Page 34 of Warrior’s Lady

Camden sheathed his sword and grasped her waist, balancing himself on the back of the horse. "What are you doing?"

"Saving your life."

"Risking your own."

"It worked," she said, spurring their horse into as fast a gait as possible in the deep snow. She cast a quick glance at the wound in his arm. "Who was that man?"

"God's blood," he swore beneath his breath. "He's no friend of ours. Keep this horse moving. I'll not rest easy until we are safe behind the castle walls."

At the pain in his voice, Rhiannon glanced back again, to the thick gash in his arm and the rivulets of blood that trailed down his arm and leg, and onto the horse's flanks.

"Your wound is worse than I thought. We have to stop." She slowed the horse.

"Do not stop this beast," he said between his teeth. "Keep going, with as much speed as possible. No matter what happens to me, promise me you'll keep going until you reach the castle."

She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that they'd left the stranger far behind. But a sick feeling in her stomach told her otherwise. It would be foolhardy to stop until they were certain of their safety. She'd watched the dark stranger fight. She'd seen the lethal look in his eyes that said he'd come to kill.

"I promise," she whispered, and some of the tension in his body eased as it pressed intimately against her own. She kept the horse moving. Her soft shoes dug into the horse's side, urging the beast to continued speed. They had to reach the castle soon.

The chill air of the early evening fairly crackled with tension. How had anyone found them in such an isolated place? No one had known where they were headed. Or did they? And who exactly was the man after? Violet was not with them as she had been when the man had attacked before. Even though the man had concealed part of his face, Rhiannon had recognized him as the same assassin who had attacked her and Violet in the horse cart only a few days past.

Rhiannon gripped the reins, her fingers frozen in the bitter cold. In her haste to escape, she'd left both of their cloaks behind. The cold seemed to soak through the layers of her clothing until prickles of ice wrapped around her spine, and seemed to be all that kept her atop the horse. She could almost believe she floated just above her chilled body; there was room for action only, and her feelings were remote to that need.

The moon was a crescent-shaped sliver rising over the top of the mountains. Stars hung suspended by the millions. The last traces of pink touched the evening sky when Lee Castle came into view.

She kept the horse moving as pace by pace they approached their goal. Her mind, her body, her senses were numb from cold. The great iron portcullis rose and the gate opened wide. She felt as though she hung suspended, watching but not participating, as someone stopped the horse, then pulled Camden and herself from the animal's back.

"We need boiling water," a voice from outside herself called. Mistress Faulkner? Orrin? She could not be certain as gentle hands guided her into the keep, up the stairs, and into the master's bedchamber.