"Curse it, Sigimor,” grumbled Nanty as he also moved toward the horses, “does naught e'er trouble ye?"
"Aye, the thought of hanging,” Sigimor replied.
Sigimor glanced at the two men collapsed on a pile of hay, snoring loudly. Although he had to admire what Jolene had done to help them escape, he found it a little unsettling that one small, dainty woman had been able to render all the fighting men of the keep helpless. He also suspected it would be more than Harold's command which would send these men chasing them down. A lot of the men would want revenge for this humiliation.
Seeing Liam moving to help Jolene mount her horse, Sigimor intercepted him. He grasped her by her slim waist and set her on her horse. After admiring her slender, stockinged legs, he helped her tug down her skirts to cover them. For reasons he could not begin to comprehend, he did not want five other men seeing her legs. Her puzzled glance and Liam's grin irritated him. He did not see that he had just done anything that should puzzle her, and Liam, he decided, saw too much too clearly. Grumbling that they were wasting time, he mounted and led them out of the great stable only to reach for his sword at the sight of two men standing near the open gates.
"Nay!” Jolene cried, riding up beside him. “Tis only Old Thomas and his son.” She rode a little ahead of Sigimor and shook her head at the burly, graying Thomas. “You were told to flee this place."
"We will be leaving as soon as ye do, m'lady,” said the man. “Just had me the thought that these gates ought to be closed firm behind you and you do not want to be wasting time doing that. Not sure twill gain ye much if all looks as it should, but, at least, with these gates shut tight, them fools will be needing to look about some to be sure ye have all escaped, eh?"
"You are a good man, Thomas. My thanks. Just be sure to get as far away from here as you can and as soon as you can."
"Will do, m'lady, soon as I make sure all was done just as ye ordered in the stables. You take care and, worry not, that bastard will pay for this."
"From your lips to God's ear. Be well, both of you."
As they rode out of the gates, Sigimore asked her, “Just whatdidye do in the stables?"
"Cut all the saddle cinches and smeared some foul muck o'er the bits,” replied Nanty and he grinned at Jolene.
"Clever lass,” murmured Sigimor. “That could buy as much as a day, mayhap e'en more."
Jolene nodded. “So we hoped, but an enraged Harold can be very resourceful.” She kissed the top of Reynard's head. “And, as long as this boy lives, Drumwich will ne'er be Harold's to claim."
Sigimor slowly nodded as he considered that. “Rage and greed. Both can stir a villain to o'ercome great odds. Best we put as much distance between us and Drumwich as quickly as possible."
He had barely finished speaking when he nudged his mount into a slightly faster pace, the others quickly following his lead. Sigimor cursed the dark for it hindered their flight, forcing them to keep their mounts at a much slower pace than he wanted. A full gallop toward the border was what he craved, but it would be several hours before he could indulge in that urge. Glancing at Jolene and the boy, he knew there would be other times when they would have to stop or go more slowly than he wished. Even if those delays were few and far between, they could quickly devour the lead they had been blessed with. It could well be a hard-won race to the safety of Dubheidland.
With the handsome Nanty's help, Jolene quickly secured a restive Reynard in his sling and remounted her horse. It was only noon, but she already felt the pain of long, unaccustomed hours in the saddle. None of the men complained, but she knew they did not like these stops necessitated by her nephew. This was only the second one and she had worked as swiftly as possible, but the men's need to keep moving was so strong she could almost feel it. She suspected that, if she and Reynard were not there, these men would pause in their race for the border only for the sake of the horses. It was hard to hide her wince when Sigimor immediately led them off at a gallop, obviously deciding that the horses had rested long enough to endure another few hours of hard travel.
She prayed Harold would not follow, but had the sinking feeling her entreaties would be unanswered. Harold could not trust her to leave him alone, to not try to oust him from Drumwich once she found safety and allies. He could not allow Peter's son to live to be used against him, to grow into manhood and come to reclaim his heritage. Jolene doubted he would think twice about slipping into Scotland to hunt them down. The only things in her favor were that he would have to be somewhat cautious once he entered Scotland and he would not enlist any allies for fear of his own crimes being uncovered.
But, she had enlisted allies, she thought, glancing at the six grim-faced men riding with her. Even though Sir Sigimor Cameron owed Peter his life, and now owed her the same debt, Jolene began to feel guilty about dragging these men into her troubles. Harold was vicious, sly, and deadly. She was putting these men at risk for their very lives and she began to wonder if that was fair or right. English lands and English titles meant nothing to them and never would. In fact, she suspected these Scots would be just as happy to see the entire English aristocracy washed out to sea.
Reynard babbled something about seeing a deer, and Jolene sighed even as she replied. It was impossible to give the child much attention when she was caught fast in her own troubled thoughts and riding hard for the border. His brief intrusion into her thoughts reminded her of what this was all about, however. She might ache with a need to make Harold pay for Peter's death, but keeping Reynard safe had to take precedence over that. Reynard was a part of Peter, a living memory of her brother, and the vessel of all of Peter's hopes and plans for the future of Drumwich. Until Harold was defeated, her every step, her every action, and her every thought had to concern keeping Reynard alive and safe.
That knowledge did not completely soothe her conscience concerning the Camerons, however. She sternly told herself that Peter had felt it acceptable to ask their aid in fighting his enemy, therefore she should as well. Then again, she mused, men seemed to have no trouble asking other men to fight with them, to risk their lives. Honor and the glory of a battle for a righteous cause were like food and drink to a man. She suspected they did not long consider the possibility of defeat or death. Unfortunately, she did. The moment she had asked these men to help her, she had taken on the responsibility for their lives, and she was not sure she could bear such a burden. Yet, what choice did she have?
She was still fretting over that question by the time the sun had almost finished setting and they stopped to camp for the night. The painful weariness of her body quickly pushed it aside. Jolene had to cling to her saddle for several minutes after dismounting before she could be sure her legs would hold her up. Since Reynard had fallen asleep right after their brief midafternoon pause, they had not stopped again until now. They had barely slowed the horses when the boy had awakened and needed to relieve himself. Jolene was still a little shocked at how Sigimor had held the boy so that the child could do what he needed to do without dismounting, although Reynard had thoroughly enjoyed himself. He had then kept the little boy with him, however, and Jolene reluctantly admitted that she had been glad for that kindness.
Eyeing the fire Liam had already built, Jolene wondered how good her chances were of getting over there with any semblance of grace. Not good, she decided after she tried to step away from her horse and felt her legs tremble. Slumping against her mount, she wondered when, or if, the men would finally notice that she had not yet joined them, had not yet even tended to her poor, exhausted horse.
"I think the lass may be having a wee bit of trouble, Sigimor,” Nanty said as he sat down next to him before the fire.
Sigimor looked at Lady Jolene who had not taken one small step away from her horse since she had dismounted. “Nay used to long rides. I suspicion she has ne'er done more than trot about her brother's lands."
"Wheesht, e'en I am feeling sore. Ne'er have liked spending a whole day in the saddle.” When Nanty began to stand up, obviously intending to assist Jolene, his eyes widened slightly when Sigimor clapped a hand on his shoulder and held him down. “Her mount needs tending, if naught else."
"I will see to her. Watch the wee lad."
Sigimor studied Lady Jolene carefully as he walked up to her. She looked exhausted, pale and untidy. Unfortunately, she still looked far too attractive to him. Wan though it was, her face was still lovely. Beautiful, thickly lashed, silver gray eyes, a small straight nose, and a mouth that could tempt a saint with its full, beautifully shaped lips. He wanted to be irritated by her weakness, by her obvious inability to keep pace with them. Instead, he felt an urge to cosset her and a sincere respect for how she had done her best without complaint. Not good, he thought, and frowned at her.
"Ye best walk about some or ye will get too stiff to move,” he said and almost grinned when she glared at him.
"Thank you for your kind advice,” Jolene replied, unable to keep all of the sarcasm out of her voice. “As soon as my legs feel inclined to do as they should, I shall be sure to follow it.” She thought the heavy sigh he gave earned him a good kick in the shin, but she was unable to grant herself that pleasure. “What are you doing?” she demanded when he wrapped one strong arm around her shoulders and tugged her away from her horse.
"Walking ye about.” He pretended not to notice when she stumbled and wrapped an arm around his waist to steady herself, although his body quickly tautened with awareness. “Liam, see to her horse,” he ordered his cousin as he started to walk Jolene around the clearing they had chosen to camp in.
