20 EASIER SAID THAN DONE
“WHAT THE FUCK were you doing?” Darach snarled under his breath as he limped across the courtyard. “Do you have dung between your ears?”
The tattoo on his thigh pulsed with each stride. His skin felt too hot, too tight.
Shit.
His teeth hurt. He’d been grinding them all evening.
Every sound felt too loud.
Every smell too sharp.
The beast had awoken—it had growled in his ear all through supper.
And now, he could feel it, clawing to get out. Especially now.
It had responded to violence and then to lust. If he stayed calm, so did it. But now, it yowled in his ears, demanding release. He couldn’t return to the room. Not in this state.
He limped on. He didn’t go to Rùn though. Instead, he slipped onto the empty street behind the ale-hall. Above, the moon rode high. A bright silver crescent against the inky curtain of night.
Ailsa’s observation assaulted him then. Your eyes.
He hadn’t meant to bolt like a startled deer, but he panicked. He couldn’t answer, couldn’t give her the explanation she wanted.
And he certainly couldn’t go back in there and finish what he’d started.
He’d crossed a line.
Not with her—with himself.
The tears in her eyes earlier, the desperate way she’d filed those sharp nails of hers.
The lass was troubled, aye; he’d marked it from the night they met. There were things she didn’t say, things she kept to her breast. He couldn’t blame her for it though. He, too, had his secrets.
She’d been getting under his skin for days now.
He should’ve kept his distance.
He hadn’t.
Ailsa was as lovely as she was strange. He’d seen her fight like a cornered animal. She wielded that wee blade of hers with untutored savagery, but her nails were the real weapons. And as she’d fought, her long, lean body had turned fluid. Her movements had been … instinctual.
There was something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
And the worst of it was—it called to him.
Aye, the beast wanted her too.
She’d stirred something primal in his gut as they’d stood next to the hearth. He stared into the depths of those black eyes and got lost. Up close, her scent, rosemary and sweet musk, made heat kindle in places it shouldn’t.
He scrubbed a hand over his face.
Gods. This was becoming a problem.
Other men let their pricks get them into trouble, but he didn’t.
He knew better.
He sucked in a deep breath before letting it out slowly through clenched teeth.
He’d wanted her before tonight. On the road. By the fire.
He’d ignored it—had thought he’d shut it down.
But he hadn’t.
If he’d stayed, he wouldn’t have stopped. That alarmed him. His rod was still as hard as wood, and his balls throbbed. The urge to storm back indoors, throw her down on the furs, and plow her senseless pulsed through him.
Sweat broke across his back.
He wasn’t a fucking rapist.
He stumbled then, his body convulsing. It didn’t feel like his own.
The change was coming.
Hands clenched tight by his side, he hurried from Ardroth.
Dark pines beckoned, and he broke into a shambling run as he approached them.
The sharp scent of conifers caught in the back of his throat, and branches, sticky with sap, brushed at him, yet he ran on, crashing through the moonlit copse until he came to a clearing where a small burn bubbled across pale rocks.
Hands trembling, he tore at his clothes, unlacing ties and unfastening buckles. The sharp air bit at his skin, but it couldn’t douse the fire that now roared through him.
Just a few moments; that was all he had.
Darach kicked off his boots, and then the impact came, like a heavy punch to the stomach, and he doubled over.
“You didn’t come back last night. I was worried.”
“I slept in the stables.”
Ailsa watched as Dale tightened Rùn’s girth. “Why would you do that?”
“I thought it best.” His manner was stiff, unusually formal. Over the past days, they’d relaxed a little in each other’s company. And last night, before the kiss, she’d felt that a friendship of sorts had developed between them. He acted like a stranger now.
She pulled her cloak closer about her to ward off the chill, her gaze narrowing. Best for whom?
Around them, the morning sparkled with frost. The sun had just cleared the treetops to the east. She’d emerged a short while ago from their lodgings to find him saddling his stallion.
He hadn’t yet met her eye.
“Dale,” she said softly. “Look at me.”
His shoulders tensed. Moments passed, and then he straightened up and turned to face her.
Ailsa frowned. He looked terrible. Even in the shadowy dawn light, she marked the scratch on his cheek, the hollowed gauntness of his face.
His gaze looked normal once more, which was a relief.
After he’d fled from their room the night before, she’d retired to her furs, unsettled by both the change in his eyes and his strange behavior.
She’d heard that the Shee had eyes with slitted pupils, although theirs were goatlike. His had looked almost … feline.
No, Dale wasn’t one of the fae race who lived in Sheehallion and entered their world through barrows and stone circles. He was a Marav. Like her.
Or maybe he wasn’t. The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
“I’m not going to pry answers out of you,” she said finally. “Unless you’re hiding something that might prevent me from rescuing Kayla.”
He stared back, a nerve flickering in his cheek. “No.” His voice held an odd rasp. “You need not worry about that.”
He raked a hand through his hair then. She noted that it was slightly damp. He also had pine needles on his fur cloak.
Strange.
“Look, Ailsa … I’m sorry about last night. I let things go too far. I shouldn’t have touched you like that.”
Her belly dropped.
So, that was it—he regretted kissing her, did he?
Masking her reaction, she waved him away. “Don’t worry. It’s forgotten.” The lie burned on her tongue. “Let’s just focus on why we’re here.”
She wouldn’t forget, of course. But it was easier to pretend.
He nodded, his expression veiling. He then turned back to saddling Rùn.
Ailsa watched him, her belly clenching. Why did it feel as if he’d just spurned her?
A short while later, he led the stallion out into the yard, and she followed.
It was early, and the moon still hung in the sky. Even so, the scent of woodsmoke laced the air, as did the aroma of frying oatcakes. They could have lingered here a little longer, but time raced against them now.
Those men still outpaced them.
Kayla was still a captive.
A croak drew her attention then, and she glanced up to find a monstrous raven sitting on the stable roof. Glossy black feathers caught the morning light.
Ailsa murmured an oath, her warm breath clouding the gelid air. “Shades … look at the size of that.”
Dale looked up, his eyes widening when he too saw the bird. “Aye … and it’s watching us.”
Ailsa frowned. It was. The intelligent glint in its obsidian eyes made her suppress a shiver.
The raven stared without blinking.
“Come on,” he said gruffly. “Let’s move.”
Tearing her gaze away from the bird, she took Dale’s hand.
She’d done it a dozen times before. But not with the memory of his mouth still lingering on hers.
She tried not to think about those wild kisses, how they’d moved together against the wall, in a dance that didn’t need music. Or just how much she’d wanted more.
He’d made himself clear. It was a mistake. One she had to move on from.
Nothing matters but getting Kayla back, she told herself firmly as she settled behind Dale in the saddle. Forget last night happened.
The hollow clip-clop of Rùn’s hooves echoed against stone as they moved off, leaving the still sleeping village behind them.
Their stop in Ardroth had been brief yet eventful.
At least they’d rid the villagers of the outlaws who’d been terrorizing them.
To these people, they were heroes. The gratitude had both pleased and unbalanced Ailsa.
She wasn’t sure she deserved it.
Dale kicked Rùn into a fast canter, and they were off, hammering down the well-worn road that led north. They were deep in the Borderlands now. Already, the landscape grew rougher. To the east, the Shiel Range reared dark and jagged. To the north, the southernmost Goatfells etched the morning sky.
“Will you be able to track them … if they leave the road?” Ailsa asked eventually.
“Aye.”
His one-word answers scraped against her nerves. The easy companionship they’d built over the past days seemed to have vanished overnight.
She’d liked the camaraderie that had developed between them. His distance now upset her more than it should, yet she couldn’t help it. Apart from Kayla, she wasn’t close to anyone.
She found herself missing the man who’d teased her beside campfires and argued with her as they rode.
Idiot … he’s a mercenary, your bodyguard … not your friend.
“Do you have a plan about how we’ll approach them, once we catch up?” she asked, forcing herself to focus.
“Aye,” he replied. “Carefully.”
She snorted. “I know that … but how?”
He sighed, as if her questions were irritating him. “Night will be best … wait until they’ve camped and then take them.” He paused then. “One by one.”
“I can help you.”
A beat of silence followed.
Ailsa couldn’t see his face and wondered if he was scowling. However, his answer surprised her. “Good.”
A wind rose as they traveled, blustery and gusting. The Gales of Complaint, common in autumn, raced across the land, tearing at yellowing trees and whipping dust into their eyes. Rùn bowed his head against it, and Ailsa was grateful that Dale’s broad back shielded her from the worst of the wind.
The road snaked north over shrubby hills and through stands of pine, birch, and twisted oak. Clouds scudded across a pale-blue sky.
The sight of the road, empty at present, made her belly harden. Every furlong felt longer than the last. What if they were already too late?
The sun was nearly at its highest point when Ailsa spied a lone raven perched on a crooked pine beside the road. The bird did not fly away when they passed. Instead, it watched them—head tilted, black eyes bright with uncanny intelligence.
Dale’s body tensed against hers, and she knew he’d seen it too.
“Is it the same raven as earlier?” she murmured.
“I’d say so,” he whispered back. “One that big isn’t common.”
She frowned. “Maybe it’s a Watcher.”
He breathed a curse. “Let’s hope not.”
It was said that in dark times, The Warrior sent out his messengers to observe battlefields or warriors before conflict. To be followed by a Watcher didn’t bode well.
“Look.” Dale drew her attention from the raven. “Travelers … up ahead.”
Grateful for the distraction, she viewed two figures riding garrons approaching. A man and a woman, both carrying large wicker baskets strapped on behind the saddles.
“Good day,” Dale hailed them as they approached. “We’re following a group of warriors on horseback. Have you seen them?”
“No sign of anyone this morning,” the man replied, drawing up his pony.
Ailsa’s jaw tightened. Cods.
“Are you in need of an iron charm?” the woman asked, patting the basket behind her. “If you’re traveling north, you’ll likely find it useful.”
“No thanks,” Dale replied, drawing back his cloak to reveal the numerous blades strapped to his body. “We’ve got enough iron.”
Both their gazes widened, but they took his point.
Nodding to the couple, Dale urged Rùn on, and they left them behind.
Ailsa leaned in. “Does this mean they’ve left the highway?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Do we need to check?”
“I have.”
“What if you’ve missed something?”
His shoulders stiffened. “I haven’t. How much experience do you have in tracking, Ailsa?”
Heat rushed into her face. They both knew the answer to that. However, she couldn’t bear the thought of going in the wrong direction, of giving their quarry any chance of getting farther ahead.
He always sounded so damned certain.
She’d hired him, but he liked to be the one in charge. She was about to remind him that she was the one paying the coin when movement on the road ahead drew her eye.
A woman, tall and slender, had just staggered onto it. She was some yards off, clad in leathers, with black hair braided down her back.
Dale drew up his stallion, one hand going to the handle of the dagger strapped to his thigh.
Meanwhile, Ailsa held her breath.
The woman stopped in the center of the road and lifted her chin, her gaze settling on them. Even at this distance, Ailsa marked the long dagger at her hip, the longbow slung over one shoulder, and the quiver of arrows on her back.
And then, she swayed, as if drunk.
“What’s—” Ailsa began, just as the stranger’s legs folded under her and she sprawled, unconscious, onto the ground.