Page 75 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

She let the numbness take her. Let the miles pass unmarked, the darkness deepened unnoticed. It was easier than feeling.

An hour past sunset, a flicker of light broke through her stupor.

A campfire. Warm and orange against the black moor.

Florence tensed. Her hand moved instinctively to the knife hidden in her boot. The one Matthew had given her, shown her how to hold, how to strike.

But Matthew didn't reach for his blade.

Instead, he turned the horses towards the light.

"Don't be alarmed." His first words in hours. "These are my friends. They'll escort us across the border."

She stared at him. "Friends?"

"Men I trust." He glanced at her, and something of the old Matthew surfaced. A faint warmth, a slight easing of tension. "You'll be safe with them."

The fire grew larger as they approached. Half a dozen figures sat around the flames, their voices a low murmur across the empty moor.

One of them rose. Enormous. Even from a distance, Florence could see he towered over the others, and when Matthew climbed down from the wagon, the man dwarfed him too.

"Who goes there?"

"The devil himself," Matthew called back. "Come to collect your miserable souls."

A beat of silence. Then the giant let out a bark of laughter.

"Bloody hell. It's Collins."

Matthew turned back to Florence, extending his hand to help her down. His grip was warm, steady.

Then he released her and was engulfed by the camp.

The giant, Brennan, she gathered from the shouts, pulled Matthew into a crushing embrace, slapping his back hard enough to echo across the moor.

"You bastard. Six months without a word. We thought Carrick's men had finally caught up with you."

"Takes more than Carrick's men to kill me."

"Aye, we know. God knows we've tried ourselves."

More laughter. More rough greetings. Florence hung back at the edge of the firelight, observing.

The men were a motley collection. Brennan, the giant, had a beard gone grey at the edges and hands like dinner plates. Beside him stood a stocky, ruddy-faced man with a gap-toothed grin. Duff, she learned, when he elbowed his way forward to bow theatrically in her direction. A third man lurked at the edge of the fire, lean and watchful, a scar running from his temple to his jaw. Tam. And there were others: a younger man with a crooked nose, another with arms covered in faded tattoos, a third missing two fingers on his left hand.

Fighters, all of them. Marked by their trade.

"Who's this, then?"

Duff approached with a grin that suggested he found everything amusing. He elbowed his way past the others and made an exaggerated bow.

"Duff," Matthew said, a warning note in his voice.

"What? I'm being polite." Duff straightened and winked at Florence. "Don't often see Collins with a woman. Don't often see Collins with anyone, truth be told. Solitary bastard, this one."

"Duff." Sharper now.

"Alright, alright." Duff raised his hands in surrender but kept grinning. "Just curious, is all."