With stealth, Gwendolyn brushed her hand against the dagger that lay hidden beneath her clothing. How much farther until they reached King Robert’s camp? She had to escape before then.
A man’s shoutsounded nearby.
“’Tis Comyn’s men,” Sir Cailin hissed to the others. “Follow me.” He cut hard toward a dense stand of fir.
Through the branches, she glimpsed several of her liege lord’s knights in the distance. Her heart slammed in her chest. They were leaving! Using her shoulder, she pushed her gag down.
Sir David grabbed her arm. “Cease!”
She started to twist away, caught sight of the warriors disappearing in the distance. Gwendolyn sagged. Even if she called out now, at this distance, Comyn’s men would never hear her. For any chance to escape before they reached the Bruce’s camp, she couldn’t raise her captors’ suspicions further.
The rich scent of pine, the scrape of needled limbs, and the soft thud of hooves filled the air as their steeds pushed between the thick boughs.
Shielded within the dense cover, Sir Cailin waved the men to halt. Face taut, he guided his mount over. “Had you succeeded in alerting Comyn’s men,” he said, his words ice, “for their gallantry in trying to rescue you, they would have died.”
The arrogant toad! “Seasoned knights or not, with you and your warriors outnumbered more than three to one, my liege lord’s men would have defeatedyou with ease.”
“I willna discuss the incompetence of Lord Comyn’s forces,” Cailin said, his voice raw with frustration. “You have naught to fear. I swear to you, you willna be harmed.”
She scoffed. “After the lies you have fed me, I should trust you?”
Cailin scowled. “Believe what you will.” He nodded to Sir David.
Her captor secured the clothover her mouth.
However curious, she smothered the temptation to glance toward Aiden. After his carefully crafted lies, he did not deserve her concern.
With a nod, Cailin reined his mount forward; his men followed.
Wind slid through the trees as they wove their way through the dense boughs. Halfway down the incline, they broke free of the shielding limbs. Sir David’shold loosened.
Cailin’s mount ahead of them stumbled, and then found firm footing. “’Tis slick with moss,” he called to his men.
As her captor’s horse stepped onto the soft ground, his mount faltered. Gwendolyn fell forward and caught the steed’s mane.
Bent low and blocked from her captor’s view, she withdrew her dagger, hid the weapon within the outer folds of her clothing. Silently cheering her success, she sagged back, as if she had succumbed to fatigue.
“Steady, lad,” Sir David said to his mount, and then guided him onto firmer ground, while the other riders surrounding them separated to avoid the slippery terrain.
Thankful for the knight’s diverted attention, her movements awkward with her hands bound, she carefully positioned the blade, edge up, beneath the knot securing the ties. With each of the horse’s steps, the rocking motion brought the rope against thedagger’s edge.
The twisted hemp scraped.
She held her breath, waited for her captor to try to seize her weapon.
The warrior continued guiding his destrier through theweave of trees.
Confident the thud of hooves on the rock and moss smothered the steel severing woven hemp, she pressed the rope harder against the dagger.
Severalstrands frayed.
The tightness on her wrists eased.
A hawk screeched, its wingspan daunting as its majestic shadow rippled across the canopy of leaves overhead.
The ground angled down, and a gust of wind laden with summer heat, the scent of earth, and fir filled the air. Patches of moss littered the slope, increasing until, near the bottom, the spongy growth covered every rock until ’twas hard to distinguish where the stones ended and the grass began. The faint rush of watersounded ahead.
They were riding back toward the river. Why? There could be only one reason. They must be nearing the Bruce’s camp.
