Dare he believe? Dare he not?
He remained unsure till he and the pony had walked some distance, for he led the animal by its reins, and the ground began to slant down gradually. Not even then did he mount and ride. He wanted his feet against the ground and no chance for the pony to take him astray.
He caught no glimpse of Toren or Kerr, and no longer felt as if anyone watched him.
Chapter Eight
It grew darkas night. A storm moved in from the sea with the speed so often employed, turning what had been a lovely day into windy wet.
Bradana did not consciously choose her direction. Her foray out to seek Adair was not about anything so rational as conscious thought. It seemed more a pull, and so she let it pull her.
She could hear the other searchers for a time until, as Kendrick had said, they spread out. He’d sent out many of the men who habitually went hunting. Kerr and Toren had, in the end, been left behind.
She did not fear getting lost. She knew these woods too well, being in the habit of going off by herself when things at home became unbearable. Besides, she had Wen.
The hound ranged ahead of her and from side to side, but he always came back and, as if checking in with her, gazed into her eyes. She had not brought a pony but went afoot, and took a more northerly track than the others had.
All around her, Alba spoke. It did so in the rustling of the bushes as the wind blew in from the sea. The flight of birds, the sound of her footsteps on deep loam. To her, this land was not so much a place as a living being, one that held an ancient kind of magic as aware of her as she was of it.
Dark, aye—especially now—mysterious and somehow loving. Such was her Alba. So she whispered to the land as she went, speaking in her heart.Take me to him.
A hawk arose with a great flapping of wings and flew northeastward. She veered to follow it.
The first drops of rain came slowly, making a pattern of sound, here, there, great splotches like hands striking a bodhran drum.
Wen raced back to her side then darted off again, looking back at her over one furry shoulder.
Again, she followed.
He appeared through the trees walking slowly and leading the pony. He looked like a vision—one of the gods, perhaps, loose in the world. Indeed, it took Bradana an instant to recognize him even though her heart knew. Her heart knew at once and leaped ahead to him.
His step did not falter when he saw her; he merely corrected course slightly so he could meet with her. He did not pause till they faced one another.
“Mistress Bradana.”
“There ye be, then. Everyone is out looking for ye.”
One brown eyebrow rose. “So ye have found me.”
“So I have.” She performed a swift inspection of him. Brown hair tangled. Boots covered in pine needles and loam. Tunic opened at the throat, allowing her a glimpse of what lay beneath. “Are ye hurt?”
He shook his head.
“Those two scoundrels Kerr and Toren deserted ye?”
“Your brothers, aye.”
“They are no’ my brothers,” she informed him swiftly. “My mother merely married wi’ their father.”
He gave her that lightning smile of his. “Fortunate for ye.”
“No’ so fortunate, since I have had to put up wi’ them all these years.” She turned. “Come along. ’Tis raining harder.”
But he was busy caressing Wen, who had greeted him enthusiastically, rubbing the hound’s neck and ears. Bradana imagined those beautiful hands touching her own body and flushed with heat.
She didnotwant that. She did not want him. She had never fallen into the weakness of wanting a man.
“Are we far from the settlement?”
