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Their pursuers were gone.

Mayhap sensing she was about to speak, Galien raised his finger to his lips again. So she did not speak. Galien shifted his legs under him, to a sitting position. She arched her back, which was getting sore. Galien shifted himself again, this time, his back against a tree. He lifted the plaid from her and then motioned for Reina to spin around. She did, and he promptly hauled her against his chest, between his legs. Covering them both, he pulled her until Reina was lying on him, a makeshift bed of sorts. A hard, wet, makeshift bed.

They’d not been discovered.

But Galien did not seem as if he were in any hurry to be on the move again. Reina did not know what he planned next, or what tomorrow would bring. She only knew that, for now, they were safe. And she trusted that he did have a plan for what was to come next.

11

Galien had no real plan.

He had no sword. No horse. Not even dry clothes. How his brothers would laugh at his escaping the clutches of the bastard English king only to become feverish and die at the hands of a chill. “A man can be killed as readily by the cold as he can the tip of a sword,” their father was fond of saying. “Wits are a man’s most valuable defense.”

Unfortunately, Galien’s seemed to have deserted him. Having little sleep for three days did not aid matters. Thankfully, his lovely companion had no such qualms. She slumbered even now against him, a pleasing thought if they were not both soaked to the bone despite the noises she made. Reina did warn him about those.

He considered remaining here for the day, travelling once again by nightfall. Though the area had been searched, the guards could just as easily double back and discover he and Reina if they became too careless on their journey.

However, staying on Anbarth property for an extended period of time did not excite him either. Nor did the thought of splitting up, of him attempting to find food and a weapon. Her safety was his responsibility, even if the very men who hunted them were her own. She’d put herself in a precarious position setting him free, and so Galien dismissed that idea too.

As the sun began to show its face, the lady stirred. Reluctant to give her up just yet, even though his back felt as if it had become part of the tree he leaned on, Galien pulled the plaid more tightly over them.

“You shiver,” he said, the realization making his decision for them.

“I fear the wet covering is doing little to protect us.”

Indeed, though the rain had stopped for a spell, it was once again ensuring the mud on their face and hands needed constant re-applying. All eve Galien had periodically done so, Reina waking only the first time had he slathered more of it on her face. After that, she hardly stirred. The trust she’d placed in him was staggering.

He’d tried not to notice the smoothness of her cheeks as his fingers moved. He’d hardened more than once moving down to Reina’s slender neck, ensuring no skin could be seen.

In truth, Galien had felt a protectiveness toward her since the moment he realized her likely identity. His family and clan were more important to him than anything, even the cause he felt compelled to fight for. Unlike his father, who attempted to navigate the growing movement for Scotland’s independence without claiming allegiance to any one individual, Galien had proclaimed his loyalty to William Wallace. And had been paying dearly for it since the day he first left home to fight for him.

“When you are ready, we will move.” He lifted the plaid from them. Reina gathered her wet gown and stood awkwardly.

“I am sorry you have no maid to attend to you. And that you are wet, hungry, I am certain.” He stood as well. “And scared.”

The terror he had seen in her eyes last eve tore his heart into two. He knew the look well. Reina was afraid to die. Nor could he reassure her the thought was an outlandish one. When the king learned of his escape, he would ask for the circumstances around it. Both Reina and her parents were at risk from a vengeful king who knew little mercy. Unless, of course, they could spin a tale he might believe and trust in their guards to keep such a secret.

But secrets had a way of being revealed.

“Yet you were not?

“I was,” he admitted. “Only a fool would not have been.”

“But. . . you did not appear to be. And you aided me—” She stopped.

“When you were afraid. You can say as much, Reina. Admitting your fears does not make you weak.”

She scrunched her nose, the dried mud on her face crackling. “I was afraid.”

He could not tell her not to be, as they were very much still in danger. But he would say the same to her as he would any member of his clan. Reina was his responsibility now. “I will die before you are harmed.” Galien did not wait for her reaction. Repositioning the plaid around him, he moved away, just behind a bush. “You will do well to relieve yourself before we move, my lady. I will remain here.”

No response.

Finally, he did hear the crackle of leaves and sticks. Galien waited until she called out, quickly, “I am finished.”

He found her fixing her gown, one ill-suited for travel. At first, they walked slowly, but as they continued on their path north with no signs of Anbarth guards, the thicket continuing to shield them, he began to relax. They spoke little, Galien worried that their voices might carry or distract them from potential unwanted visitors. He foraged for berries; a fire was impossible under the circumstances even if he did manage to find meat without so much as a dagger.

By midday, the clouds parted. The nearby sound of running water and no evidence of being followed thus far convinced him to do the very thing he wished was not necessary. Leading her to the water, Galien told her his plan. “The sound of the water will cover our voices. And though we will be more exposed for a time, ’tis necessary to dry our clothes. We will undress, lay them out while we wash, rest, and be on our way by nightfall.”