A man’s voice echoed ahead.
Patrik hauled Cristina behind a clump of brush. Blood pounding, he scanned the dense forest. “Stay here.”
“Let me go with you.”
“Nae. I will be back in a trice. Once I see who is ahead, I will return.”
Worry shadowed her face, and she nodded.
He slipped from the thicket.
At the next knoll, he glanced back. The dense wash of green hid Cristina. Keeping to the shadows, using the thick bushes as a shield, he made his way forward.
Ahead, a break in the trees exposed an open field. Amidst the sea of green, interspersed with patches of heather and broken by wildflowers, stood a crofter’s hut. The smoke they’d seen came not from charred remains, but swirled out of the chimney.
Still, he would take no chances. Though normally a home to Scots, he knew neither to whom they swore their fealty, nor whether English knights lay within.
A solid thunk had him glancing east.
Another had him slipping along the edge of the forest toward the sound. A short distance away, a burly man wielded an ax upon a felled tree. By the man’s garb, he was a Scot. Still, he’d assume nothing.
Patrik remained hidden a while longer to ensure the man was alone. Then, with his hand on the hilt of his sword, he emerged from the woods.
The burly man made to take his next swing, halted. Eyes narrowed, he lowered his ax, but he didn’t let go. “Ho there.” Caution sounded in his words.
“Good day to you,” Patrik said.
The red-haired man made a quick scan of the words behind Patrik, then studied him with a wary eye. His gaze flicked to his sword. “You a Scot?”
“Aye.”
“A contingent of English knights rode through this morn. They were seeking a man and a woman.”
So, the English still pursued them. Not surprising since he’d left four of their men dead. “What did you tell them?”
He capped his hands upon the top of the ax. “That I had seen no one.”
“And now?” Patrik asked.
“The same.”
“Are you loyal to Scotland?”
“Aye, though the English believe otherwise.” Hard eyes watched him. “And you?”
“Until my last drop of blood stains the earth.”
The Scot scanned the edge of the forest, then met Patrik’s gaze. “And the lass?”
“Hidden.”
He grunted. “As well she should be. My name is Fergus. Bring her to sup. My wife would be enjoying another woman to talk to. And I have a daughter as well.”
“The English have left you unharmed?” Patrik asked, stunned.
The burly man crossed his arms, grunted. “With each visit, I have kept my family out of sight. So far, the knights have only watered their horses and taken a sheep or two when they pass.” He paused. “But I fear for my family’s safety.”
The red-haired man went on. “Bring your lass, you both can stay the night.”
