, speaking softly to her. So gray she was almost white, the mare stood fifteen hands high. Over the past few weeks, her lash wounds had faded into pink scars. He’d purchased Ivory only this past spring, and she’d been beaten and half-starved at the time. Each day, he’d tended her, trying to gain her trust after she’d been abused by the traders.
But she was his now. He’d spent every last piece of silver to buy her, for it was rare to find an Arabian horse this far north. He suspected she’d come from a Crusader knight, and he believed she was a pureblood. One day, if all went to plan, she would bear foals that could be trained and sold as warhorses.
He had never attempted to ride Ivory until today. As a bribe, he gave her a small carrot and led the mare across the glen, one hand on the bridle, the other on her back.
“We’re going to take a short journey,” he told her as she nudged at his face with her nose. “I’ll be letting you run as fast as you like.”
He touched her head with his, running his hands over her sensitive skin and continuing to voice compliments. Thus far, he had not attempted a saddle, and it was likely she’d try to throw him off when he climbed onto her back.
It was more dangerous to ride her with nothing but a blanket, but he wanted the mare to feel his weight, to know that his voice was the familiar tone she’d come to trust. She grew skittish when he mounted, but Dougal soothed her with a hand. Winding the reins around his palms, he nudged her with his knees, letting her move into a slow walk.
“You’re going to break your neck,” called out the voice of his brother Alex. As the chief of the MacKinloch Clan, his older brother didn’t like anyone taking chances.
“I may.” Dougal glanced back as the mare continued on her walk. “You can send men after my broken body, a few hours from now.”
“She’s not ready to ride,” Alex argued. “You should wait until the end of the summer.”
“You’re wrong.” And with that, Dougal urged Ivory forward, letting her increase the pace until the light canter turned into a gallop. He knew this horse better than anyone, and she had a need to run.
He’d named her falsely, he soon realized. She wasn't soft and pure, like ivory. This mare was more like a flash of lightning, for she tore through the meadow, running as if she’d craved this for months. Dougal held on with his knees and his arms, letting her take the lead. Never before had he gone this fast, and it was as exhilarating as he’d imagined. He let her go at full speed, never minding that they were miles past Glen Arrin and moving deeper into the mountains. The silvery loch gleamed behind him, and still the mare ran.
The familiar arms of solitude embraced him, and Dougal welcomed the isolation. He preferred being with his animals, for they had been his solace when his brothers, Bram and Callum, had been imprisoned. Although that had been many years ago, he’d grown accustomed to being on his own. His mother had been so lost in her anger, she’d forgotten she had a fourth son.
Because of it, he’d learned to rely only on himself. He could hunt when he needed to, fight anyone who dared to lift a blade, and he’d built a house with his own hands. He liked being alone, and it would remain that way.
The mare had begun to slow down, and he eased her into a canter and then a walk. Murmuring words of praise, he was about to dismount and lead her to water when he spied a small group of men in the distance.
The mare nickered, and his instincts went alert when he saw a woman on horseback. Her escorts moved forward, weapons drawn, and there was no question that a fight would break out. Dougal wasn’t foolish enough to go closer without knowing who the men were or what they wanted. Yet, he was intrigued by the sight of the woman.
He drew his mare up the embankment, hiding them both among the trees. Ivory was skittish, uneasy about obeying him, but he continued to soothe her with his words and hands. Slowly, he guided her to higher ground. When they were within a short distance of the men, he dismounted and drew the mare into a walk. A small waterfall trickled down to a pool, and he tethered her to a tree, letting her drink and graze.
He crept toward the men, wondering if they were English or Norman. Although his brothers had their own lands and had many allies, they were always vulnerable to attack.
A horrified scream split the air.
Anger flared through Dougal, and he unsheathed two dirks, hurrying past the trees until he reached the hill above them. Below, he spied the men attempting to drag the woman from her horse. It didn’t take long to realize that she and her escorts had been attacked, and the men intended to take her. Her back was to him as she fought, trying to remain mounted, while her horse reared up.
Two bodies lay upon the ground, the murdered escorts of the woman. Three other men remained, and when he caught sight of their faces, he recognized them as outlaws, fugitives from the MacPherson Clan.
Stealthily, Dougal eased his way toward them, both weapons raised in readiness. It had been several months since he’d fought, but his brothers had trained him well. He knew how to remain invisible and how to use the element of surprise to his advantage.
Strike swiftly before they know you’re there, his mentor, Ross, had advised.
With that, Dougal lunged from the trees toward the first man, burying his dirk within the man’s ribs, while dodging the swing of a sword. He took the reins of the woman’s horse and ordered, “Ride!” Slapping the horse’s flanks, he turned back to the other two. Armed with a blade in each hand, he watched their eyes, waiting for them to strike.
“There are better ways to find a woman,” he warned the first. “Leave this one and go on your way.”
“So you can have her, MacKinloch?” the other taunted. “Look at her clothes, fool. She’s got more wealth than you’d ever dream of.”
Their words meant nothing, for he’d hardly bothered to glance at the woman. “Then she doesn’t belong with the likes of you, does she?” Dougal moved his blades, preparing to strike whoever moved first. Though he wasn’t certain if they’d leave her, he was ready for a fight.
