She grinned at that, and turned her face back toward the sky, the moment settling into something easy and unremarkable—and, for that reason, memorable. He stayed where he was, mounted and quiet, watching her. The wind worried at a loose strand of her dark hair, lifting it, then laying it back across her cheek. Sunlight caught the line of her throat where her collar had slipped, the skin there faintly flushed from the warmth of the sun. She curled her slim fingers into the gritty shore, burying her hands almost completely in the sand, almost up to the hem of her sleeve, and she seemed not bothered at all.
She looked younger in her ease, and older in her stillness, and the discrepancy wrought another brooding frown.
He thought about the unusual encounter for many hours, recalling not so much her words, but the way she had been so utterly at ease, as if she owed nothing to the world.
HE WOKE WITH A START, though he could not have said what pulled him from that shallow sleep. His hand closed around his dagger before he had fully straightened, instinct tightening every muscle. He’d not meant to drift off, but exhaustion had its own pull after a day spent riding hard and fighting blindly through unfamiliar country. He kept himself upright against the rock wall, half-alert even as his eyes slid shut now and again.
At first he listened for the ordinary pulse of the night, expecting to hear the same rustling and distant calls that had lulled him moments ago. Instead, the woods held an unnatural stillness. Even the wind seemed to have paused.
He let out a controlled breath, scanning the darkness. A quiet forest was never just quiet. Something had unsettled the brush nearby, something large enough or unexpected enough that the smaller creatures had fallen silent.
He touched Elena’s shoulder gently. “Wake, lass.”
She stirred, lifting her head in confusion, mimicking his whisper, “What is it?”
“We should move.” He continued to scan the midnight forest.
She blinked into the darkness, trying to gauge the danger. “I dinna hear anything.”
“Aye,” he said, pushing to his feet and then helping her stand. “And that’s what bothers me.”
They made their way to the mare, who was already shifting uneasily, ears turning toward the deeper woods. Animals noticed things before men did, and the tension in the horse’s posture told him enough. Jacob checked her legs, murmured a quiet reassurance, then steadied Elena as she climbed into the saddle. When he mounted behind her, she leaned back against him, as if she would hide within his arms.
They rode at a careful walk, Jacob guiding the mare between the thick clusters of pines and leaning birch trunks. He kept his attention trained on the spaces between the trees, attuned to every sound, waiting for the ordinary sounds that should return once whatever had passed through the forest had moved on. For the moment, however, the woods felt suspended, waiting.
After a few minutes, Elena spoke quietly. “How did ye ken something was wrong?”
He considered how best to explain it without alarming her further. “A forest has its own rhythm,” he said. “When that rhythm changes, ye pay attention. It dinna happen without cause.” Not wanting to frighten her unnecessarily, he added, “Might be naught but a stag or another predator on the hunt, but we shouldnae risk it.”
She nodded faintly, her gaze drifting toward the ground as if she were trying to hear the difference for herself.
They followed the slope of the land eastward, the mare’s hooves muffled by the thick carpet of needles. The longer they rode, the more certain he felt that something had moved near their resting place, though whether it had been raiders or some other wanderer of the night, he could not yet say.
He kept the mare to a steady pace, one hand on the reins, the other ready at his side, while Elena leaned quietly against him, slipping slowly back into sleep.
As they moved deeper into the trees, Jacob became aware of something he hadn’t fully registered earlier: Elena hadn’t cried. Not once. Not in all the hours since he’d recovered her. Mayhap she had, when she’d first been abducted, but he’d seen no evidence of it. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Some girls cried at the first sign of danger; others held themselves rigid until they reached safety, only to break afterward. Elena, though, carried her fear quietly, as if she were determined to keep it contained until she found solid ground beneath her feet again. It reminded him, unexpectedly, of Liam—her father had always been the sort to grit his teeth through pain, to suffer in silence until the danger passed. It might just as easily have been learned from her mother as well; Jacob was aware, in mysterious bits and pieces, of the hard measure of life Isabel had known before Liam had taken her to wife.
Jacob guided the mare onward, supposing he shouldn’t have been surprised that the daughter of Liam and Isabel MacTavish did not break easily.
Chapter Six
The sun had risen enough to cast a pale gold across the higher branches, though little of it reached the forest floor where Jacob and Elena rode. The destrier was mostly stronger now, but Jacob could still feel the occasional tremor in her gait, a reminder of her exhaustion. Jacob kept them at a steady pace, directed more by instinct and the slope of the land than by any clear path.
