Chapter 13 — The First Escape
Amara had been thinking about escape since the day she arrived.
She simply had not told anyone.
The Whitmore estate was not Rourke's ship. There were no locked doors, no armed men outside her room, and no ropes around her wrists. She was allowed to walk through the gardens, work with Eleanor, visit the library, and ride within the estate.
But freedom within boundaries chosen by someone else was still not freedom.
Now she knew something even more important.
Her family was searching for her.
Somewhere beyond the estate were ports where agents were asking questions. If Amara could reach one of those ports, find the right merchant, or contact a government official, she might get a message home.
Waiting suddenly became unbearable.
So she made a plan.
It was not her best plan.
She would realize that later.
Amara chose Tuesday because Alexander was supposed to leave early for military business.
She waited until his horse disappeared down the eastern road, then returned to the house and behaved normally.
Breakfast.
Correspondence.
A discussion with Eleanor about household expenses.
At ten, she found Lela in the laundry room.
“I am leaving.”
Lela stared at her.
“Where?”
“The coast.”
“No.”
Amara blinked.
“You sound like Alexander.”
“Good. Perhaps one of us can keep you alive.”
“My family is looking for me.”
“And Alexander is helping.”
“Not quickly enough.”
Lela lowered her voice. “You trust him.”
“Somewhat.”
“You like him.”
“That is irrelevant.”
Lela smiled.
Amara frowned. “Completely irrelevant.”
“You didn't deny it.”
“I am leaving.”
Lela's smile disappeared. “Then I'm coming.”
“No.”
“You see? You enjoy that word too.”
Amara almost laughed.
“This time I mean it. If something goes wrong, you stay here. Alexander knows what happened to us. He knows about Rourke. If I don't return, you tell him everything you know.”
“Everything?”
“Everything except who my father is.”
Lela stared at her.
“You are the most stubborn woman alive.”
“I have recently met competition.”
They embraced.
“Be careful,” Lela whispered.
“I always am.”
“That is an outrageous lie.”
Amara kissed her cheek and left.
The stable yard was nearly empty.
She had already chosen a horse.
A large black gelding stood in the third stall.
Alexander rode him occasionally and had once described him as powerful, fast, and unsuitable for inexperienced riders.
Amara had heard only the first two words.
She opened the stall.
The horse looked at her.
“Good morning.”
He did not appear impressed.
“I need your assistance.”
The horse turned his head away.
Amara frowned.
“I have carrots.”
His attitude improved immediately.
Within minutes she had him saddled.
One of the stable boys appeared.
“Miss Amara?”
“Yes?”
“Where are you going?”
“Riding.”
“Captain Whitmore said—”
“Alexander says many things.”
The boy looked uncomfortable.
“He said that horse isn't to leave the estate.”
Amara mounted.
“Then we should probably not tell him.”
She rode away before the boy could decide whether stopping her was part of his responsibilities.
The first mile went beautifully.
Amara congratulated herself.
The second was less successful.
At a fork in the road, she directed the gelding left.
He went right.
Amara pulled the reins.
“Left.”
The horse continued right.
“Excuse me?”
Nothing.
She stopped him and turned him around.
He turned back.
Amara stared between his ears.
“I have negotiated with ministers more cooperative than you.”
The horse flicked one ear.
Amara tried again.
This time he went left.
“Thank you.”
Thirty yards later, he stopped.
Amara squeezed with her legs.
Nothing.
“Move.”
Nothing.
She tried gently.
Then firmly.
The horse lowered his head and began eating grass.
Amara looked toward the sky.
“Of all the horses on the estate.”
She nudged him again.
The gelding continued eating.
“You realize I am trying to escape?”
The horse chewed.
“You are participating in a historic event.”
More chewing.
Amara leaned forward.
“I will give you another carrot.”
The horse raised his head.
“Traitor.”
They continued.
By midday, Amara had covered considerably less distance than planned.
The horse was magnificent when he agreed with her and nearly immovable when he did not.
Still, she was beyond Whitmore land.
That mattered.
For the first time since her capture, nobody knew exactly where she was.
The realization brought excitement and fear together.
She carried some food, water, a little money she had quietly saved, and a rough map copied from one of Alexander's books.
The nearest significant town was several hours away. From there, she hoped to find transportation toward the coast.
She touched the folded map inside her dress.
Home.
For weeks the word had felt like a dream.
Today she was moving toward it.
Then the horse stopped again.
Amara sighed.
“What now?”
His ears moved.
A few seconds later she heard it too.
Riders.
Several.
Coming quickly from behind.
Her heart jumped.
Alexander.
It had to be.
“Now you decide to stand still?”
She urged the gelding forward.
This time he moved immediately.
Fast.
Very fast.
Amara nearly laughed.
“Now you remember you're a horse!”
They raced down the road.
The hoofbeats behind her grew louder.
She glanced back.
Three riders.
The first was Alexander.
Even at a distance she recognized his posture.
He was riding hard.
Amara faced forward.
“Faster.”
The black horse accelerated.
For several exhilarating minutes she believed she might actually escape him.
Then the gelding saw a shallow stream crossing the road.
He stopped.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
Amara nearly went over his head.
“No.”
The horse stepped backward.
“You crossed water yesterday.”
Another step backward.
“Do not become philosophical now.”
Hoofbeats approached.
Amara tried turning him.
The horse refused.
She tried forward.
Nothing.
Alexander arrived less than a minute later.
He pulled his horse to a stop several yards away.
Two estate riders remained behind him.
Nobody spoke.
Amara sat very straight.
Alexander looked at her.
Then at the black gelding.
Then back at her.
“Finished?”
“No.”
“Excellent. We can wait.”
Amara glared at him.
Alexander dismounted.
She noticed immediately that he was angry.
Not his usual irritated expression.
Truly angry.
“You stole my horse.”
“Borrowed.”
“You left the estate without telling anyone.”
“Yes.”
“You were heading toward the coast.”
“Yes.”
“Alone.”
“Yes.”
Alexander stared at her.
Amara decided another yes might be unwise.
“Get down.”
“No.”
He closed his eyes.
“Of course.”
“I am not going back.”
“Yes, you are.”
“My family is looking for me.”
“I know.”
“And every day I remain here is another day they don't know where I am.”
“We are trying to contact them.”
“You are trying. I am waiting.”
“And your solution was to ride alone across country you barely know?”
“I have a map.”
Alexander stared at her.
“A map?”
“A good map.”
“You stole that too?”
“Copied.”
He looked briefly toward the heavens.
“I don't know whether that makes this better.”
“It should.”
“It does not.”
Amara's anger rose.
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain it.”
“I wake up every morning wondering whether my parents think I am dead.”
Alexander's expression changed.
Amara continued.
“I wonder whether my mother is crying. Whether my father is searching the wrong ocean. Whether my brothers know. I sit in your beautiful house, eat your food, read your books, and pretend patience is reasonable.”
Her voice broke slightly.
“I cannot just wait.”
Alexander's anger disappeared.
He walked closer, but did not touch her.
“You think I don't understand why you left?”
“Yes.”
“I understand exactly why.”
“Then let me go.”
“No.”
She stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because I found you in hours. Someone worse could have found you first.”
That silenced her.
Alexander gestured toward the road.
“You don't know which towns are safe. You don't know whom to trust. You don't know which merchants might be connected to the same people who sold you.”
Amara looked away.
She hated that he was making sense.
“I could reach the coast.”
“Perhaps.”
“I could find someone.”
“Perhaps.”
“And perhaps I could disappear again before anyone who cares about you knows where to look.”
She looked back at him.
The words were quiet.
Anyone who cares about you.
Alexander seemed to realize what he had said at the same moment she did.
Neither mentioned it.
Finally Amara asked, “What do you suggest?”
“Come back.”
“And then?”
“We do this properly.”
“What does properly mean?”
“I'll take you to the authorities myself.”
Her eyes widened.
“When?”
“Give me several days. I have already arranged meetings. We'll follow the reports about the reward and find whoever is searching.”
Amara studied him.
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
She had learned that Alexander treated promises seriously.
That was one reason she had begun trusting him.
“Three days.”
“Five.”
“Three.”
“Four.”
Amara considered.
“Three and a half.”
Alexander stared at her.
“You are negotiating your own rescue.”
“Yes.”
“Four days.”
“Fine.”
He held out his hand.
Amara looked at it.
“What?”
“Get down.”
She dismounted without taking his hand.
Alexander shook his head.
“You really cannot make anything easy.”
“I got down.”
“After stealing my horse and traveling miles from the estate.”
“Borrowing.”
“Stealing.”
“Borrowing without unnecessary paperwork.”
One of the riders behind Alexander made a choking sound.
Alexander turned.
The man immediately became serious.
Amara smiled.
Then Alexander looked at the black gelding.
“How did he behave?”
“Terribly.”
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“He's my most stubborn horse.”
“You could have mentioned that.”
“You could have asked before stealing him.”
“Borrowing.”
Alexander took the reins.
“He also hates streams.”
Amara stared at him.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“And you let me take him?”
“I did not let you take anything.”
She looked at the horse.
The animal calmly began eating grass.
“I dislike both of you.”
Alexander laughed.
They rode back together.
Amara expected a lecture.
It never came.
After several miles Alexander said, “Next time you decide to escape, choose the gray mare.”
Amara turned toward him.
“She's faster?”
“Much.”
“And crosses water?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“That was not advice.”
“It sounded like advice.”
“It was an observation.”
“I'll remember it.”
Alexander immediately regretted speaking.
Amara smiled.
For the first time that day, the road home did not feel entirely like defeat.
She had failed to escape.
But she had gained something else.
Four days.
A promise.
And proof that Alexander had ridden after her not because she represented property that had disappeared from his estate.
He had been afraid for her.
Amara was not ready to decide what that meant.
Alexander was even less ready.
Behind them, the black horse followed peacefully.
Now that nobody wanted him to go anywhere important, he had become perfectly cooperative.