It would be easier to evade capture. Besides, there was always a chance he would know someone. MacGregor, Gordon, and MacKay were supposed to be in the north.
"Go," he said.
With no further argument, the men did as he bid.
Arthur didn't waste any more time. Horse and man plunged through the trees, as he raced to get behind the approaching riders before they came up on the MacDougall party. Even with the warning, he knew it would take time to maneuver them to safety. Anna was a good rider, but her maidservant wasn't. The carts would slow them down further. If there was one thing about women he knew, they didn't like to leave their fine shoes and gowns behind.
At least she hadn't insisted on bringing that damned pup of hers. He was tired of dodging piss on his toes.
Using the sound of the horses as a guide, he weaved through the trees, riding parallel to the men for a few, all-important seconds before darting toward them.
Now came the tricky part: getting close enough to draw them away, but not so close that he got captured.
He muttered a curse, as a gap in the trees gave him his first look at the riders. A war party, by the looks of it. There were more of them than he would have liked. At least a score of men armed to the teeth in dark-colored plaids, war coats blackened with pitch, and blackened helms--a means of blending into the night utilized by the Highland Guard, but adopted later by many of Bruce's warriors.
Normally, the sight of such a formidable force wouldn't give him a second thought. He'd been trained for worse. But these men knew the terrain and he didn't. They would have the advantage. One wrong turn and he could end up trapped.
Still, he had advantages they did not: razor-sharp senses, speed, superior strength and training, and the ability to fade into the shadows.
Ahead of him, he saw a break in the trees. This was it. Clenching his jaw, he lowered his head and shot toward the clearing. Pretending he'd just noticed the men, he veered sharply off to the left as if he were trying to avoid being seen.
When he heard the cry go out, he knew they'd sighted him. He didn't dare slow down to look behind him, waiting to see if they'd taken the bait. A fraction of a second's delay could mean the difference between escape and capture.
But a moment later, hearing the thunder of hooves behind him, he smiled.
The hunt was on.
Anna tried not to think about how late it was getting. But as darkness descended and the moon rose high in the sky, it became harder and harder to convince herself that he was all right.
The fear that had been held at bay by the tumult of their effort to evade the enemy soldiers had returned full force once they'd reached safety. And with each hour that passed, and Arthur still hadn't returned, it only grew worse.
He could torment her all he wanted; she didn't care. Just let him come back safely.
She drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders and told herself not to worry. Arthur would lead them on a merry chase, and it would take some time to make his way to them.
But would it take this long?
She bit her lip, trying to slow the rising sense of panic.
He wouldn't get caught.
But there were so many of them and only one of him.
He can't be dead.
She would know it if he was. Her heart clenched. Wouldn't she?
"The stew is delicious, m'lady. Here." Berta held out a spoon to her. "Try a bite. Just a little one," she added, as if Anna were a five-year-old refusing to eat her turnips.
She still didn't like them.
Anna shook her head, managing a small smile for her worried maidservant. "I'm not hungry."
The older woman frowned, her soft brown eyes crinkling into a spray of fine lines at the edges. At barely a hair over five feet and as thin as a whip, Berta didn't look very formidable. But in this case, looks deceived. She could be as stubborn and testy as an old goat. "You have to eat something. You'll make yourself ill."
She already was ill--with worry. The thought of food made her stomach turn. She bit back the bile that rose to the back of her throat. "I will," she lied. "In a little while."
Berta patted her hand, which rested on the mossy log between them. They had gathered around the fire with the rest of the men, but the camp was unusually quiet, the men subdued. They were all aware of the narrow escape they'd made earlier, and she wasn't the only one wondering what had happened to the knight who'd given them the warning to do so.
