Henry had had no choice but to stop that kiss. If he had not broken away then and there, he would have taken Belle to the bed and initiated her into the ways of married life before they were even wed. He had not wanted to risk her becoming with child before he had found a way to be with her wholly.
The very idea of Belle's body growing round and thick with a baby—withhisbaby—did something to Henry's chest and groin. He ached with a desperation he had not known before.
And so, he had broken away. He had claimed the strength he had been about to lose and broken free of her spell. His thoughts, jumbled and disorganized by the fire of their lovemaking, had fallen from his mouth in no particular order. And the next thing he knew, he was being sent away.
Whether the blame was to be placed on his actions, his words, or the sheer fickleness of the female temperament, Henry did not care. The result was the same. He was now riding back to what should be his most familiar haven while he felt his true home moving further and further away.
Sighing, Henry wallowed in his own misery for the rest of the day. He rode through forests and over thicket. He followed the road down to the southeast and then turned more directly south as the sun began to sink toward the horizon.
It was just becoming dark when a low but rising hill rose out of the sunset. Deciding it would suit him as a spot on which to camp for the night, Henry clicked his tongue and encouraged the gelding up to the little hillock's peak.
Only, instead of dismounting and looking for the metal pot he had brought to cook with, Henry was fused to his seat and transfixed by what he saw down the other side.
Lit torches mapped out squares of movement on the main road below. Each yellow circle of light was just close enough to touch the next, illuminating the heads of men.
A lot of men.
Dressed in leather bracers, a few sheets of armor, and militia kilts, there was no mistaking them for anything but a regiment of soldiers.
Dismounting, Henry tied the reins to a nearby brush and hurried along the ridge of the hillock. He kept himself low, his arms spread for balance, and his feet carefully placed to avoid dry branches or bracken.
It was not uncommon to see a band of men marching to battle in the Highlands. As his own laird had said, the north was a fractured network of greedy noblemen, determined to steal from one another. Murdock Hunter's attempt to steal from Belle had been more than enough to prove that to Henry.
What concerned him more, however, was that these men were headed north on the main road. The main road thatonlywent to the Henderson provinces. In fact, they would cross the border into Henderson land in just a few miles. And none of them seemed to be adjusting course.
Narrowing his eyes against the darkness, Henry jogged another few yards, hoping to spy a banner or a flag amidst the soldiers. He was no spy, but he did his best to stay low and not draw notice. For, if he was taken for a messenger of the militia's enemy, he'd be strung up faster than he could tie his boots.
A sudden flash of yellow caught his eye.
Darting three steps to the left, Henry waited for that yellow to pass by an open spot in the trees so that he could—
There!
Yellow and white, with threads of green. The shield was unmistakable. It was the mark of the Hunter family.
"Oh, God..."
Henry liked to think of himself as a good Christian, but at times like these, the curses slipped free.
They were attacking! The Hunters were attacking the Henderson land! Or, worse still, headed for the castle itself!
Forgetting to stay low, Henry had luck on his side as he sprinted back to his ride without being seen. He dove for the saddle, hauled himself up, and snatched the reins back into hand. He had turned the animal back the way they had come, set him to a full gallop, and traveled a hundred yards before he came to a crashing halt.
The gelding bucked and brayed beneath him, confused to be pulled so suddenly to a stop.
Staring off into the darkness of the north, Henry felt every piece of himself yearn to kick the horse into motion once more. Everything in him wanted to take the road back, as fast as the horse beneath him could go. When the animal gave out, he would use his own legs.
But then what?
What would hedo?
He was a single man. A counselor. He was no famous warrior. If he could get back fast enough then hemighthave been able to warn the Henderson soldiers to build their defenses and remove the Hunters' advantage of surprise. But, in truth? After riding a full day, there was little hope of his mount making it back that fast in the dark. And there had been nowhere to stop and change horses.
Looking back over his shoulder to the south, Henry considered an alternative route as the gelding stepped nervously beneath him.
Anderson land lay to the south. If he rode the rest of the night, it would take him until midday to reach his home. There, he could rally soldiers, he could warn Laird Anderson of his friend's imminent danger, and see aid brought to the North. If he rode fast, he might set the Anderson militia only a day behind the Hunter regiment.
And if the attacking soldiers did not realize they were being followed...if they did not hurry...
