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Galien had only himself to blame. He should never have kissed her. Now, with every hard bounce, every time Reina’s grip tightened on his waist, Galien remembered her lips against his. Her tongue, so tentative at first. How she’d readily opened for him, gave herself to him.

Her world had come crashing down around her the day he answered her question honestly. Aye, he knew of Dennochbrook. Yet he could not have known how he’d have been the cause of such extraordinary upheaval for her. A woman who’d been happy, somehow avoiding the ravages of a war just outside the walls of her home. She’d endured so much since then, because of him.

And then he’d taken advantage of her. Galien had slept outside her door, berating himself for giving in to a weakness he hadn’t known he possessed until now. He’d vowed not to do it again. But now, less than a day later, he could think of nothing else. Their kiss had changed everything, however. Pretending it meant nothing did not seem to be working.

“You’ve been so quiet today,” she said. Galien could feel her breath on his ear Reina was so close to him.

“What will you do?” he asked in response, not willing to discuss the reason for her apt observation. “With the knowledge of your birth?”

“I will never betray you, Galien.” She moved even closer to him, if such a thing were possible. He stirred, took a deep breath to calm himself, and tried again.

“I do not ask for myself, Reina.” Before she answered, he pointed to a ridge just ahead. “Scotland.”

“Truly?”

Galien slowed his mount, knowing he courted danger. Shifting positions, he turned as best he could in the saddle. “Truly.”

“’Tis beautiful.”

Galien agreed with her. There was something beautiful about that ridge—maybe knowing he was home. “We are safe now, Reina. Your father’s men would not come through here.”

“How have I not heard of this passage before?”

Her eyes found his, and he was lost.

“Your king does not acknowledge its existence, but his men, and those loyal to him, avoid travelling north and east of Bristol. From there to the coast, to Kenshire Castle, and then north with Brockburg to the west and Highgate End to the east. . .” He could tell her more of their alliance with Clan Scott, of his cousin Breac’s appointment as Lord Warden of the Eastern Marches and his role in keeping this area safe. But the words did not come. He should never have spun toward her.

Galien would have turned back around, but the look she gave him stopped him. It was a look of longing, and need. He leaned toward her.

Her lips were so soft. Galien could wake up kissing her, spend his day kissing her and still need to feel them again by nightfall. Reina knew, now, what to do. He groaned as her lips glided over his, as her tongue, tentative at first, tangled with his own. He was so lost in her that he heard the horses much later than he should have. Breaking away from her, Galien grabbed the reins and spun them south, toward the sound.

Despite what he’d told her, this was no ordinary circumstance. Even if Anbarth knew she’d gone willingly, his men had likely been told she had not. For all purposes, they hunted for an escaped companion to William Wallace and the baron’s daughter who was his prisoner. But would they be so bold as to follow them here?

The last contingency of English knights that had ventured through the passage intending to wreak havoc and prove they were not afraid of the Waryn-Kerr alliance had each seen the end of a hangman’s noose on Truce Day. That was, however, before King Edward had essentially declared open war by installing a spy as his cousin’s wife, a woman the king forced Haydn to marry. Thankfully, she’d proved more loyal to her new husband than her own abhorrent father and King Edward. Though the repercussions of her changed loyalty were yet to be seen.

Galien’s present fears, it seemed, were for naught. As the hobblers came into view, he recognized them as reivers. Another unlikely ally of theirs.

“You travel fast,” the leader called out as the three men came into view. “Considering you have a companion riding with you.”

“A lovely companion,” the man behind him added.

“MacAdder,” Galien said, recognizing him. You’ve aged since we last met. Not seen thirty summers but a full head of grey hair.”

All three of the men were upon them then.

“The lost lady of Anbarth, I presume?” MacAdder responded.

“You’ve spoken to Rory?”

“Aye. Saw him just south of Keston House. He told us of your predicament. Four of us are still behind. We three ride ahead.”

“And in exchange for your escort?” Galien asked, only partly jesting.

“Will you mention to Breac we only borrowed Baron Chauncy’s sheep after he sent a contingency to retrieve cattle that was not his?”

“Borrowed?” Galien gave the reiver a knowing look. “Whose cattle was it then?” he asked, not really wanting the answer.

“It does not matter.” MacAdder rode his hobbler even closer to them. Galien’s own mount protested in response. Trying not to think of the one he’d lost during their capture, Galien patted the mare’s flank.