He’d managed to keep Moira close to his side. Not an easy task as she kept wanting to hurry ahead.
“I need ye to stay close,” he ordered for the umpteenth time.
Moira only threw a droll look over her shoulder and pushed her horse forward.
He believed it was a single person. What he’d heard didn’t allude to more than that. He needed to draw the man out so he could find out why he followed them. Ask him what he sought.
In a short time, they came to a small village. Located on MacLeod lands it was mainly a farming village that consisted of about twenty families. Errol could use the distraction of the bustling village to see if the man would show his face.
“We’ll stop here for a brief respite.”
“I think we should move forward. There’s no sense in wasting time here.” Moira stated as if she kenned what they should do better than he.
He raised a brow at her, letting her ken he was tired of her questioning his every move. “Ye need rest. The horses need rest. We willbe on our way after a meal.”
Moira looked around, her nose scrunched in the cutest way.
What was he thinking?
He was thinking that when she did that the freckles on her cheeks became more prominent. Her eyes more blue.
Errol closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She was the last thing he needed to be admiring. She was his enemy. His family’s enemy.
Responsible for the death of his brother.
Why he hadn’t turned them around and returned to the Macleod Keep yet was something that he still couldn’t comprehend.
That was a lie. For he kenned that whilst he shouldn’t, he wanted to spend as much time with Moira as he could.
They walked their horses over to a stable and handed the reins over to the stable lad that waited patiently for them.
When Errol had helped Moira dismount, he dropped his head low, whispering in her ear, “stay close.”
Her blue eyes rounded, and her breath hitched. “Are they here?”
He kenned exactly who she was referring to. The bandits from earlier. But they werenae going anywhere. Errol had made sure of that.
“Nay. ’Tis but a small village and ye’re safe here. However, ye still wear the Hart colors.”
At that, she clutched her cloak tighter around her neck.
No one here would hurt Moira whilst she was in his presence, but that didn’t stop them from throwing angry looks in her direction when they passed.
“Come. Let us sup and then we can continue on our journey to the sea.”
In a small pub, they sat at a table along the far wall. Errol sat so he could see everyone that walked in the door. Whoever was following them would no doubt show themselves here as well. They ordered stew and ale, and Errol’s eyes scanned the pub whilst they waited fortheir food.
A man entered, and Errol immediately recognized him. Their gazes clashed afore the man’s slid over to Moira, a look of disgust blanketing his face.
“MacLeod,” he called as he approached their table. “May I have a word?”
“Lachlan.” Errol stood and acknowledged the man. He was a warrior. One of Errol’s father’s guards. And most likely the person that had been following them. “Ye’ve been trailing us for some time. Any reason?”
His gaze once again slid to Moira as he sucked on a blade of grass between his teeth.
Moira watched the exchange silently and Errol noticed she’d drawn in her cloak just a little tighter than afore. As if that would offer her any shelter from whatever attack she perceived was coming her way.
“I need a word. Alone.”
