They broke from the trees into a large meadow. Before she could say another word, he urged his horse to go faster and took off across the grassy field dappled by yellow blooms.
Shit!She pressed her horse to keep pace.
He slowed at the opposite side and, one after the other, they entered another wooded trail, the scent of fir heavy in the humid air. He kept a horse length in front of her not allowing her to catch up.
After riding another mile or so, they entered a clearing that encircled a thatched roofed stone cottage and a smaller wattle and daub structure. Lightning streaked the distant sky. Thunder resounded over the mountains.
Emily slid from her horse with only a slight leg wobble when she landed. She approached Gregor. He was slower at dismounting. His legs faltered upon hitting the hard ground, and he leaned on the horse, hanging onto the saddle for support.
“I dinnae feel well,” he said in a weak voice.
“Are you drunk? Were you drinking the whole time while I changed out of my wedding gown?” She couldn’t keep the annoyance from her voice.
“Nae.” He pushed away from the animal. “Only had thatone goblet of wine…”
“From Munn,” they said in unison.
“The wee scunner must have played me apliskie.”
“A what?”
“Trick.” He waved an arm and nearly toppled over. “Prank.”
“But why?”
“That I dinnae ken.”
The wind kicked up. The uppermost branches of the tallest firs waved with a buzzy whisper. A burst blew through the clearing. Dried leaves tumbled across the ground, tip over stem. Branches of a mighty oak rustled. In the following calm, the smell of ozone seasoned the air.
“It’s about to rain. Let’s get you inside then I’ll care for the horses. I’ll carry the saddlebags. You take your weapons.” She had no desire to touch those.
“I can help with the bags.” He staggered.
“No. You go in the cottage.”
A gust of wind grabbed hold of the wood as she opened the door. The heavy oak slammed against the inside wall with an echoing thump. She tossed the saddlebags on the floor and shoved Gregor hard to get him to move.
His shoulders slumped, but he conceded. “Bed the horses in the wee hut.”
After the door shut behind Gregor, she coaxed the skittish animals through the wind that now blasted the clearing like a speeding freight train with no conductor to slow it down. The hut was better built than she first supposed. Someone had recently been there; fresh hay covered the dirt floor and leather bags containing oats hung from two posts. Emily tied the reins of each horse to a different post then removed the saddles and rubbed down the animals with a cloth she found with other supplies on a shelf.
Thin fissures in the walls hummed from the onslaught of wind. She’d wait until after the storm passed to give the animals a good grooming. Hair whipped her face, getting caught in her eyes and mouth as she fought the wind on thetrip back to the cottage. Steps from the door, rain pelted the ground in a loud whish of sound.
Emily dashed for the door. Once inside, she leaned against the closed panel and heaved a hearty sigh. Then her eyes popped as she took in the interior of the cottage. Rustic, but not. Someone had visited before them, making the space a romantic haven from the storm. “Wow. Who did this?”
Body hunched, head bowed into hands, Gregor sat on a bed in the corner of the single room. The mattress had been dressed with the finest of silks and velvets and furs. He appeared so masculine sitting within what had obviously been meant as a love nest. His gaze slowly rose to hers. His complexion really did look green in the dim light.
“’Tis the chief’s hunting lodge. Though he spends more time here with his lady-wife than hunting. Lady Isobell likes her comfort. She must have sent a couple of her women and a lad or two. She wanted to make our eve’n special.”
Emily stepped to the center of the room to warm chilled hands at the small fire burning in a pit of sorts. A spiral of sweet-scented wood smoke rose, sucked out through a hole in the ceiling. She flicked her gaze to where a couple braces of lit candles in iron holders sat atop a rough-hewn table covered by an embroidered ecru linen cloth. A platter of cheese and apples sat upon the table as well as a couple of platters covered with linen cloths.
An equally rough wooden bench topped by a purple velvet cushion sat in front of a shuttered window that held back the fierceness of the storm, making the quaint room a cozy haven.
She approached Gregor and knelt on the woven rush mat in front of him. “Your words aren’t as slurred as earlier, how do you feel?”
“Like I was kicked in the gut by an angry horse.”
“Maybe you should eat something. We’ve been provided with a fine feast.”
