Then Sigimor reached her side, took her by the hand, and started to lead her back to the camp. The warmth of his hand flowed through her body with every beat of her heart. It was such an innocent gesture, yet it caused her to feel a faint trembling inside. There was no chance to bury those feelings, either. He sat close by her side as they ate, keeping them alive, strengthening them. When she sought her rough bed of blankets upon the ground, Sigimor laid out his bed but inches from hers. If he was going to keep her so close to him, Jolene thought as she struggled to ignore all that attractive male flesh within easy reach, she would never cure herself of her interest in him. It began to look as if keeping Reynard alive and safe was not going to be the only hard, dangerous battle she would have to fight in the days ahead.
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Chapter Three
Jolene cursed in surprise when her escort suddenly released a wild, deafening cry and kicked their horses into a gallop. Her mount did not wait for her command, but joined the race. She chanced a glance behind her as she struggled to maintain some control over her horse, but could see no one chasing them. They had moved swiftly all day, but stealthily, avoiding people and towns in the hope of making it difficult for Harold to follow them too easily. This sudden loud exuberance was most strange. Even stranger was the way Nanty and Liam acted as the men suddenly halted. Reining in next to Sigimor, Jolene watched those two men leap from their mounts and kiss the ground.
"Daft fools,” said Sigimor, but there was the hint of a smile curving his fine mouth.
"I suppose there is some reasonable explanation for this,” said Jolene.
"We are now in Scotland, lass."
"Ah. I see.” She wished she could feel as pleased by that as they did, but now she was the stranger and Jolene knew that anyone they met with now would not greet her warmly.
"Dinnae fret yourself. Ye will be safe here."
"Safer than at Drumwich, that is certain.” She sighed. “Your welcome in England was not a pleasant one. Tis no surprise that you would be heartily pleased to be back in your own land."
"Few English welcome a Scot with any joy."
"And few Scots welcome the English with a smile, either."
"I dinnae think ye will face much trouble being but a wee lass.” He took a deep breath. “Tis good to be back in Scotland. If naught else, ‘twill be much easier to ken where our enemy is."
"How so?"
"The moment that bastard Harold crosses this border, he will be watched. Every Scot who catches sight of him will spread the word as to where he is, which direction he travels in, and who rides with him. He and whate'er men ride at his side will also prove a sore temptation to many. He willnae find it easy to hunt us down here. E'en those with no love for a Cameron will wish to trouble him. No one will aid him. Leastwise, none who can truly call himself a Scot."
"Ah, united against a common foe."
Sigimor nodded as he dismounted, then helped Jolene down from her horse. “Tend to whate'er needs ye must now. We will linger here a few moments, then set a hard pace for a while."
Jolene inwardly groaned, but made no complaint as she wandered away to find a private spot to see to her needs and Reynard's. She could still feel the warmth of Sigimor's big hands at her waist. Her attempts to drown her attraction for the man with cold common sense and the need to survive were failing miserably. The best she could do was try to keep it hidden, but that, too, could prove impossible when they spent so much time together. It might have been wiser to try to convince the Scots to take her to one of her kinsmen in England before they fled for the safety of Scotland, but her path was now set. She would have to find hope in the fact that Sigimor did not seem to notice that she was attracted to him, nor did he show any inclination to flirt with her or seduce her. As she set herself to taking full advantage of the few minutes of privacy Sigimor had granted her, Jolene sternly told herself that she would see that as a blessing.
"Do ye think Harold will follow us into Scotland?” Liam asked as he stepped up to Sigimor and offered him a drink from his wineskin.
"Aye.” Sigimor never took his gaze from the clump of trees Jolene had disappeared into as he took a hearty drink of wine. “The mon has already killed to get his greedy hands on Drumwich. I dinnae think mere borders will stop him from doing all he can to be very certain he keeps it."
"So, ye think we will have to be killing us an English lordling, aye?"
"Aye. This will be a fight to the death. I think Lady Jolene kens it.” He frowned and rubbed his chin. “He willnae trust in her just disappearing, staying out of his way because she fears for her life. Our escape from Drumwich will certainly make him realize she is more than some wee lass he can hold firm beneath his fist. Unless he silences her, he will e'er have to fear that she will find an ally in England, some other lordling with the power to drag him out of Drumwich and make him pay for his crimes."
"Then he will have to hunt down all the servants who fled, too, willnae he?"
"Nay, I dinnae think so. E'en if one of them dared to approach someone with the tale, few lords would take the word of some poor mon o'er that of a laird. That doesnae mean he would hesitate to cut the throat of any of them if he found them, but I dinnae truly think he sees them as a threat."
"Arrogance blinds him. Twas those verra people and the wee lass who rendered him and his men helpless."
"Aye, and that must surely enrage him. Hewillblame her for that humiliation.” Sigimor took another drink from the wineskin then handed it back to Liam. “I cannae explain why, but I think there is more, something the lass hasnae told us."
"Why? Because Lord Harold didnae kill her when he killed her brother?"
"Something to wonder on. It would have left him as guardian to the lad, put the heir in his hands to murder at his leisure. Done right, none would question the child's death. Too many children die young. It would have been easy to have her join in the deadly meal served to Lord Peter. I got to thinking on how there was a way he could tighten his grip on Drumwich through her, the dead laird's sister, and the weel loved Lady of Drumwich."
"Marriage?” Liam frowned. “They are cousins, nay too distant ones, either. There is that matter of consanguinity."
"Dispensation could be had and the coffers of Drumwich are full enough to buy it. I suspicion the lass also has a verra fine dowry which might nay stay with Harold if she dies."
