22 PREDATORS #2
Darach watched them both go, frowning.
Enough of this. Gathering the reins, he urged Rùn into a canter, northeast.
“Is Fern following us?”
Dale’s body tensed against hers. “Noticed the raven too, did you?”
“Aye.” She paused. “I thought Fern was tracking those men.”
“Maybe she’s a spy … for the Elk King?”
Ailsa frowned. “She might have lied about traveling to Golval Barrow … she might be following us still.”
“That occurred to me as well … but our business has nothing to do with the Shee. She knows that.”
“You’re right.” Ailsa cut a glance around them, at the press of trees surrounding the trail.
For a moment, she thought she saw movement among the branches.
The fine hair on the back of her neck stirred then, and without meaning to, she tightened her grip around Dale’s waist.
You both smell like predators. Fern’s words haunted every furlong. She couldn’t get them out of her head.
Thankfully, Dale hadn’t overheard their conversation.
“Cold?” he asked gruffly.
“Aye,” she replied, deciding to keep her worries to herself. “The wind cuts like a knife up here.”
They tracked Kayla and her abductors through oppressive woodland.
Birch and pine pressed close, their branches tangling overhead. Thick undergrowth, brambles and ferns, crept out onto the path in places. But still, Dale managed to follow the trail Kayla and her captors had left. Hoof prints in soft, damp earth.
Ailsa ground her teeth every time they were forced to slow. Her only consolation was that their quarry would be dealing with the same overgrown path.
The day gradually waned, and The Sharp Billed Wind continued to peck at them, chapping exposed skin and making Ailsa’s eyes water.
She and her bodyguard spoke little during the day—and when they did, their exchanges focused on practical things. It should have made things easier between them, yet as the day wore on, tension sharpened.
Ailsa hated the silence. She preferred it when they argued.
As the light started to fade, Dale halted Rùn, drew his slingshot from the saddlebag, and disappeared into the trees for a spell.
Ailsa waited, pacing in circles and rubbing her hands to keep them warm, until he returned with a grouse.
Once he’d tied it to the front of the saddle, they were off once more.
The pale sun sank beyond the trees to the west, and the wind gradually eased, yet they pressed on. Eventually, the oppressive pinewood drew back, and they rode over sparsely wooded hills bisected by cool burns. And as a waxing moon bathed the world, Dale eventually drew up his stallion by a burn.
“I’m scouting for tracks again,” he announced tersely. “Water Rùn while I’m gone.”
Then, without another word, he melted into the darkness.
Watching him go, Ailsa tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her chest. He’d been aloof all day. Was that how things would be between them from now on?
Standing next to the stallion as he drank before moving off to crop at grass, she cast her gaze about her.
Her backside hurt from being in the saddle for so long, and her belly was growling.
She should have been thinking about supper.
Instead, her thoughts kept circling back to Fern and the things she’d said.
Sickliness rose then. Maybe, I’m—
No. She wouldn’t go there.
Jaw clenching, she looked up at the waxing moon. The resinous scent of pine clung to her skin and the back of her throat. Despite that they’d left the thickest woodland behind, copses of pine and fir still surrounded them.
They now traveled through a remote area. She hadn’t seen signs of life all day. It felt as if they were the only two people alive. There should have been smoke on the horizon. A croft or two. Paths cut through the trees or tracks with stone markers.
But there was just them.
Of course, they weren’t entirely alone. Kayla was out here too. And soon they’d find her.
The back of Ailsa’s neck prickled then. The same instinct that had warned her before a fight … or before something lunged from the dark.
Stiffening, she glanced over her shoulder, surveying the press of blue-green firs behind her. She couldn’t see anything, although her senses sharpened.
Fern?
She might be hiding in the trees, or something else might be.
Fern hadn’t appeared to mean them harm, yet it paid to be cautious.
Slowly, Ailsa reached down and drew the blade from the back of her boot. She was still staring into the trees, wondering at her next move, when Dale returned.
“I found tracks … heading north now.” He saw that she was clutching her blade and checked his stride. “What’s wrong?”
“Not sure.” She stepped closer to him. “I can’t see anything, but it feels as if something is watching me … in the trees.”
Dale’s eyebrows drew together as he peered into the line of firs as well. “I don’t see anything …” A beat passed, and his hand slid to the hilt of his dagger. “But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”
With that, he swung onto Rùn’s back and reached down and pulled her up after him. Then, without another word, he urged the stallion on.
They leaped across the burn and thundered west.
Still holding onto her dagger with her right hand, Ailsa clung to his waist with her left. “How fresh were the tracks?”
“I’d say they passed this way during the afternoon.”
Ailsa’s heart kicked. “So close.”