A Warrior's Soul (Highland Heartbeats Book 8)

by Aileen Adams

  The mare reared, hooves pawing the air before it landed on all fours again. Brice held up both hands, hoping his familiar scent would help calm the beast, while taking pains to calm his horse at the same time.

  “What does this mean?” Rodric asked, though none of them could possibly find an answer.

  The mare calmed herself, breathing heavily. “Something spooked her,” Fergus murmured, stroking the already sweat-soaked animal. Then, “What is this?” He slid his fingers beneath the pommel and came back with a ragged strip of blue silk.

  The same shade of blue Alana had been wearing.

  Brice’s blood turned to ice.

  “She ran away,” he whispered.

  “Oh, for the love of all that’s holy,” Rodric muttered. “Does she truly mean to kill herself?”

  “Possibly,” Brice replied, though he was hardly paying attention. “Something spooked the mare while Alana was riding. She fell from it. She may have been hurt.”

  “It will be nothing compared to what happens when Remington finds her,” Quinn observed.

  Brice shot him a filthy glare.

  Quinn held up both hands in defense. “Come now. Ye think we were all sleeping when you returned this morning? We heard what you two were on about. He’s a beast, not fit to marry anyone, much less a nice lass such as herself.”

  “I would run if I were her,” Fergus agreed.

  Brice locked eyes with Rodric, asking a silent question. Should they? And if they found her, what would they do?

  Many more hooves shook the ground, signaling the coming approach of a team of horses. He had to think quickly.

  “Get the mare off the road,” he decided, tossing his reins to Quinn before dismounting and leading the horse into the shadow of an alder, where he tied the reins off to a branch within moments of the arrival of four of Remington’s guards

  He recognized the leader, the same blonde-haired lad. He must have been the captain of the guards, always taking the lead.

  “Have you seen her?” he asked without preamble.

  Brice returned to the road, hands tugging at the waist of his trousers as though he’d just been relieving himself. “What’s the trouble?” he asked as he took the reins from Quinn.

  “Earl Remington sent us out to look for his bride,” the lad snapped. Gone was the bright, cheerful demeanor, replaced by cold disgust. “She seems to have run away.”

  Brice exchanged looks with his friends, shrugging. “We’ve just been on our way from the castle.”

  “She did not ride past you?” one of the other men asked.

  “Nay, I’m certain we’d have noticed,” Rodric replied, frowning and stroking his chin. “It does seem strange, does it not?”

  “She may well have cut through the woods and come around us,” Quinn offered. “After all, if she ran into one of you or even one of us, her plan would’ve been ruined.”

  “That’s so,” the captain agreed with a sneer. “The earl is terribly vexed—the guests are waiting. He wishes for none of this to reach their understanding.”

  “I would feel the same way,” Brice lamented, shaking his head. “She’s a slippery one, that lass. Tried to give us the slip once twice along the way, in fact.”

  The men brought their horses about, prepared to continue on. “If you see her, make haste in returning her. Earl Remington will make it worth your effort.”

  “You can be assured of it,” Brice said, waving as the four anxious guards continued at a high rate of speed away from them. Only when they were truly alone again did Brice mount his gelding, looking both ways down the road.

  “What do ye plan to do?” Rodric asked.

  “Find her, of course,” he replied. “If they didna see her on the road, we know she did not fall there. She must be in the woods, somewhere. You three go ahead. I will take this on myself.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Fergus replied.

  “Ye cannot stop me,” Brice argued.

  “I don’t believe any of us are wanting to stop ye,” Quinn assured him with a grin. “We’re going with ye.”

  “Aye. Do ye think none of us knows what the lass means to ye?” Rodric snickered. “Besides, she’s a Scottish lass. She’s one of ours.”

  Brice’s heart swelled with pride. “It’s a dangerous thing. What if he finds out?”

  “What of it?” Rodric shrugged. “And he will not. This is hardly the first time we’ve found ourselves in a tight spot.”

  And so, rather than continuing down the road and through the earldom, the four of them left the road and began walking the horses through the forest with Brice leading the mare by the reins.

  “Alana?” Brice called, albeit quietly so as not to arouse the attention of any stragglers to the search party. “Alana? Where are ye, lass?”

  29

  Alana crouched with her back to a birch tree, arms wrapped around her knees as the enormity of what she’d done sank into her bones.

  She had defied him.

  He might find her.

  And she no longer had anything to ride. For the second time, a horse had thrown her and bolted. This time, she had a squirrel to thank for it, as it had darted out from beneath a bush and spooked the poor thing.

  That mare was all she had left from Brice, and it had deserted her.

  Now, she would never catch up to him.

  “Oh, Brice,” she whispered, lowering her head as she began to weep. Tears stained her ruined gown, soaking into the silk. Such a beautiful gown, too.

  Yes, beautiful, but it would not serve her well once day turned to night and she began to shiver in earnest. She might just as well be unclothed.

  She would freeze to death. Or starve.

  When her bruised cheek throbbed, it served as a reminder that there were worse things to suffer through. Physical pain was one thing, it faded in time, sometimes rather quickly.

  Humiliation, on the other hand, did not. It grew and festered long after a blow was landed.

  He would have humiliated her time and again and thought nothing of it. That had been what decided her.

  It was not as if she had made her decision lightly. She’d known what she was getting herself into when she slipped into the stables and saddled up her mare with trembling hands, hardly breathing all the while.

  The seams along the bottom half of the gown had split when she’d climbed into the saddle, but the garment was already a lost cause, and there was no time to mourn it just then. She’d driven her heels into the mare’s sides and ridden at full gallop through the courtyard, through the gates, down the road, and toward the woods.

  She might even have laughed at some point, though it was all a blur by then.

  A rabbit hopped near her, causing her to jump and whisper one of the many colorful words she’d learned from Brice and the rest. Would that she had something to snare the rabbit with—then again, roasting would require a fire, and she did not dare build one for fear of attracting attention.

  What was he thinking, her would-be husband? His rage would be a frightful thing. His guests would soon wonder where she was, when the ceremony would begin.

  And there he would be, waiting in his red velvet, unable to answer.

  It was nearly enough to bring a smile to her face. At the very least, she had made certain he would not forget her. She’d hurt his pride.

  Strangely, her biggest concern of all was for Brice and the others. Would they get far enough from the castle and the earl’s lands before he sent someone to collect the silver they’d earned? For she would not have put such a despicable thing past him.

  Please, let them get away safely, she prayed, closing her eyes momentarily. Please, let them be all right. Let Brice return home, where they cannot find him.

  She could not stay where she was, so near the road—granted, she was deep enough into the forest that she could not see it, but that did not mean a search party would find it impossible to locate her. Standing was a slow process, her backside smarting even worse than he
r cheek had after having landed on it from horseback.

  “If I make it out of this with my life, I may never ride a horse again,” she muttered, lifting what was left of her gown to avoid tripping or ensnaring herself in brambles.

  Her slippers were rather ill-suited to the task at hand, having been intended for a wedding ceremony and the feast which would follow. Every stone, every root made her wince, but still, she continued. The memory of Edward Remington’s empty eyes was enough to keep her feet moving in spite of the pain.

  The trees grew sparser the longer she walked, the sunlight brighter, making her travel even more treacherous. Rather than wandering between them in plain sight, she took to darting from one to the next, waiting a moment in between to be certain there was no one watching.

  While she would have hoped to hear an approaching horse, there was no certainty that she would. There were times when the blood rushing in her ears drowned out the sound of anything else, even her own footsteps over twigs and dry leaves.

  Even so, the sound of a stream eventually reached her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered to the unseen presence which clearly guided her footsteps. The trickling grew louder, louder, with Alana nearly running out of sheer thirst until she burst through a green, leafy bush and found herself teetering on the sharp-sloping banks which led to the rushing stream.

  It was lined on both sides by towering, mighty trees, the species of which she was uncertain. She only knew they were enormous, as big as the tree which had fallen on the road and led to her second attempt at escaping.

  The trunks were thicker than the columns in the castle, and in some places, they grew nearly horizontal to the stream. As though they wished to bend down to take a drink, as she did once she scrambled down the steep decline.

  The water was a blessing, cool and fresh and nearly enough to revive her. She washed her hands, then carefully applied a handful of water to her aching cheek, providing a little relief.

  Where would she go from here? She might follow the stream, but where would it lead? Into one of the farms which belonged to the earl? Or past his land? Would word spread of her escape?

  That was a difficult question to ponder, for spreading the word of her escape would mean admitting his bride had run from him. Surely, the guests in the castle—she remembered them vividly and with disgust—would return home full of tales of Edward Remington’s humiliation.

  She had already heard how they gossiped and knew they would consider this a tale worth telling. And telling again.

  Even so, that might not happen for another day. Perhaps longer, depending upon when the guests left for home. She might have time to distance herself before she became infamous.

  Then, looking down at herself, she wondered how in the world a woman in a torn, stained silk gown would escape notice. Tears of frustration and fatigue filled her eyes, and she stomped her foot in consternation.

  Then, as if in reply, a twig snapped nearby.

  Her heart took off at a furious rate as her eyes moved back and forth, searching for a place to hide. The sound had come from behind her, so she dashed toward one of the low-stretching trees in front of her.

  A quick scramble up the bank meant scraping her hands and knees, but she was too far gone to notice. She hid herself behind the tree, gathering the ends of the gown up into a ball to avoid their hanging down in plain sight.

  It was difficult to breathe. She leaned against the rough bark, straining to hear what might be said—if, in fact, the intruder was human. It might easily have been a thirsty animal in search of water.

  “This is as good a way as any, I suppose.”

  She froze, holding her breath.

  A man’s voice.

  For a moment, she saw herself back in the keep, starved or beaten, locked away in her chambers. They would capture her, take her back no matter how she begged and pleaded.

  Even if they did, she would find another way. Even if it meant jumping from her window, she would do it. So long as she could be free in some way.

  It was difficult to hear everything over the sound of running water, but she managed to pick out some of the conversation.

  “…will need water.”

  “If only we knew how far it runs.”

  “Aye, if only we knew a great many things.”

  She clutched her chest, not daring to believe what her ears told her. That was a Scottish brogue, belonging to someone with a sharp tongue.

  That was Brice.

  She dared lift her head past the trunk, peering over it to where she had only been standing moments earlier. Sure enough, Brice and Quinn stood there, looking rather put-out as they scanned the area for any signs of her.

  “Brice!” she gasped, allowing her body to slide down the sloping bank.

  He was on her in a flash, lifting her to her feet before enfolding her in a tight embrace.

  “Och, lass, I feared we would never find ye in this forest.”

  “I thought I would never see ye again,” she murmured, her face pressed to his shoulder as her heart shouted for joy. It was him, really him, and he was holding her, and he would keep her safe as he always had. She need not fear.

  “Do ye think I would leave you in these woods, all alone?”

  “How was I to know you would find out?” She was reluctant to pull away but wished to look up at him. “How did ye?”

  “The mare met us on the road,” he replied with a smile which turned into a snarl when he got a better look at her face and the bruise she bore. “Och, the bastard.”

  “I’m all right, truly.” In fact, it no longer pained her, strange as it seemed. She wondered if anything would ever pain her again.

  “Is this what made you run? He struck ye?”

  “Aye,” she whispered, swallowing back the lump which had formed in her throat. “He did. I couldn’t…”

  “You’ll never have to.” He held her tighter than before, one hand stroking her hair. “You’ll never have to, lass. I will see to it.”

  “Well, well,” Rodric called out from over Brice’s shoulder. “It’s glad we are to see ye, lass.”

  “No gladder than I, I’m certain,” she whispered with a shaky laugh.

  His jaw clenched tight when he spied her bruised cheek. “I will kill him,” he vowed.

  “Please. No. It’s enough that you’re here with me.” She was certain her heart glowed as Quinn and Fergus joined them, then informed her of the recovery of her mare.

  “You brought her along?” That was enough to tip her over the edge, and she burst into tears. Brice patted her shoulder, assuring her they would never have left her beautiful horse behind.

  “And we’ll ride out of here, all of us,” he promised.

  “How?” She looked around at them, wiping her eyes. “If Edward sends his men out to look for me, they’ll surely be searching the roads.”

  “We know. We saw them ourselves,” Brice muttered before spitting on the ground.

  “How will we manage it, then?” she asked again, looking from one of them to the other in the hopes of them having an answer.

  “We’ll simply have to wait until night,” Rodric decided. “Late at night, well past dusk. We might be able to avoid notice if we travel while those living along the road are asleep. We could even get through the village if we’re very careful.”

  “I have a cloak in my pack ye might wear,” Quinn offered. “You would be noticed, otherwise.”

  “Aye, I would that.” She looked around at them, overcome with affection. That they had searched for her alone was reason enough for her to love them always.

  That they intended to once again escort her, this time out of the country? She did not have the words to express her gratitude.

  It didn’t appear as though they expected thanks, in any case.

  30

  Quinn and Fergus went ahead, intending to ride a distance up the road to look for signs of a search party. The night sky was clouded over, the moon and stars hidden from view, g
iving them an advantage.

  A search party would like as not need to use lit torches in order to progress. They would be easy to spy from a distance, giving Alana time to hide herself.

  So Brice needed to believe.

  His gelding pawed the ground impatiently, shifting forward and back as though it wished to break free and run full-out. As though it sensed the tight nerves, the raw excitement they all felt as they awaited the signal.

  Alana sat beside him, astride her mare. There was an intensity about her, a cold rigidity. She stared straight ahead, as though focusing on only what was just in front of her, though her eyes seemed to see something far beyond them.

  She was looking at… what? Remington’s mistreatment? What would undoubtedly happen to all of them should they be found?

  If her thoughts frightened her, she did a marvelous job of pretending otherwise—her back ramrod straight, her head high, self-possessed, always in control of her skittish horse.

  He would have ridden into battle with her at that moment.

  A low whistle floated to them on the night air. Quinn’s whistle. Rodric nodded to Brice, who led the way out of a thick patch of bushy buckthorn and onto the road with Alana close behind. Rodric would bring up the rear, watching over his shoulder.

  They brought the horses to a quick trot, easily covering the stretch of road between them and their lookouts. By the time Fergus and Quinn were with them again, the entire group was outside the forest.

  “I walked so far?” Alana whispered, eyes round with surprise.

  “Aye, ye did. No wonder ye wore those slippers down to nearly nothing.” She was all but barefoot, not to mention half-naked in her ruined finery. He would make certain to purchase new garments for her when they reached their homeland. Quinn’s cloak served well to cover most of the lass, but she would be in need of something to serve through days of travel.

  They moved quickly, as quietly as they could, through the darkness. Brice did what he could to affix an eye on the road ahead while also keeping watch over Alana.