Fighting a wave of panic, Gwendolyn pressed the rope harder against the blade’s edge. After several more slides, thetie fell apart.
Heart pounding, she shoved the binding beneath her clothing, ignored the tingles at her wrists, and kept her hands out of his sight. When they rode near a thicket, she discreetly dropped the bindings.
Gwendolyn secured her blade. Fighting back exhaustion, she scoured the land, searching for anything that couldaid her escape.
“Sir Quentin,” Sir Cailin called. “Blood has started to seep from Aiden’s wound. We will halt in the firs ahead so I canstop the flow.”
Still bleeding. Irritated at herself that after his deception she’d still care, Gwendolyn smothered the thought of all he had done to keep her and her people safe. He deserved naught but her condemnation.
Beyond the rich green swath of grass, the churn of the water increased.
She clasped her dagger tight.
Sir David’s horse pushed into the thick stand of fir, separating them from the other riders.
Needled branches enveloped them, and she fisted her free hand in the horse’s mane.
A large bough loomed ahead.
Pulse racing, Gwendolyn leaned forward, as if ducking below the limb. Once enshrouded within the dense green, she dove toward the moss andneedled ground.
With a curse, Sir David caught the edge of her gown. “Halt!”
She jerked back, slammed against his mount’s shoulder. Teeth clenched, she twisted, slashed her blade.
Fabric tore.
Gwendolyn tumbled back, landing hard. Ignoring the burst of pain, she scrambled beneath the dense cover and outthe other side.
“She has escaped,” her captor roared from behind her.
Pine boughs scraped her face as she pushed to her feet, ran. Muttered curses and the muted thud of hooves sounded behind her as she raced toward the rush of water, her muscles screamingwith each step.
“I will catch her,” SirDavid shouted.
Pain cut through her chest and leaves slapped against her as she sprinted toward the water.
Hooves flashed at her side.
She veeredaround a rock.
Three stepsuntil the bank.
Two.
Highland-fed water spewed around her as she stepped into the rush. She gulpeda breath, dove.
Water erupted beside her. The warrior’s hand grabbed her shoulder and then pulled her up. Before she could whirl and fight, Sir David had torn her blade free. He cast the daggerinto the river.
His brows were slammed into a fierce frown as he wheeled her to face him. “Dinna move.” After a brisk search for any other weapons, he carried her to shore, withdrew another thick hemp tie, and this time secured her hands behind her back.
Gasping for breath, she narrowed her gaze. “If you believe this will stop me from escaping,you are wrong.”
Sir David lifted her until she was nose-to-nose to him. “And would you be able to use a weapon given another chance?” he demanded. “Feel a blade slice through flesh and watch the life fade from a man’s eyes, knowing you could kill someone who may have a family, people who care?”
“For my people, I will do what I must,” she snapped, but she could not deny that his words resonated. Fortunately, she hadn’t had to make sucha decision yet.
With a grunt, as if she were not more than an irritating midge, the warrior tugged her toward his mount, swung up, and then draggedher before him.
