“Come with me now,” Duncan growled, “or take your chances with these men.”
The one closest to her was rising up on his hands and knees, and the next thing she knew she had taken hold of Duncan’s arm and was bounding up onto the back of his horse.
Duncanpulledthe shield off over his head and handed it to her. “Put this on. Strap it to your back.”
She did as he instructed, wrapped her arms around his waist, and theygallopedout of the English camp toward the trees.
* * *
The precise moment they entered the forest, Amelia glanced over her shoulder and saw something speed by on the beach. It was Angus on his pale gray horse, his golden hair flying on the wind, his broadsword swinging over his head. He wasgallopingafter the cowardly soldier who had been the first to flee the camp.
God help that wretched man now.
Then suddenly darkness laid siege toallthat was visible, and they were whipping past branches and leaping over logs. It was quiet in the woods, except for the fast pounding of hooves on the ground and the snapping of twigs and dried leaves. The wind blew into Amelia’s face, and she clung more tightly to Duncan’s solid frame.
“Keep your head down,” he commanded, and she buried her face in the soft wool of his tartan, which was draped over his shoulder, across his strong muscled back. She squeezed her eyes shut andwilledher body to stop shaking, but it was no use. It was a delayed reaction to the terror of what had just occurred when that despicable man was on top of her, tearing at her clothes and slobberingallover her.
She clung more tightly to Duncan, overwhelmed by gratitude and relief—thank God he arrived when he did—but at the same time she was disoriented by the dizzying about-face of her emotions.
He was her captor. It was his fault she was here to begin with, and it was not so long ago thathehad pinned her to the ground while she struggled and fought against him.
Somehow, however, what had occurred with the English soldier had felt very different, and she was hard-pressed to understand it in her panic-stricken mind. She had been both infuriated and alarmed when Duncan threw her to the ground in the field that first morning, but she had always felt as if she were being toyed with. She’d sensed that he was just biding his time,allowing her to fight and claw at him until she was depleted of strength. It had been his intention to wait for her to give up. To surrender when she was ready to surrender.
It had not been like that with the drunken soldier. He most definitely would have violated her. He would be doing so at this very moment if Duncan had not arrived and thrown him into the lake.
So what was she feeling now, exactly? Was Duncan her rescuer? Her protector?
No, that was not correct. He had stolen her from the safety of her bed in a guarded English fortress. He wanted tokillher fiancé. He hadkilledhundreds of men. He was a brutal, vengeful warrior and she wasstillnot entirely certain she would not end up dead. He may have saved her tonight only because she was his bait. Hestillneeded her to lure Richard into his trap.
Even so, she was not yet ready to loosen her grip, and if someone tried to separate her from him now, they would not succeed. She was holding on as if her life depended on it, and she didn’t think she could pry her own fingers off him if she tried. She felt more safe here than she had back there on the beach—even in this wild, out-of-control moment while she was hurtling through the dark forest as fast as a musketball.
She had no idea how long theygallopedthrough the trees.
She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to keep going, as far away as possible, but then she felt Duncan lean back and slow the horse to a trot. She opened her eyes.
“Whoa,” Duncan said in that quietly commanding, authoritative voice.
They stopped in a moonlit glade, not far from a babbling brook.
Duncan was breathing hard. She could feel his chest heaving beneath her arms.
“Get off,” he snarled.
She swung a leg over the side, dropped to the ground, and straightened the strap that held the shield on her back.
He landed beside her and slapped his horse on the rear flank. The animal trotted to the water to drink.
Duncan faced her wildly. “Don’t ever do that again!”
“I won’t,” she replied, not sure, exactly, what he was referring to. The escape in general? Or the moment when she bashed him in the head with the rock?
He put a hand over his stomach. “Ah, Christ.…”
He turned away from her and strode to a tree, where he bent forward and retched. Amelia watched him in horror.
Was it because of what she’d done to him?
At least he was alive. She hadn’tkilledhim. Thank God for that.
