“Finer than ever I have seen, sir. There was a pattern on it.”
“An ivory inlay,” Rufus said softly. He drew a design on the top of the table with his fingertip, knowing the marvel of Ramsay’s crossbow well. Aye, he had always coveted it.
The huntsman nodded ready agreement. “Aye, sir. Like that it was.”
Ramsay MacLaren. Here, and claiming that he was wed to Evangeline Armstrong. Whether it was a tale or not, Rufus did not care. Let them be wed, for Ramsay could only defend the lady while he drew breath.
A widow could always wed again.
And a recently wed couple might both experience a terrible accident.
Where would she go? Where would she lead Ramsay to evade Rufus? There was only one possible reply: she would make for Kinfairlie, where her father’s Captain of the Guard had gone. Rufus had seen how his betrothed liked and trusted Ahearn.
But even that man would be unable to defend her from Rufus’ wrath.
He smiled and thanked his gamekeeper, who breathed a sigh of relief when he left his lord’s company unscathed. Rufus gestured to his seneschal with an imperious finger. “I ride for Kinfairlie immediately,” he said, taking note of the angle of the sun. It was mid-afternoon. “I will ride without halting, so there must be scouts to ride ahead to arrange for fresh horses.”
“Surely there will be guests arriving soon, sir.”
“And you will ensure their comfort until my return. There will be a wedding, upon that you can rely.”
“Aye, my lord. Of course, my lord.”
* * *
Ramsay’s partyrode hard all the day long, halting only for water at midday. The horses were slick with perspiration, but none of them wished to slow their pace. Not a one of them complained.
They had followed trails through the forest, avoiding roads and towns, but that strategy could not continue. They reached the edge of the forest and confronted a road across their path. It was not so narrow as those they had seen throughout the day, but neither was it overly busy at this hour.
Ramsay left his horse, instructing the others to remain hidden in the briars behind him as he strode to the road alone. He looked up and down its length, peering into the distance, and only when he was satisfied that they would not be seen, did they cross. It was late afternoon, and they plunged through the briars, clinging to the shadows of the last vestige of the woods. The trees thinned rapidly on all sides and he guessed that soon there would be only fields. Were there not moors in this region? He wished he had Otto’s knowledge of the terrain that he could better guess how long they would have to ride openly.
He guessed it would be too long.
When the village appeared ahead of them, Ramsay called a halt. ’Twas almost dusk and the horses had to rest. There was a copse of trees and shrubs beside a stream, well away from the closest cottage, which was the best opportunity to remain hidden they might have.
Evangeline slipped from her destrier’s saddle and winced, then stretched as she led the stallion to the stream. Ramsay thought she might protest the long day, but she did not. Despite that, he wished their journey might be more leisurely—or undertaken in more comfort. She could not be accustomed to this.
She cast Ramsay a slight smile, much to his surprise. “Through the village before the gates close or around it in darkness?” she asked. “Or have you decided.”
“We will be heard either way,” Ramsay said. “Though if we pass through the village, we will be seen, as well.”
“Does it matter?” she asked. “Any soul can count the horses as we pass. If Rufus sends any in search of us, our names will be guessed.”
Never mind their destination. How Ramsay wished he had an ally closer than Kinfairlie.
“You speak aright,” he said, leading Foudre to the stream. Hugues appeared at his elbow leading his own palfrey, offering a hand to hold the destrier’s reins. Ramsay surrendered them, then removed Foudre’s saddle and began to brush the steed down.
To his surprise, Evangeline mimicked his choice, granting the reins of both Gealaich and the black destrier to her maid, Anna, and hefting the saddle from the stallion’s back.
“You do not have to do as much,” Ramsay protested.
“The horse trusts me because I have tended him often,” she said, reaching into Ramsay’s saddlebag in search of a second brush. “Time is likely of import and you have only two hands, Ramsay,” she said with a smile. “I am not so fragile that I cannot tend a horse.” She waved the brush at him then setting to the task as diligently as any groom or squire. They worked silently, side by side, as the horses drank and Ramsay chose his words.
When the horses had their fill, Anna and Hugues led the palfreys from the stream and set to brushing them down. When they were alone and the horses were at ease, Ramsay confessed the truth.
“There is naught to eat,” he admitted.
“And you are famished,” she guessed with a smile.
