“Is he all right?” Lyssa asked, coming to Ian’s side.
Ian didn’t answer. He found the wound on the stallion’s right flank. The bullet had grazed the horse and passed on. Heleaned his head against the horse’s rump and said a word of thanksgiving.
“Will your salve help?”
“We can try it.” He picked up the reins, lifted them up over the stallion’s head and handed them to her. “Hold him while I get my knapsack.” He also took a moment to find his pistol.
Moving swiftly, he soothed the salve over the stallion’s wound, caught Fielder’s horse, a chestnut, and mounted. “Come, let’s get out of here.”
“Ian, we can’t go off and leave my cousin and Mr. Fielder lying here.”
“We have no choice. Who knows who will be chasing us next, and I don’t want to be here waiting to see if they accept our explanations.” He held out his hand and she took it without further argument.
Ponying the stallion, they started riding across the field. It was another sign of the stallion’s temperament that he didn’t balk at the arrangement. The beast was a jewel, a royal jewel.
Ian headed them south—toward London. They didn’t talk. Lyssa was very still and he feared she was having a hard time accepting the sudden turn of events.
When they came to a shallow stream, Ian urged the horses into it and followed its course for as long as he could. He had no illusions. A cry would be put out once the bodies were discovered. He could be held in suspicion of Fielder and Davidson’s deaths. Lyssa and the evidence would show himblameless…but there was still the tricky matter of a price on his head. He had no desire to tweak the nose of the local authorities, not when he was so close to gaining everything he’d ever wanted.
Lyssa stayed in his arms, so tired she eventually fell asleep sitting up, her head against his chest. Her precious plaid was still wrapped around her shoulders. Dark clouds rolled in on the horizon, blocking the moon. Ian kept on.
The night sky grew lighter. He had no idea where they were or how far they’d come. Close to dawn, he finally sensed they were safe. Lyssa had roused several times during the night. She was awake but too quiet for his comfort.
He wished he knew what she was thinking. He feared the worst. He had seen many men go through this same phase after battle. He’d wondered why even hardened soldiers were always surprised to discover death was no more than a stone’s throw away. It seemed to him he’d always lived with death right at his shoulder.
Lyssa, however, was different. She needed a safe place in order to come to terms with what had happened.
And he prayed she didn’t blame him.
In the dim light of a murky dawn, he spotted an abandoned shepherd’s bothy. They had traveled from the main roads, taking paths only shepherds and hunters would know.
The bothy was built beside a hill and was made of jumbled boulders piled one on top of another. The door hung loose on one leather hinge. There was a drink trough by the entrance full of brackish water. Dry, gray thatch covered the roof.
Ian hopped down and reached to help Lyssa off the chestnut. In the distance, he heard the rumble of thunder and the air felt heavy. Their horse took a skittish step and Lyssa fell into his arms.
Carrying her into the bothy, he put her down gently. The room was swept clean and dry. The hard stone floor would have to do.
She opened her eyes, disoriented.
“Wait for me,” he said quietly.
She nodded.
Outside, both horses were already grazing. Ian unsaddled them, hobbling both with the reins. Neither gave him a worry. The chestnut turned out to be a gelding and of good quality. Ian felt repaid for the horses Fielder had stolen from him in the beginning.
The first huge drops of rain hit the ground just as he ducked inside, saddles and bridles in hand.
Lyssa still sat where he’d placed her.
“A storm’s coming,” he said.
The frown formed between her brow. She tilted her head as if she might have heard his voice but wasn’t certain.
He moved to stand in front of her. “Are you all right?”
Her frown deepened. Her jaw tightened. She reached up and yanked at the plaid, pulling it off and tossing it aside, her actions speaking louder than words what she was feeling.
Ian picked the tartan up and spread it on the ground, using a saddle for a pillow. “Here, lie down. You need the rest.”
