Her dark hair wild around her face, her cheeks flushed, she came up short and stared at him wide-eyed as Roger lowered the poker to stare back at her…thinking how close he had come to skewering her to the wall.
“Forgive me—I should have called out to you,” she said as if reading his mind, the color draining from her face at how narrowly she had escaped death. “You must go—now, at once! They’re searching the woods for you and soon they’ll come here—”
“Who?” Roger demanded as she drew a deep shaky breath.
“Charles de Montfort, my betrothed. He will show you no mercy just as he and his men did last night—oh, God.”
Now she looked as if she might falter, Roger reaching out to catch her arm to prevent her from falling. She looked wholly frightened now, too, her violet eyes grown wider as if she had revealed too much—and she had, fury filling him.
“Your betrothed? So that’s how you knew of the attack?”
She nodded, her face grown even more pale, and blurted out, “Charles believed you were an invading force, but even that document explaining your purpose wouldn’t have stopped him—and he’s looking for you now! They found a piece of cloth torn from your garment—oh, please, take the poker, take the horse! Here, I’ll pack you the bread and cheese so at least you have some food—no,no!”
Her scream had rent the air and she stared in horror at the sight of what was left of the squirrel on the dirt floor.
“The owl…” Roger began, but then he cursed aloud. “Enough! If it’s as you say, then we must go—”
“We?” She struggled to break free of his grip, but he held her fast and dragged her with him out the door, the owl flying through the opening just behind them, followed by the bleating fawn that scampered off and disappeared into the trees.
“No, you cannot mean to take me with you!” was the last thing she uttered before he lifted her bodily, his ribs burning, and hoisted the both of them into the saddle—one hand grabbing the reins and the other clapping over her mouth to prevent her from saying another word.
All the while, Roger scanned the woods on every side—damnation, if anyone was near, her scream alone at the sight of the bloody mess that had once been the squirrel would draw them to the hut.
He glanced at the poker he had dropped on the ground, but there was no time to retrieve it. With a grunt of pain, Roger kicked the horse into a gallop to head north, and not southeast toward York at all.
Her admission had changed everything—everything! With this Charles de Montfort and his men searching for him, he couldn’t dare continue on his mission now, the sheer brutality of the attack last night telling Roger that the man would prove relentless.
Julianna had said as much! The document from King Edward’s royal representatives would have meant nothing to him, and De Montfort would have slaughtered the delegation anyway. Yet Roger had survived and now King Robert must hear what had happened from Julianna, who struggled against him.
She was a witness with knowledge of the massacre, and now his hostage. Aye, she had saved his life, but there was nothing else for him to do—and he could be ruthless, too.
If De Montfort and his men caught up with them, he would threaten to twist her lovely neck right in front of them if it meant ensuring a safe escape into Scotland.
Gritting his teeth at Julianna’s every wrenching movement for the pain it cost him, his hand covering her mouth wet with her tears, Roger spurred their snorting mount onward and prayed that he wouldn’t be forced to make such a terrible threat.
Would De Montfort risk the life of his own betrothed to capture him? God help them, Roger didn’t want to find out.
* * *
Julianna couldn’t sayhow long she had wept futilely, but tears still blinded her eyes when Roger slowed their horse to a stop near a stream wending through the sun-dappled woods.
The poor creature’s sides heaving for how hard and long Roger had urged him to run at a hard gallop.
Julianna in shock within his steely embrace, and she had given up struggling against him several leagues ago.
After all she had done to help him and still he had taken her with him against her will, Laird Roger Douglas as ruthless a Highlander as she had at first feared. Why had she ever thought otherwise?
He had sworn not long after she had found him lying injured on the forest floor that he wouldn’t hurt her, but he had lied! Her body ached from the tightness of his arms around her, her throat sore and her eyes burning.
Some distance back he had removed his hand from her mouth with a low threat against her ear that she would do well not to scream, but at least then, she had been better able to breathe.
As he dismounted with a scowl on his face and encircled her waist with his hands to lift her to the ground, she knew his threat remained and all she uttered was a deep, shuddering sigh.
“Aye, that’s better than your weeping. You’ll not move me with your tears, lass. Now go and drink. We’ll be resting the horse for only a short while.”
Julianna didn’t move, though, only stared up at him, still so in shock that she wasn’t sure if she could yet speak.
“I said go on—”
