A soft sob broke from Orle’s throat. What would MacNabh do to the maid, if he got them back? Darlei had a pretty fair idea what he would do toher. Confinement would be the least of it. But a disobedient servant?
He would likely separate them so they could not scheme again. He might beat Orle, this gentle soul who had proved to be so constant a friend, with none to stop him, if they retreated to his stronghold.
Urgency enveloped Darlei, making her start to sweat. They had to move slowly here, or risk injuring the pony as she’d injured Bradh, back when all this began.
She might never see her dear pony again. Silent tears slipped down her face. Or her mother, or father, or anyone back home. She might never see Deathan—
She stopped herself there, for the longing was too bright. She could not think on it. It would steal her strength.
They crossed a shallow stream, and she tried to look behind, through the dark boles of the trees.
Movement.
She turned her pony’s head and…
A piercing whistle came through the woodland.
Darlei cursed, then urged the pony on with her knees and her hands in his mane.
The beast stopped and stood with his head turned, looking back just as she had.
Darlei sobbed at him, a plea. “Go!” He did not move, for he’d been trained to stand at a whistle.
“What is it?” Orle asked. “What?”
“Stay there.” Darlei slid down onto her feet. Her legs threatened to go out beneath her, and she very nearly fell.
Strength, she ordered herself.
The rain now sounded at a distance, high up in the boughs of the trees. She could see two—nay, three forms on horseback, approaching. She could hear them, so close were they.
She had no weapon. No way to defend Orle and herself. She had only what MacNabh wanted.
She turned on the pony, thrust her face into his mane. “Go,” she beseeched him. And to Orle, more loudly, “Go! It is me he wants. Not you.”
Orle stared at her in horror. “But I can barely ride—”
“You will manage. You are strong. Ride for help. Go home—it is north and east of here. Tell Father all that has transpired.”
The approaching riders were now so close, Darlei heard the hooves of the ponies on the fallen branches.
Orle reached for her. “I cannot—”
“You must. I am counting upon you.” Darlei gave the pony a hard swat on the rump. It went against everything within her to cause an animal pain. She had one glimpse of Orle sliding up to grasp the beast’s mane before the pony took off across the rivulets ahead and on northward.
Would MacNabh whistle for him again?
He did not. Instead he quickened his pace toward Darlei, who stood, her heart beating so hard in her chest that it made her lightheaded.
She watched him come, a big, dim shape on his pony. The three riders surrounded her, so close she could clearly see the rage in MacNabh’s eyes.
“Do no’ try to run. If ye do, I will ride ye down.”
She believed him. Fury flared in his eyes. She had rarely seen a man so angry. If she ran, the next thing she would feel would be his pony’s hooves on her back.
“Chief, should we go after the other lass?”
“Dunna bother. She is but a servant. Though I hate to lose a fine pony, ’tis good riddance to the woman.”
