“Nay,” she lied. “Naught at all.” He reined in as well, and she cast him a sheepish look and said, “’Tis merely that I must attend to my personal affairs.”
His brow arched. “Can’t it wait?”
She shook her head fervently. “Nay.”
His scowl deepened, and he gave her a harried look. “Very well, then.” He glanced about, as though surveying their surroundings.
There were no trees in the immediate vicinity, nothing to hide behind, which would work to her benefit. He couldn’t possibly expect her to squat before him.
“There is a small hillock in the distance,” he told her. “Why don’t you ride ahead of me and attend to yourself there. I shall bide my time, and by the time I reach you, you should be done.”
She looked about with a sense of growing desperation. She didn’t want to ride ahead, but it seemed that she didn’t have a choice. She didn’t wish to cast suspicion upon herself. If she could get far enough ahead of him, then there was a chance she might be able to turnabout and ride back far enough to his flank that he couldn’t spy her.
She nodded, eager to be away from him. “Very well,” she agreed. “I shall.” And she gave him a nod and heeled her mount into a canter. She didn’t dare turn around to look into his face, so afraid was she that he would anticipate her intentions. She rode faster, grateful not to hear hoof beats at her back.
Please, God, she prayed, let me get away from him.
“Broc,” she whispered, and tried to envision his face, drawing her courage from him.
CHAPTER 28
Tomas watched her go, his gut burning.
He had begun to think mayhap he wouldn’t have to kill her after all. He didn’t wish to bring suspicion upon himself. He had the money, and for now that was enough. Who could, after all, prove that Broc hadn’t indeed taken it? But something about her manner had changed. She had been quiet far too long.
Had he said something to rouse her suspicions?
Something about the way she rode away set him ill at ease.
“Elizabet!” he called after her.
She didn’t stop.
“God damned bitch!” he exclaimed, fury surging through him. He slammed the heel of his boot into his mount and flew after her.
Elizabet cast a glance over her shoulder, finding her worst fears realized, and her heart flew into her throat. She urged her mount faster, no longer keeping up any pretense. As soon as she bounded over the hill and Tomas could no longer see her clearly, she began to turn at a wide angle, doubling back around. By the time he realized, she hoped it would be too late.
She bent low over her horse, racing against time, she knew. She didn’t dare turn to look over her shoulderagain. Praying to God that she would lose him, she rode with all her might. She closed her eyes and drove the horse to its potential, feeling the wind full in her face and hoping to God the beast wouldn’t tire too quickly.
When she opened her eyes again, she had to blink twice at what she saw. At first, it was merely a dark speck on the horizon that grew with every fierce clip of her horse’s hooves. When she realized what it was, she nearly cried out with joy.
It was Broc.
He rode toward her on a big black steed, looking gloriously leonine with his thick mane of golden hair flowing out behind him. He was unmistakable in the rich red tunic she had sewn for him. The sight of him stole her breath away.
As the thunder of his horse’s hooves grew nearer, she began to weep aloud with elation.
Sweet, merciful God!
She slowed her mount as she approached him, unaware that she did. But he didn’t stop.
“I love you!” he shouted as he passed her, his blue eyes alighting on her only for the briefest instant. He thundered past her then toward the approaching rider.
Elizabet wheeled her mount about to see her lion-hearted husband unsheathe his immense sword from his scabbard in a movement so swift and beautiful that it awed her.
Too late, Tomas fumbled with the satchel, trying to free his bow.
“Die, ye rotten bastard!” Broc shouted, as he thundered into battle.
