Page 16 of Blood of the Thistle

She lifted her bright eyes to him and made no effort to disguise her frustration.

“Seriously? You couldn’t have chosen an easier path?” she challenged.

The cords in her neck stood out while she tried to progress upward, pushing off from the tree, yanking on the spindly hazel twig.

Sighing for the inconvenience that she was, Bram retraced his steps toward her, taking hold of a low pine bough to secure his own footing while he reached down and offered his hand.

She glanced between her own hand and his, a foot away, as close as he could make it without sacrificing his solid position, before releasing the hazel branch and slapping her hand into his.

“Why didn’t we go around the mountain?” she grumbled as he drew her toward him.

He frowned at her characterization of the small beinn. “ʼTis nae a mountain.”

The look she gave him then, just as she managed to draw up level with him on the incline, suggested she distrusted his ability to judge. Still, holding his hand, she looked from the steep hillside towering above them to the valley disappearing below.

“Looks like a mountain to me.”

Bram ignored the remark, released her hand, and resumed climbing.

“Why didn’t we stay down there?” she asked after a moment. “It’s flatter—nothing but grass—and considerably easier than this... hike.”

“Were ye hunting me, where would ye look?” He countered.

“I... don’t know. I’m not a hunter.”

“They’ll search the roads, the fields, every village, the streams.” His gaze shifted toward the broken ground stretching above them. “They will nae choose the hard road—and will hope I have nae.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding as if she understood. “Okay, that makes sense—it sucks, climbing this thing that isn’t a mountain, but I get it.”

“I’ve little interest in being found.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do.”

As the sun began its slow descent, the hillside gave way to rough escarpments. Bram scanned the slabs of stone jutting from the earth, his eyes searching for cover. He dismissed a fissure too exposed to the wind, a hollow too damp. And then he saw a broad shelf of stone tucked beneath an overhang, deep enough to grant shelter from the rain and a clear view of the valley below. That would serve.

Bram stood at the precipice overlooking the valley and scanned the entire area, pleased to find it quiet and still, and for the first time since his escape, he allowed his shoulders to relax.

“We’ll remain here.”

The lass arrived only a few moments later and scanned the rocky spot. “Here?”

He frowned at her. “‘Tis dry.”

She opened her mouth, seemingly prepared to object, then closed it again. With what sounded like a forlorn sigh, she lifted the strap of her bag over her head and let it drop to the ground, and then stayed unmoving for a moment, staring out over the same vista he considered.

“I assume going down will be easier than climbing up,” she said a moment later as she sat, tucking herself deep against the rock wall beneath the overhanging ledge, pulling her bag into her lap.

He chose not to tell her that going down was not always the easier part. Climbing required more stamina, but descending often required more controlled strength, to keep from losing footing, and slipping and sliding all the way down.

He spent another minute surveying the land below and when he was satisfied, he finally allowed himself to sit. He ducked his head and lowered himself against the stone wall next to her, with considerably less dignity than he’d intended, the effort of simply bending his knees seeming to awaken every ache in his body he’d ignored throughout the day.

The moment he stopped, exhaustion descended like a shroud. All day, the need to keep moving had held it at bay. Now, it settled deep in his bones, a leaden weight that made even the drawing of a breath feel like labor. He let his head fall back against the cool rock and closed his eyes.

“I have water and granola bars, but not much else,” she said at his side, not more than a foot away, all the space the tight spot allowed.

He was, frankly, too exhausted to even drink water and he didn’t know what a granola bar was—and she hadn’t offered it specifically to him—so that Bram kept his eyes closed, expecting sleep to come quickly.

But then she tapped his arm, forcing him to open his eyes and turn his face toward her.