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And just as well too, for if he turned and saw them following, he’d attack.
He was too far away for Ailsa to call to.
And she didn’t have the breath in her to shout. It took everything she had to keep running. She was herself again now, and aware of her burning lungs and screaming muscles.
The ground shuddered then as arrows thudded into the mud around them.
Archers on the walls were trying to bring them down.
Run.
Run.
Run.
A few strides later, they were out of range and crashing through the pines.
The cool, sharp scent of conifers slammed into Ailsa then; perfume after the stench of the fort. Sticky branches whacked her in the face, but she kept running, sweat slicking her skin now.
It was all she could do to keep Fern in her sights.
Even injured, the huntress flitted in and out of trees, moving like light and shadow, while Ailsa kept stumbling over roots, slipping on moss and mud.
Once, Fern doubled back through the trees just far enough to be sure they were both still upright, still moving. Ailsa met her gaze briefly and caught the concern flickering in her gray eyes. A moment later, she bounded ahead once more.
Ailsa stumbled on.
Eventually, her limbs grew clumsy. Nausea now bit the back of her throat.
What had she turned into back there?
She barely remembered much of it, just the wild joy of killing. The blood that splattered her face and hands damned her. Fern and Kayla had fought for their lives, had taken no pleasure in it, but not her.
The memory that lingered wasn’t fear, but exhilaration.
Don’t think about it. She shoved the horror down. Keep moving.
She did, sucking in deep breaths of damp air, sharp with pine resin.
She couldn’t believe it. They were free—away from the suffocating stone walls of Craeg Aonaranach. The realization was almost dizzying; however, it wasn’t long before exhaustion eclipsed the thrill of escape.
And just when she thought she couldn’t go on, just when her legs threatened to collapse under her, the trees drew back, and they burst into a small glade.
Moss covered the ground, and there, in the midst of the clearing, stood two saddled horses and a large brown stag.
Without a word, Fern reached the stag and vaulted lightly up onto his back.
And as Ailsa stumbled across to her, she recognized one of the horses. A powerful roan.
Warmth flowered in her chest, even as she heaved in deep, ragged breaths. Rùn. Darach’s stallion.
The other was a heavyset bay cob with a long face.
“Get up,” Fern panted. Even she was out of breath now, sweat slicking her face, her injured arm cradled tight against her ribs. She’d flung her axe aside shortly after they’d fled the fort, and color was now returning to her cheeks. “They’ll be here in moments.”
Neither woman argued. Ailsa went straight for Rùn, mounting as Darach had shown her and clumsily gathering the reins. Meanwhile, Kayla swung up with far more elegance onto the cob’s back.
“Wait,” Ailsa gasped, glancing around. “What about Darach?”
