But at the other side of the row, Alaric’s bad-tempered bay swung his head and snapped his teeth at her.
Isabella retreated with a small wail of distress. How could she ride to Wolvesley without a mount?
Then she spied the small grey pony standing apart from the others, and her fears subsided. Though tall, Isabella hardly weighed more than a child. She found the tack neatly piled in a stable to the side of the barn, and it was not hard to identify which would fit the pony. Talking gamely to the creature, which must have belonged to one of her nieces or nephews, she tacked him up with no further difficulty.
The sun was beginning to rise in the sky by the time she led him outside. How much time had she wasted?
No more,she promised herself.
She looked for the mounting block to no avail. Then she considered the height of her mount, and pulled herself into the saddle with relative ease.
Isabella smiled. Let any man underestimate her at his peril.
She pressed her heels into her horse’s sides and urged him into a canter as soon as they were off the cobbles. She would need to dismount to open the gate, but that would be easy enough. Her mother had been right all these years, ’twas far more practical to ride in braccae than any riding habit, no matter how fine the stitching.
*
The last timeHamish had saddled Luar so quickly was when the battle horns were sounding before the siege of Greenock. Usually he took the time to talk gently to his sometimes-skittish mare, but this morn she seemed to sense his urgency, and she stood quietly whilst he tugged up her girth.
Hamish led her out into the courtyard, shouted a farewell to Siegfried, and sprang onto her back. Spray from the puddles of melting snow flew up around them as they galloped toward the open gate. His cloak whipped out behind him and he cursed the wind which stung his eyes and made Luar shy to one side.
But praise be, Isabella had ridden a direct course over the moors. He could see the clear imprint of hoofbeats in the softening blanket of snow. His aim was to follow them—and find her—before the thaw obscured her tracks.
Isabella had been correct when she told him that he could not guess at the workings of her mind. For never would he have predicted that she would flee in the early hours, like an escaped prisoner. Or a traitor.
Is she about to betray me?
Pain rippled through his chest, and his howl mingled with the cruel wind which whistled through the distant trees. But even if Isabella had lied to him about enlisting the help of her brother—abouteverything—then he still could not abandonher to an unknown fate at the possible hands of raiders and chancers.
And Alaric.
Foolish woman.
Did she not know how dangerous this could be?
He gritted his teeth and spurred Luar to lengthen her stride so they careered over the moors as if they were being chased by demons. No horse was faster than Luar. And surely, Isabella could not have gone far on the old grey pony. Though she had a decent head start, for Hamish had slept deeply in the chair before the fire. By the time Siegfried woke him, the sun had been high in the sky.
Perchance the Lady had drugged him.
His eyes narrowed as he crouched low over Luar’s neck. She had cooked the stew and served his portion, but he could not believe that Isabella would stoop so low as that.
But do I know her at all?
Has she been playing me all along?
Even as the thought occurred to him, he grimaced with acknowledgement that he was the one to take Isabella captive. Theirs had hardly been a relationship of equals—in the beginning at least. But what had passed between them most recently had been pure and real. As real as the circle of tall granite stones he was now galloping past. As pure as the love he felt for his family and his home. But bigger and more urgent than anything he had ever known. And she had felt the same connection with him. He would go to his grave swearing as much.
He reined Luar back as they reached an ancient crossroads high on the moors. For a moment, she spun in a tight circle as his eyes scanned the four diverging paths, increasingly desperate for a clue as to which direction Isabella had taken. Then he spied thetelltale hoofprints tracking a neat course up a slight incline some way apart from the main paths, and he grinned humorlessly.
Isabella was trying to throw him off.
He’d always said she was clever.
Perchance she was cleverer even than he had given her credit for. Forsooth, one woman, alone and unprotected, had bested three armed men.
Nay,he could not believe that everything they had shared was a lie. He was a man of flesh and blood, with hopes and dreams and desires, and he had responded to this and more in Isabella de Neville.
With a shake of his head, he urged Luar on once again. His charger pricked her ears and gave chase, and he sent up silent thanks for her loyalty and stamina.
