Chapter Five
Twilight had surrendered to darkness, turning the forest into a sea of shadows, when Jacob steered the mare between tightly clustered trees.
The narrow passage of brush closed around them like a curtain, hiding their presence from any eyes that might search the woods.
He slowed the horse to a walk, keeping one hand light on the reins while the other pressed against Elena to steady her when she swayed.
The mare’s breathing had grown rougher over the last mile. The destrier had been pushed hard today, once in the long pursuit and then again in the desperate escape. As the night wore on, Jacob became aware of tremors in her flanks, and a certain strain in her step. They needed to stop.
“We'll rest here awhile,” he murmured, even as he was fairly certain Elena was asleep.
She had grown quieter with the fading light, her rigid posture gradually softening against him.
Fear had kept her vigilant at first, but exhaustion had eventually overtaken her.
Her head now rested against his shoulder with the unguarded weight of deep sleep.
He was grateful for it. Better this than the sharp trembling of earlier, when she had tried so hard to remain alert, as if vigilance alone could undo what had happened.
When he finally brought the destrier to a halt, easing off the narrow track and beneath a low sweep of branches, Elena stirred at once. The sudden stillness seemed to reach her before full wakefulness did, her body registering the change even as her mind lagged behind.
He guided the horse into a shallow alcove formed by rock and pine, the ground soft with needles, the air thick with the scent of pine.
Sheltered and quiet, buffered from the wind, he imagined it would suit for an hour or two.
He slipped the reins over an exposed root and let the horse lower her head.
“Elena,” he murmured, steadying her as she shifted.
“Are we stopping?”
“For a wee bit.”
He slid from the saddle and turned to her at once, keeping one arm around her as he lifted her down.
The breacan slipped with them, still wrapped around her shoulders, and he caught it before it could slide free, settling it more securely as her feet met the ground.
She swayed, unsteady, and caught at his arm until her balance returned.
Even in the low light, he could see how pale she was, the strain of the day drawn tight around her mouth and eyes.
“Sit,” he said quietly, guiding her toward the shelter of the rock wall. “The mare needs rest, and so do ye.”
She did not argue. She eased down onto the bed of pine needles, movements slow and careful, and he drew the plaid closer around her, tucking the edge in at her shoulder before stepping back.
Only then did he turn to the mare, settling the reins and making sure she stood easy before returning to Elena’s side.
Jacob sat beside her at last, leaving a small, deliberate space between them, though the quiet of the alcove made it feel narrower than it was.
The forest pressed in around them, branches whispering overhead, the faint rush of water marking the stream somewhere beyond the trees, and for the first time since the orchard, nothing demanded that they move again at once.
Still, he listened.
He had been listening since the moment they fled—to the cadence of the mare’s hooves, to the wind whistling through the trees, and more importantly to any sound that did not belong.
Years of war had honed that habit, but this was not how he was accustomed to keeping watch.
On campaign, there were men posted, rotations kept, a perimeter shared.
Tonight there was only himself, one horse, and the woman beside him.
There were no sentries to relieve him, and no margin for distraction.
After a moment, he decided there was no immediate threat. The raiders might still be in pursuit, but they were not close. Still, he could afford to let his guard soften.
Beside him, Elena leaned back until her shoulder brushed his arm.
“Is it safe enough to sleep?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“For now, aye. I’ll stay awake.”
He felt her exhale slowly, her body loosening again from the tight coil of fear. In the faint starlight that filtered through the branches, her features looked softer, less stricken, though shadows still clung beneath her eyes.
She nodded and closed her eyes, accepting his word without question.
Perhaps she had no alternative, yet the unguarded trust in her gesture caught him off guard.
This was not the Elena MacTavish he remembered—the girl who challenged so many statements, who stood her ground with flashing eyes when cornered.
Exhaustion had peeled away those defenses, revealing something softer beneath.
As she settled against the rock behind them, he felt an unfamiliar warmth spread beneath his ribs, a sensation he pushed aside for more pressing concerns.
Night deepened around them. The temperature dropped, carrying the crisp scent of damp earth and new growth.
Elena, seeking warmth even in sleep, drifted closer until her head rested more fully against his shoulder.
He remained still, letting her settle, though he kept one hand lightly on the hilt of his dagger, ready for any sound that broke the forest’s steady and predictable hum.
He surveyed the darkness ahead. They had outrun their pursuers for now, but raiders were tireless when coin was at stake.
He would need to choose their next move carefully, considering when to move and which direction to take.
He was unfamiliar with the land so far south.
He would rely on instinct and the stars until he could orient them with the nearest river or ridge.
His destrier shifted behind them, lowering herself to the ground with a weary grunt, which Jacob perceived as a good thing. She needed to recover some strength before they moved again.
Elena’s breath evened, her head growing heavier against him. Her hair brushed his jaw at one point and he was reminded how small she was. His brow furrowed, considering how unprepared she had been for what the world had thrown at her today.
He would protect her because she was here, in his arms, and no one else was close enough to do it.
But that was not the whole of it, and Jacob knew it.
Even as he sat there listening to the forest breathe around them, he understood that what had driven him forward to her rescue had little to do with obligation.
It had to do with her. With the quiet familiarity of her presence, with memories that stretched far back in time, with a regard that had taken root long possibly before he had named it as anything at all.
He had told himself those feelings belonged to another time, worn away by distance and years on campaign, and certainly they had no place now with Elena about to be promised to another man.
He shifted slightly, careful not to wake her, as a breeze shifted through the pines, stirring the branches overhead.
Jacob sharpened his attention again, listening for anything out of place.
But the woods returned nothing more than the soft murmur of night, a distant owl, and Elena’s quiet breathing beside him.
JACOB GUIDED HIS BAY MARE DOWN the last winding curve of the worn trail beneath Wolvesly, each careful hoof-fall stirring a fine dust of sand before the slope finally gave onto a broad, pale arc of beach beneath the sheer cliffs.
The tide lay halfway out, leaving a glossy mirror of wet sand laced with tiny tide pools, and the distant sea stretched to the horizon, its muted roar carried softly on a breeze scented with salt and warmed by the late sun.
Far from the base of the dunes, on the flat stretch of beach, a lone figure lay flat on her back.
Jacob’s chest tightened—he feared she might be hurt—and he reined in hard, halting the mare with a quiet scrape.
He swung nearly half out of the saddle before the stillness shifted: one knee curved upward, an arm rising briefly and then melting back into the sand.
He stopped, heart pounding, realizing her repose was chosen, not forced.
Elena MacTavish lay with her eyes shut, her skirts hitched carelessly above her shins, her dark hair fanned around her like spilled ink on canvas.
Jacob remained mounted, one boot loose in its stirrup, reins slack in his hand. From the horse’s back she looked small against the open brightness, unguarded in a way that gave pause to his breath.
She did not notice him and Jacob hesitated, torn between announcing himself or quietly withdrawing.
Slowly, he nudged the horse forward.
Elena opened her eyes when his long shadow fell over her.
Startled, she tilted her head and fixed her gaze on him, upside-down. For a moment, neither spoke.
The wind drifted through her hair and teased the edge of his cloak.
She surveyed Jacob from her inverted vantage, studying the lines of his silhouette against the cloudless sky. It was not the scrutiny of a girl caught in mischief, nor the frank, assessing gaze he had known previously from her, when she was much younger, when she had let everything be seen.
Jacob stared back. The sun sharpened her image, laying bare every detail.
Her black hair, unruly and stubborn, had escaped its braid entirely, fanning out beneath her head in a wild tangle that caught flecks of sand and salt.
Strands curled and the sun sparked their edges until they gleamed almost blue.
Beneath a heavy fringe of lashes, her eyes shone a startling sea green, sharp with life despite her languid pose.
The sunlight did not flatter her, exactly; it revealed her.
The wind had drawn a bright flush across the bridge of her nose and the tips of her cheekbones, and a scatter of new freckles had surfaced since the last time Jacob had truly looked at her.