The man only glared at him.
“Don’t stand either until we’re out of sight,” Rhiannon added. “Or I’ll be forced to put this dagger in your other shoulder.”
Ian raised his brows at her, surprised at her threat. Who was this woman? Certainly not the damsel he had thought she was.
“Shall we?” She indicated the horse.
“After ye, my lady.”
She shrugged and climbed up, snapping her fingers to Goosie, who’d finished her meal and leapt into Rhiannon’s lap.
The man on the ground grumbled, holding a wad of torn fabric to his wound. His son, however, seemed oblivious and was picking up sticks and tossing them the same way Rhiannon had thrown her knife. That likely irritated his father, having his son idolize the people who’d maimed him.
“Be a good lad, and take care of your da,” Ian said.
The lad dropped the stick and turned to his father. “Are you all right, Da?”
Ian didn’t wait for the answer but leaped onto his horse and urged him into a gallop through the field. The child had warned them his uncles and cousins were close. They were likely very near an outlaw camp, and the last thing he needed was for them to be caught in the middle of it.
They’d not get out as lucky as they had now. Not by a long shot.
5
Rhiannon jolted awake to a loud crack of thunder that shuddered her bones, followed by Goosie screeching and clawing her way up Rhiannon’s chest in painful scratches.
Ian’s grip around her waist and the steady gait of George beneath her grounded her at least in where she was.
As she tried to calm her cat, she gazed at the blackening sky and wrinkled her brow. From the dark shades of the heavens and the ominous swirling clouds, they were in for a mighty storm. A gust of wind blew, sending a shiver up her spine. As if to prove her point, a streak of lightning lit the gloomy gray, and another clap of thunder startled Goosie, who leaped out of her arms to the ground below, darting off into the shadows in search of safety.
“Goosie,” she called, wrenching forward in the saddle, ready to leap down herself though they were still moving.
“Dinna fash, lass. She’ll find us.” Ian’s tone was calm, his hold solid.
Even still, all she could do was worry. It was dark, and Goosie didn’t know where they were any more than she did.
Another gust of wind rustled up her skirts and through her hair, snapping her locks back into Ian’s face. He sputtered against the onslaught of her unkempt mane as she tried to wrangle it back under control, her arms flailing and trying to catch the long strands that had come loose from her plait—as they were apt to do in almost all situations.
“Damn,” Ian mumbled, and the edge to his tone caused her to look back and see his face was pointed toward the sky. “We’ll no’ make it over the border as I’d hoped. We need to find shelter before the storm gets too bad. We’ll be drenched soon, and ’tis unsafe to ride in a storm.”
“Will our enemies stop?” she asked, thinking they had both an outlaw camp and her brother’s men looking for them in the woods. One false move and they were dead.
“Aye. They’ll no’ want to risk being wet for the journey and taking ill, nor injuring their horses on water-logged ground.”
Rhiannon hoped that was the case. The outlaws lived off the land and survived the outdoors all year long unless they were able to lay claim to someone’s home, she supposed. Or maybe if they were able to find a cave. She glanced around the thick woods, not spotting a single cave in sight. She glanced up at the tall trees, which looked like bent and twisted arms, wondering if the outlaws had made a home in the treetops.
Above her, raindrops splattered on leaves, a pitter-patter in the forest. A few droplets made their way through the foliage. One landed on her nose in an icy drop, slipping to the tip and off. Over and over, the droplets came. Not a torrential downpour yet, but it was coming.
As another rumble of thunder bellowed across the sky, this time even George flicked his ears in concern, his muscles rippling with warning beneath them.
Ian dismounted, whispering words to his horse she couldn’t make out as he stroked George’s neck. Whatever magic Ian was weaving seemed to calm the animal, whose skin ceased rippling beneath her. On foot, Ian led them deeper into the wood, where the rain took a longer path through the thick leaves to land on their heads. Finding nowhere to seek shelter, Ian settled on a massive tree, thick with foliage, which had a hollowed-out bottom for them to at least keep their supplies dry.
“We’ll have to huddle here for a wee bit.”
Rhiannon agreed, dismounting and helping him store his saddlebags in the hollow so their supplies wouldn’t be ruined. He took off his horse’s saddle and told her she could use it as a seat. Then he unrolled the plaid blankets he carried with him. Rhiannon settled onto the saddle, the leather still warm from their ride, and stared around the hazy forest for any signs of Goosie. She was glad they’d removed the bell, but it also made it hard to hear if her cat was nearby. Her mind told her to trust her pet while her heart wanted to burst from worry. Goosie had come back more than once now. This was no different—though, she would be terrified in a storm.
“Put this over your head for protection. It will also keep you warm.” Ian held out one of the unrolled blankets.
Rhiannon took the offer. The fabric was thick, and while not exactly soft, it wasn’t rough either. She wrapped it around herself and over her head like a cloak, tucking her knees close to her chest. Warmth instantly encompassed her.
