They turned sharply off the main road, galloping toward the woods.
Behind them, hoofbeats thundered.
Frances bent low, wind tearing at her hair as they darted through narrow trails and over shallow creeks. Her pulse pounded. They could not be caught now. Not when they had come so far.
They crested a hill and descended into a hollow, hooves pounding the soft earth.
Johnathan glanced back. “They are gaining.”
He turned to her, urgency burning in his voice. “There is a village ahead. We will stop there. Lose them in the crowd.”
Frances nodded, teeth clenched.
As they emerged from the trees, she saw the cluster of buildings ahead, stone cottages and a small market square. Smoke rose from chimneys. Church bells rang faintly in the distance.
They galloped into the village, drawing curious glances and startled cries. Johnathan veered toward a livery stable, tossing coin at the bewildered stable hand. “Two fresh horses. Now.”
Frances dismounted quickly, her legs trembling with effort. She turned to see the riders enter the village—three men, cloaked, scanning the square.
Johnathan pulled her into the stable shadows. “Take my coat. Put up your hood.”
She obeyed without question, heart hammering.
The stable boy moved with surprising haste, no doubt well-compensated by Johnathan’s coin, and a few minutes later, they emerged on new mounts. Frances now cloaked in Johnathan’s dark greatcoat, head low.
They rode out of the village slowly, calmly, merging with a group of traders until the buildings fell away and the forest swallowed them once more.
Only then did Frances exhale.
Johnathan cast a sideways glance as they galloped side-by-side. “You always rode far too well for a proper lady.”
Frances smirked, breathless. “You taught me. Remember the hedge jump behind the summer orchard?”
“You broke your ribbon.”
“And beat you by a full horse length.”
He chuckled. “You were fortunate. I was in love with you even then.”
Her cheeks flushed.
Johnathan offered a crooked grin. “Reluctant partnership suits us, do you not agree?”
She laughed, breathless and shaking. “It might be growing on me.”
And though danger still loomed behind them, she let herself believe they might just make it to freedom.
Soon, the road before them narrowed as tall bushes and skeletal trees closed in on either side. The air was thick with the scent of wood-smoke and moss, the air damp, and the wind whispered low across the landscape, as if urging them forward—and warning them not to look back.
Frances pulled the collar of Johnathan’s greatcoat up to better shield her face. The scent of him still clung to the fabric—leather and sandalwood, grounding and strangely reassuring. It reminded her of a summer years ago, riding across an open field with the wind at her back and Johnathan at her side. That comfort now settled over her like a balm—unexpected, but real. Against all logic, he was the one constant in the unraveling chaos of her life.
He led them through a wooded path barely wider than the horses’ breadth, his posture tense, hand resting often near the pistol strapped at his side. Each time a bird rustled a branch, or a squirrel darted across their path, she flinched.
“Are you always this quiet on the road?” she asked softly, needing the sound of his voice.
“I find silence keeps a man alive,” he murmured. “But I will make an exception for you.”
A wry smile tugged at her lips, then faded just as quickly. “Do you think we lost them?”
