“The man is a kent and willing ally of the Baron Dudley. He would nae let ye leave his property unless he was with ye so that he could see our lands, our forces. Do ye nae see that he is a spy sent here to infiltrate us?”
“A spy?” she shouted incredulously.
“How do ye nae ken that he wasn’t in on everything with the Baron from the start? That the men who attacked ye were nae his own men?” Lachlan pushed, his hand back on the hilt of his sword. “Now, step away, Sorcha.”
“Ye dinnae understand?—”
“Nay,” he cut her off, “it isyewho does nae understand the danger ye have brought here. He could be the Baron’s scout. Nay doubt he is taking count of all our warriors and defenses, seeing who our allies are and what plans we might have.”
“Sorcha,” Aila tried a bit more gently than her husband. “Do as Lachlan tells ye. He is only trying to keep ye safe, to keep us all safe.”
Rearing back as if she had been slapped, Sorcha stepped further into Oliver’s chest. She couldn’t believe that her friends didn’t think she was telling the truth. They didn’t think she was capable of discovering a man’s character for herself. They thought she would risk bringing a traitor into their midst when things were already so strained, fraught with danger. Suspicion and judgment sat proudly in the eyes of those she called her family. The sight of it stung worse than any blow they might have dealt.
She spoke in a final attempt to get them to see the full picture. This was her stake in the ground, her line in the sand. She knew deep within her bones that what Oliver was trying to do, what was right. And she would stand with him, come hell or high water.
“Oliver has come here tohelpus,” she tried again. “He did nae have to. In fact, he did nae want to. Because he was worried that ye all would react exactly as ye are right now. But I gave him my word. I told him that ye would hear us out, that ye would believe us because ye would believe me.”
“Sorcha—” Oliver started, but she cut him off.
“Allow me to make this verra clear. If ye dinnae trusthim, ye dinnae trustme.”
17
THE MESSAGE AND THE MOUNTAIN
It had taken hours of riding to get the shaking in her hands to stop. The warmth from Brandon’s gloves had been the only thing to keep her sane, the only thing to push her forward. Every time she wanted to stop, to rest, to give up running as she would now have to do for the rest of her life, she thought of all Brandon had sacrificed for her. He had given her an escape, knowing what the Baron was capable of, what it might cost him. So she pressed on.
Night gave way to the dawn, birds rustling from their nests to sing in the morning light. Laura was far too weary to appreciate the beauty of it all. She had long since slowed her horse to a walk, not wanting to wear either of them out any more than she had to. As they crept alongside the river’s edge, she fought to keep herself awake. She was nearing the border, close enough now that she could see her homeland peeking out from behind the clifftops. Her heart fluttered in her chest, a wave of relief, of longing, of homesickness washed over her, nearly drowning her with the emotion of it all.
“Come on, lad,” she urged the horse, clicking him into a faster pace.
She had been too overcome with everything else happening to question Brandon’s choice of mount for her to ride. He had given her a stallion so large that she would never be able to get off it without hurting herself. And there would be no getting back in the saddle without help from someone else or a tree to climb up first. Perhaps that had been his plan, to give her a horse she wouldn’t be able to dismount until she was safe. At the very least, the beast had been able to handle her weight with ease, running and trotting along as though she were a feather on his back.
He snickered at the new pace, enjoying the faster movement. His tail swished in the air and Laura leaned over his neck, borrowing his heat and confidence for a moment. It was then, over the rhythmic pounding of the horse’s heartbeat and his occasional huffs, that Laura heard it.
Her body came fully alive, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She shifted ever so slightly, pulling her cape up over her head to hide her face a bit better. With a gentle nudge on the reins, she pushed the horse further into the shadows, hoping to conceal them for as long as she could.
Stopping at the edge of the tree line, Laura swore as she studied the field below.
Men, English fighters, judging from their swords and flags, were gathered in tents. Hundreds, if not thousands, of warriors sharpening their blades and practicing their fighting skills. In the center of it all, a large fire illuminated a table covered in papers that had half a dozen men of varying heights and strengths bending over it in focused discussions. She swore again. The sight of it all was enough to turn her stomach sour.
“Och, nay.”
She sucked in a shuddering breath. This army was all that lay between her and the Scottish border. If she could somehow make it through, if she could just get to the Kincaid Castle as Brandon had told her to, she would be free from this.
“We are going to have to run,” she whispered to the horse, fear nearly stealing her words. “Nay, we are going to have to fly.”
He snorted in response, pawing at the ground as if he were trying to tell her that he was ready. She exhaled slowly, tightening her gloved fingers around the reins once more.
“Keep to the edge of the camp for as long as we can. Ye must go until I tell ye it is all right to stop, even if it means everything of ye.”
The horse snorted again. Laura knew she had wasted enough time as it was. Every second she stood, there was another chance of being caught. She clicked her tongue and snuck around the line of the camp, keeping to the trees for as long as she possibly could. Her heart thundered until she could hardly hear over her own heartbeat.
“When I tell ye,” she whispered again, “fly.”
She counted down in her mind, lowering herself over the horse’s neck.
“Go,” she breathed, before she was entirely ready.
