Chapter Six #2
Keeping him calm, cooperating where she could, and getting him safely back to people who could help him seemed to be the best plan.
With that decision made, Anna drew a long breath and opened her eyes, feeling steadier.
She still had no idea how she got here, but that mystery could wait.
Bram MacCailin was injured, traumatized, and not in his right mind.
He was real, and he needed help. That, at least, was a problem she knew how to solve.
***
The lass’s strange words still echoed in his mind as he sat unmoving, letting the cool night air settle around him.
He listened to the familiar noises of the forest at this elevation, his gaze fixed on the seven distant fires.
The number hadn’t changed in the last quarter hour. They were staying put.
He already had a plan for the morrow. They would move before dawn, hours before the English stirred.
With sun, the northern route would be simple.
They’d stick to the high ground, avoiding roads and villages until they crossed the border.
Once on Scots soil, he would find a way to be rid of this damned shackle.
It was a brand, announcing him as a fugitive.
They would need water from the burns and enough cover to keep two figures from being seen.
He knew that if he’d been alone, he might have pushed farther this evening, that he might have traveled through the night.
Alone, he could live on stream water and whatever nuts and roots he scavenged.
Alone, he might even risk crossing open ground if it would save him time.
But he didn’t imagine she would travel well that way.
She would need food and rest, and her odd footwear would make speed unlikely if not impossible, as proven today.
It irritated him that he was already altering plans to accommodate her. We would need food and rest. We would travel slower. He caught himself. We.
Bluidy hell.
His very next thought was that mayhap he was presuming too much, and that he should think in terms of 'I,' not 'we'.
Considerable time had passed since Anastasia had disappeared down the hillside, certainly long enough to have attended to the need she’d claimed.
Bram remained where he was, his eyes closed but listening intently to the darkness beyond the shelter.
He listened for the careless snap of a branch, the rustle of wet grass beneath uncertain feet, even the muttered complaints she’d used so often throughout the day, but none came.
The only sounds were the soft whisper of wind moving through the pines and the occasional drip of rainwater from the overhanging branches.
At length, he opened his eyes, guessing that she had likely continued down the slope.
The possibility did not surprise him. The lass was a whirlwind of contradictions—claiming to have been born only seven years ago but then that she was eight-and-twenty, speaking of flying to England, and carrying foods in strange, crackling skins.
Whether she was a liar, a jester, or simply mad, he could not guess.
But traveling with such a woman could lead to no good. It was better she had gone.
No sooner had he told himself he was relieved to be rid of the responsibility of her than the hillside yielded the sound he’d been listening for despite himself.
A foot slipped upon the wet grass, followed by a gasped breath and then the soft rustle of someone recovering her balance and continuing upward.
“Stupid mud,” drifted upward over the rock.
She showed herself a moment later, arriving in a bent position so that her hands gripped earth or grass or anything to help keep her balance.
“This rain and the resulting mud are for the birds,” she announced as she ducked beneath the overhang and settled once more onto the rock beside him.
Bram regarded her in silence. Her tone was lighter than when she’d left, but it sounded forced, a cheerfulness she had put on like a cloak.
His curiosity was piqued. The lass shifted moods with bewildering speed—one moment near tears, the next acting as if the day’s hardships had never happened. He could find no pattern to it.
“How are we doing?” she asked brightly. “Everything good?”
“Aye,” he answered, watching her more carefully than before.
She smiled and nodded, apparently satisfied.
“Good. So... what’s the plan? Are we staying the night here, or are we just resting for a bit?”