Chapter 28
Tomas watched her go, his gut burning.
He had begun to think mayhap he wouldn’t have to kill her after all.
He didn’t wish to bring suspicion upon himself.
He had the money, and for now that was enough.
Who could, after all, prove that Broc hadn’t indeed taken it?
But something about her manner had changed. She had been quiet far too long.
Had he said something to rouse her suspicions?
Something about the way she rode away set him ill at ease.
“Elizabet!” he called after her.
She didn’t stop.
“God damned bitch!” he exclaimed, fury surging through him. He slammed the heel of his boot into his mount and flew after her.
Elizabet cast a glance over her shoulder, finding her worst fears realized, and her heart flew into her throat.
She urged her mount faster, no longer keeping up any pretense.
As soon as she bounded over the hill and Tomas could no longer see her clearly, she began to turn at a wide angle, doubling back around.
By the time he realized, she hoped it would be too late.
She bent low over her horse, racing against time, she knew.
She didn’t dare turn to look over her shoulder again.
Praying to God that she would lose him, she rode with all her might.
She closed her eyes and drove the horse to its potential, feeling the wind full in her face and hoping to God the beast wouldn’t tire too quickly.
When she opened her eyes again, she had to blink twice at what she saw. At first, it was merely a dark speck on the horizon that grew with every fierce clip of her horse’s hooves. When she realized what it was, she nearly cried out with joy.
It was Broc.
He rode toward her on a big black steed, looking gloriously leonine with his thick mane of golden hair flowing out behind him. He was unmistakable in the rich red tunic she had sewn for him. The sight of him stole her breath away.
As the thunder of his horse’s hooves grew nearer, she began to weep aloud with elation.
Sweet, merciful God!
She slowed her mount as she approached him, unaware that she did. But he didn’t stop.
“I love you!” he shouted as he passed her, his blue eyes alighting on her only for the briefest instant. He thundered past her then toward the approaching rider.
Elizabet wheeled her mount about to see her lion-hearted husband unsheathe his immense sword from his scabbard in a movement so swift and beautiful that it awed her.
Too late, Tomas fumbled with the satchel, trying to free his bow.
“Die, ye rotten bastard!” Broc shouted, as he thundered into battle.
As before, it was over before it began.
Elizabet put her hands over her eyes to shut out the terror of it. But this time, there was no mistaking the death blow. Tomas toppled to the ground, tangled in the reins. His riderless horse reared, screaming in terror, coming to its knees.
With sword still in hand, Broc wheeled his mount about, slowing as he passed Tomas’s limp body. He cast it a single glance and then resheathed his sword as his gaze returned to Elizabet.
Her heart soared.
She dismounted to wait for him, eager to hold him, eager to tell him that she loved him, adored him, wanted to bear his children.
“I’m sorry!” she said as he neared. He leaped from his horse before it came to a halt, taking her breath away as he took her into his arms.
His face and tunic were spattered with blood, but she didn’t care. His was the most beautiful face she had ever seen, and she wanted never to be without him again. She caressed his face, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss his mouth.
“I love you, too!” she declared. “Oh, God... can you ever forgive me?” she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
He held her tightly, his heart beating fiercely against her breasts. “Only if ye promise never again to leave me!”
“Never!” she swore. “Never, my love!”
He kissed her then so passionately that it stole her breath away.
She closed her eyes and held his face in her hands, reveling in the strength of his arms.
“My beautiful lion,” she declared, lacing her hands through his golden hair. She sighed contentedly and smiled, her heart bursting with joy. “I cannot believe you came all this way to save me!”
“Nay, lass,” he countered with a crooked smile, “I came only to tell you that ye forgot your bluidy dog.”
Harpy!
Elizabet gasped in shock. “Oh, my God!” Her hand flew to her mouth. She had been so distraught, she hadn’t even remembered her mother’s poor hound. “Where is she?” she demanded at once.
He winked at her. “Just where you left her—chewing up Montgomerie’s boots.”
Elizabet stifled her laughter.
He lifted her up suddenly, gave her a kiss upon the forehead then walked over to her horse, setting her unceremoniously atop it. “Let’s go home, wife,” he said, sounding suddenly irascible.
“Aye, husband,” she agreed, smiling crookedly down at him as she bent to retrieve the reins. “Let’s go home.”