They were going too slowly. Randel did his best to spur the women on, but Joan was not the best rider, and Maeve and Glenna did not seem to understand the peril they might be in. Jasper should have told them the truth in all its horror, then they might have made better progress.
Doom lay on Rowenna. She had no way of knowing if the Strachan fellow had told Jasper the truth, but in her bones, she felt she could trust him. But even if that were true, Jasper was riding into an ambush. It was all very well to try to creep up on his attackers and be careful, but the woods were thick, hiding many dangers. And Jasper was on Carstairs land. He would not know it so well as his own.
Yet her husband was fierce, battle-hardened after years of fighting to retain his land and position in a lawless place. He was as much a villain as a laird, and Jasper had the instincts of one who had run from the King’s justice many a time. All would be well. He would find out who was loyal and who was not, and they would set their course by that.
Rowenna’s crossbow bumped against her hip as she trotted along. Knowing it was there comforted her. But what use was it if danger lay behind her, not ahead?
A fox darted out of the undergrowth, and Maeve’s horse reared in alarm and unseated her. Everyone rushed to her aid, making a fuss, and Randel dragged the young woman to her feet in an instant. She was clearly unhurt, for when he tried to brush mud and leaves off her bottom, she smacked him roundly in the face.
‘Get off me, you oaf,’ she cried.
‘How dare you put hands on my daughter,’ screeched Joan.
‘Can we just please get back to Kransmuir and end this infernal day, for my hands are freezing, and I am wet through,’ cried Glenna.
The men sighed and rolled their eyes, and Randel rubbed his cheek and glowered. What a company of fools!
They were so selfish and deserved whatever fate befell them. ‘To hell with you all,’ said Rowenna under her breath. She turned her horse around and galloped back the way she had come.
It was not long before a thunder of hooves had her turning. ‘Stop, lass,’ cried Randel. ‘Where the hell are you going?’
‘To make sure Jasper is safe.’
‘You cannot. He bid me see you all safe back to Kransmuir. He will skin me alive should any harm come to you.’
‘And I cannot abide any harm coming to him, Randel. So get those harpies back safely and return with more men to meet us on the road.’
His face took on a grim belligerence. ‘I’ll not let you go, lass.’
‘If you want to stop me, you must knock me down. And if you want to knock me down, you must catch me first.’
Rowenna spurred her horse forward along the track. It was a nimble beast, and she soon left him trailing. She heard a muffled curse and glanced back. Randel had his fist raised and had stopped chasing. She dearly hoped he would press on to Glendenning lands with haste and, one day, forgive her for her recklessness.
Now, all she had to do was find Jasper.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Icy rain trickled down the back of Jasper’s neck. His cheek was against something solid and rough. A mouldy smell. Tree bark? His knees were sinking into mud. All feeling had been lost in his wrists. They had tied the ropes too tightly for escape. His fingers were swelling – they pulsed and ached as if his heart beat there. Jasper tasted metal in his mouth – blood running down from a head wound which throbbed horribly. He was almost thankful for the pain, for it brought him back to clarity. Several voices faded in and out. At least three men but there could be more, out of earshot.
Jasper kept his head down and listened. Somewhere nearby, there was a river’s full-throated gush.
‘Let us do it now. Hold the bastard down. It would be a few minutes work.’
‘Drowning then.’
‘No. Too gentle. He has to suffer. It was agreed.’ The last voice bore the hard edge of command, but it was not one he recognised.
‘Castrate the bastard, and let him bleed out. That is the best course, and there’s more sport in it.’
A dull thud sounded, as if someone was being smacked about the head. ‘Enough. You would take vengeance like a woman? He dies my way, and ‘tis a bad enough fate.’
‘Hurry then. It is colder than a witch’s cunny out here, and these woods give off a fell stench.’
‘Fetch the rope.’
Jasper opened one eye. The other was almost swollen shut. They must have kicked him in the face when he was unconscious. Two men, masked, hurled a rope over a tree bough and tied the other end to a horse’s saddle. His heart thudded against his ribs when he spotted a noose on one end. He swallowed down vomit and strained to free his hands. He could not die like a stuck pig. He had to go down fighting.
‘Ah. It seems our prisoner is awake.’
