Jacob did not have that problem.
He stayed with the raiders, never letting them vanish entirely, reading their course from the way they favored certain rises, avoided others, drove south and east where the land folded into thicker woods. He rode with care rather than speed now, letting his horse breathe, trusting her footing as the light began to thin. The afternoon gold dulled to gray, the shadows stretching longer between the trees, and he marked the change only insofar as it mattered. Spring evenings were fickle; this one felt inclined to fall fast.
If help came from Strathfinnan, it would be well behind him—an hour at least, likely more, and slowed by the work of tracking. He could not afford to count on it, and so he did not.
He kept the raiders in sight and rode on, alone but not blind, holding to the single advantage he had claimed from the start, keeping them almost within in sight or hearing distance.
They pressed on hard, intent on putting distance between themselves and Strathfinnan, but even mounted men could not outrun necessity. Horses needed water; men needed breath. When the woods thinned into a stretch of low brush and brokenground, Jacob saw their pace ease at last, brief gestures passing between them as they scanned the land ahead.
He drew his mare into the shelter of a stand of leaning pines and watched as the raiders chose a shallow hollow near a narrow stream. They dismounted quickly, movements efficient and quiet, horses tethered low and close. No fire was lit. No light was risked. They drank, checked tack, spoke in low voices that carried no farther than they meant them to, every action shaped by the expectation of pursuit.
Jacob remained still, counting them again as best he could through the brush, marking where Elena had been set down, where guards positioned themselves, where the ground would favor a clean approach or a quick retreat. Dusk gathered around them, the light thinning, and with it came the sense that this pause might be the only opening he would be given.
He waited, patient and intent, knowing better than to rush what could not be undone. There were too many to take head-on. Even with surprise, even with desperation, he would not walk away alive from a full assault.
But he didn’t need to defeat them. He only needed to steal away Elena.
They kept Elena tied near the largest of the rocks, beneath the drooping branches of a fir that cast her in half-shadow. Her hands were bound now as they hadn’t been earlier, her posture stiff from the awkward position they held her in, her hair tangled from the ride. She did not appear injured, though he could not be sure. Two men lingered closest to her, one seated with his back to the camp, the other pacing idly along the perimeter as if restless with his turn at watch.
Jacob settled deeper into cover, stepping away his steed, having left her well back among the trees. He crept low and cautiously, knowing there probably wasn’t much time, that they would not rest long. Hunting at both Blackwood and Wolveslyhad taught him the value of stillness, but also its limits. Darkness helped, but too much of it sharpened men’s nerves as often as it dulled them.
To his benefit, Elena and the two men guarding her were positioned, for some reason, a short distance away from the bulk of the party. He needed the right moment, which came sooner than expected.
One of the men at the edge of the hollow called out, motioning the pacing guard over. The exchange was brief and sharp, irritation plain in the gestures even from a distance. The guard turned back to Elena, took her by the arm, and pulled her to her feet, steering her toward the brush beyond the camp.
She resisted at first, not violently, but with confusion, uncertain of his intent. The guard lost patience quickly, tugging her forward harder than necessary and hauling her behind a screen of shrubs, away from the camp..
Jacob had no intention of waiting for a better moment, knew he would take his last breath before he allowed Elena to be assaulted. The instant she was dragged into the cover of trees and brush, Jacob moved, creeping toward them from a wide angle. He saw fairly quickly that rape was not the man’s intent. He’d taken Elena only a short distance from the hollow, far enough for privacy, close enough that the camp lay within easy call. He stopped near a tree and, possibly suspecting that Elena might not speak English, indicated that she should relieve herself behind the tree, turning his back on her with careless impatience.
Jacob moved swiftly then, to position himself better. When he closed in, he passed by a crouching and startled Elena, her skirts billowing around her. He put his finger to his lips and crept on, his steps silent as he approached the man on the other side of the tree. One arm locked around the guard’s throat while the other clamped the back of his head. He hauled him down andin, cutting off breath and movement in the same instant. The struggle was brief and ugly, boots scraping, a sharp grunt cut off almost at once. Jacob forced him down into the undergrowth and held him there until the resistance slackened fully.
It was not a loud killing, but it was not silent.
Elena emerged from the brush just as Jacob moved in that direction. Shock was etched starkly in her open-mouthed expression, but thankfully she did not make any exclamation.
She did, as Jacob strode toward her, breath his name in stunned relief, Jacob lifted her bound hands and cut the rope from her wrists in two swift strokes, the fibers parting cleanly beneath his blade.
“Shh,” he warned.
As the cord fell away, a voice lifted from the camp behind them and Jacob felt the margin of time collapse.
“Is my father with ye?”
He closed his hand around her wrist and turned them away at once. “Nae. ’Tis just me.”
The camp was stirring now—boots in the grass, a sharp call cutting through the low murmur. Jacob guided her through the brush at a half-crouch, angling them away from the camp and the clearer lines between the trees. Elena matched his pace without question, the grip of her hand as tight as his as they slipped deeper into cover.
A shout broke out behind them. Someone had found the guard.
Elena faltered only enough to look back, and Jacob tightened his hold, pulling her on. He did not press her into a full run—running made noise, and noise drew arrows. He threaded them through shrubs and low branches until the dark shape of his steed came into view ahead of them.
Without a word, he lifted Elena into the saddle and swung up behind her, settling in close. He gathered the reins with onehand and wrapped the other firmly around her middle, securing her against him as the horse shifted beneath their combined weight. For the first time that day, relief cut through the tension, brief but real. She was alive, was safe, and for the moment, she was his to protect.
The voices behind them sharpened, order beginning to take shape where there had been only confusion.
They were organizing now.
Jacob turned the destrier into the thicker stand of trees where the ground narrowed and the brush closed ranks, urging her swiftly into a gallop. The raiders would follow, of course. They needed to put distance between them quickly.
