Well, I’ll be damned. If his spear hadn’t ended the bloody Englishman’s life, her blade, which was wedged deeply in his leg, would have.
He felt an unmistakable swell of pride. The lass was a fighter. His first impression all those months ago of a Valkyrie had not been far off.
Wiping the blood from the blade on his chausses, which were already splattered with any manner of deathly grime, he handed it back to her.
She looked up at him hesitantly. “Did I…”
He knew what she was asking. “You defended yourself well, lass. You would have hobbled him for life,” he lied.
She sighed, looking visibly relieved. “I wasn’t sure.”
He had enough death on his soul for both of them. He could protect her from that at least.
Another bark—this one discernibly closer—put an end to the brief delay.
Helping her onto the horse, he mounted behind her and they were off, riding hell-bent for leather along the riverbank toward the hills. They would ride the horse as long as they could—he hoped long enough to break the scent and make it more difficult to follow them. One of the best ways to do that was with another animal. Water would also help. Whenever it was shallow enough to do so, he steered the horse into the river.
They continued at that frantic pace for a few miles, until the sounds of their pursuers grew fainter and fainter, eventually disappearing altogether.
He heaved a sigh of relief. They’d lost them for now, and none too soon. He was forced to slow their pace considerably, as the ground started to rise and the forest and river valley gave way to heather-covered hillsides that beckoned to him like the first sight of land after days at sea. Home. Refuge. Safety.
Though dawn had broken some time ago, a thick blanket of wintry mist hid the barren mountaintops from view. Not only did they look ominous and haunting, they would also provide plenty of cover for them to disappear. Even if the English picked up their trail again, they would think twice about following them into such forbidding terrain.
But he wasn’t going to take any chances. Knowing the horse would only hinder them from this point, when he came to a small bridge over the river, he told Janet to wait while he rode it across. Dismounting, he hit the horse on the rump and watched it gallop down the narrow path. With any luck it would do so for some time. Careful to hide his tracks, he retraced his steps to where Janet stood watching him.
She stared down at the dark river with a wrinkled nose. “I assume my feet are going to be getting wet again?”
He grinned at her expression. “Afraid so.”
Instructing her to step on rocks or harder ground whenever she could, he helped her down the riverbank and into the water. Unfortunately, unlike the last river, the banks were steep, and the water swirled nearly up to her knees.
They followed the river up the hill until the ground grew too steep and the water became falls. Trudging up the bank, he motioned to a large rock. “We can rest here for a while.”
Not needing any more encouragement, she collapsed. Shrugging off the bags he carried, he used one of them as a seat and joined her. Fortunately, along with the bags of their belongings, he was also carrying the food. He tried not to think about Sutherland, telling himself their new recruit could take care of himself. But the attack shouldn’t have happened. It was Ewen’s job to make sure it didn’t. If he felt responsible, it was because hewasresponsible. He’d failed, damn it, and the failure didn’t sit well with him.
What had gone wrong? How in the hell had the dogs picked up their scent?
Apparently her thoughts were running in the same direction as his. “Do you think we’ve lost them?”
“For now,” he said. “With the horses and the river, the dogs will have trouble following the scent.”
“How did they pick it up in the first place?”
“I don’t know. I made damned sure we didn’t leave anything—”
He stopped, his gaze catching on a shimmering coil of golden hair that had slipped from its braid. Even in the mist, her golden head shone bright. Herbaregolden head.
His mouth fell in a hard line, as the explanation for what had happened became clear. He swore. “Where is your cap?”
Fifteen
Janet’s hand went to her head reflexively. She was surprised to find smooth strands of hair under her palm instead of wool. “Oh, I didn’t realize.” She thought back. “It must have fallen off last night, when I slipped from the horse.”
He swore again, which was redundant in her opinion, as the look on his face said it all. He was furious. Beyond furious, actually. Irate. Stormy. The forty-days-and-forty-nights kind of stormy.
“That must be how they are tracking us.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
