She nodded, impressed by his knowledge of the Highlands. “Earlier I caught a touch of a French accent in your voice. Did you grow up here?”
Caution darkened his gaze. “I have traveled the land on occasion.”
Far more than a few infrequent trips. Few understood the dangerous cut of the mountains well enough to make such succinct plans without the aid of a map.
A gust swept through the forest thick with the scent of winter. Branches shook and clumps of snow tumbled to the ground. Another burst of wind howled through the trees.
Thomas glanced skyward, frowned. “A storm is moving in.”
Angry clouds churned overhead, and she tugged her cape close. The last thing they needed was to become stranded in a blizzard. “We have ridden less than a day. Mayhap ’tis best if we turn back.”
“Nay. After we left, the king and his forces departed. With the enemy nearby, ’tis too dangerous to retrace our steps. Come.” He kicked his destrier into an easy canter.
After one last glance behind her, with a resigned sigh, Alesone followed.
Against the whip of wind, bare branches rattled overhead as she crested the next knoll.
Suddenly, an arrow whipped past.
Thomas glanced over his shoulder, cursed. “Ride hard!”
Panic swept her as she caught sight of several men charging in her direction. Alesone leaned low and urged her horse into a gallop.
Another arrow hissed by.
Her horse stumbled. “Thomas!”
The fierce knight glanced over. With a curse he hauled her before him as her mount started to fall. “Hang on!” He dug his heels into his steed. Muscles bunched as his destrier jumped a fallen tree, landed with a smooth glide and raced through the forest.
Shouts of their attackers filled the air.
She glanced back, gasped. “There are at least fifteen men!”
Thomas shifted in the saddle. “Blast it!”
Alesone turned, caught the streak of pain on his face before he turned back. “Are you hurt?”
“Hold tight!” Thomas whirled his steed, raced toward a thick stand of fir. Brush slapped their bodies as they pushed through the thick-bristled limbs. Moments later the dense fir gave way.
“Bedamned!” Thomas cursed.
“What is—” Paces ahead the ground fell away. “There’s a cliff!”
“Aye.” His arm tightened around her. “Hold on!”
Muscles bunched beneath her.
A scream tore from her mouth as his steed jumped.
Air, cold and laced with snow, assaulted her as his warhorse half-slid, half-stumbled down the steep incline. By sheer miracle they reached the bottom without his mount collapsing against the slick surface.
Hooves scraped against ice and rocks as the horse steadied himself. “Good lad.” Thomas reined him toward the stand of trees, and then urged him into a gallop.
Miles flew by, the fearlessness of the knight’s every decision leaving Alesone stunned. Regardless the danger, the impossibility of the landscape they faced, he never hesitated; choosing numerous paths she never would have considered.
At the top of the next knoll, he drew his mount to a halt, his breathing hard. “’Tis growing too dark to keep up this pace.”
Relief swept her. For a crazy moment, she’d believed he would continue riding hard throughout the night. “With the waning light ’twill be difficult for them to track us.”
