9 AN EARLY START #2
He strode across the market ground toward the wynd that would lead him up to the ale-hall where he’d stabled his stallion.
As he walked, his mind worked furiously.
It was after the witching hour, when most folk were still tucked up in their furs, but he couldn’t delay.
He needed to collect his horse and fetch Ailsa.
They’d ride before dawn.
A fist hammered on the door frame, dragging Ailsa from restless sleep.
Jolting upright, she blinked in the darkness, heart pounding. The banked fire offered little light, just enough to see Talia emerge from behind the hare-skin curtain, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders.
“Who in The Hag’s name—” Talia muttered, moving toward the door.
“Wait.” Ailsa scrambled to her feet, snatching her knife from where she’d left it beside her fur. “Let me.”
She approached the door, blade ready. Then, stepping over the line of salt Talia had sprinkled there before retiring, she cracked it open.
Dale stood on the threshold, his face grim in the torchlight.
His jaw flexed, and his amber eyes narrowed.
A massive roan stallion, saddled and ready to go, stood behind him.
The horse was a brute, all muscle with huge, feathered hooves, its coat gleaming in the dim light.
“They’ve gone,” the mercenary announced without preamble.
Her stomach dropped. “What?”
“Your friends left at dusk,” he replied roughly.
There was something strained beneath his impatience.
A tightness around his eyes she hadn’t noticed before.
“After we parted ways, I spent the night searching every ale-hall in this cursed fort. By the time I found where they’d been staying, they’d left. ”
“I told you!” The words burst out, sharp and accusing. “I said—”
He held up a hand to forestall her. “And I listened … that’s why I decided to get ahead on our search.” He pulled a face then. “But they’d already moved on. Something scared them.”
Heat flushed over her. Was he blaming her for this? “We should have started earlier!”
“Aye, well, hindsight’s a wonderful thing.
” His attention shifted over Ailsa’s shoulder then, and he favored Talia with a nod.
“Apologies for the intrusion.” He cut his gaze to Ailsa once more.
“If the guards at the gatehouse are to be believed, they’re heading north. Get your things. We’re leaving.”
Ailsa stared him down. “You shouldn’t have searched on your own without telling me first. I hired you, remember? I give the orders.”
The sellsword had the nerve to fold his arms across his broad chest and look down his long, straight nose at her. “Time isn’t on our side. We can stand here arguing, or we can find your mentor and get her back … your choice.”
Ailsa scowled. The Warrior smite him.
Suddenly, she just wanted to demand her coin back and send him on his way.
But she needed the bastard’s help.
Fuming, she disappeared into the roundhouse. Meanwhile, Talia moved into the doorway like her guardian, shawl pulled tight.
Inside, Ailsa yanked on her boots, slid her knife into its hiding place, and threw on her cloak. It didn’t take long to get ready, for she traveled light.
“The lass is putting her trust in you.” Talia’s voice intruded then, her voice sharp. “You’d better look after her.”
“And I will,” Dale answered, his tone veiled now.
Ailsa slung her leather bag across her front and returned to Talia’s side.
The woman was giving Dale a hard stare. Her lips then thinned, as if he’d failed a test.
He certainly had.
Ailsa placed a hand on her host’s arm. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Talia … I’m sorry for waking you so early.”
Talia turned, her expression softening as their gazes met. “Don’t worry about that … I have to get up well before dawn to start baking anyway.” She paused then. “Go well, Ailsa. May The Five watch over you.”
“Let’s move.” Dale swung up onto his horse’s back, leather creaking. “This is Rùn,” he announced, reaching down a hand. “He’ll carry us both.”
Ailsa ran an eye over the stallion. Rùn. Secret. The beast was truly huge with bucket-sized hooves. It was a long way to fall.
When she hesitated, he made an impatient sound in the back of his throat. “I’m growing old here, Ailsa.” His fingers flexed. “Get up.”
Grinding her teeth, she grabbed his hand and let him haul her up behind him.
The moment she settled against his back, she went rigid.
She was pressed against him, thighs bracketing his hips, arms wrapping around his waist. His body was solid muscle, radiating warmth that seeped through her cloak and tunic.
And his scent—leather and woodsmoke and something darker, muskier—filled her nose.
She didn’t like sitting so close to this man, nor how her pulse kicked up or the way her skin prickled with awareness. The mercenary’s personality chafed hers like wet leather, but her body didn’t agree.
Oblivious to her reaction, Dale urged Rùn forward.
Grabbing hold of him to steady herself with one hand, Ailsa lifted a hand in farewell to Talia.
The woman waved back, her brow furrowed.
Moments later, they were trotting down the wynd.
The mercenary’s presence was overwhelming, and every shift of his body, every jolt of the horse’s stride, pressed him closer.
However, his words still rang in her ears.
Something scared them.
Ailsa started to sweat. She’d tried to twist things—to blame him, instead—yet the truth was that this mess was her fault.