Chapter Fourteen
“I’m sorry—that’s your plan?” Anna asked. “Simply barrel over or through them on a galloping horse?”
Obviously, she must have misunderstood him.
“Aye,” he said.
She stared at him for a long moment, waiting for... more, but he said nothing else.
“Oh. That’s the entire plan,” she concluded.
He regarded her with the same calm yet dark expression he wore for almost any other conversation. “They’ll nae expect it.”
“Well... no,” she admitted. “I suppose they won’t.”
He gave a single nod, apparently pleased she understood—or rather, he believed she did.
Anna couldn’t decide whether to laugh or pull her hair out. “Um, quick question? What if it doesn’t work?”
“Then I will fight to cross the bridge,” he replied, his tone matter-of-fact as he tugged firmly on the straps holding the saddle in place, near Anna’s calf.
Seemingly dissatisfied, he tightened the leather and then his gaze settled on her crossbody bag.
He pointed to the buckle on the strap. “Can ye secure that more firmly against yer side?”
“Yes,” she answered automatically, and looked down near her left shoulder, where the buckle sat. It took her but a minute to shorten the fabric strap, which drew the overlarge purse against her right side.
Apparently satisfied, Bram nodded. “And now move back, lass. I need to be in front, to manage our charge.”
Anna complied without argument, though moving backward in the saddle proved easier said than done. She shifted awkwardly until Bram braced one hand beneath her shoe, giving her something to push against, and finally managed to settle farther toward the rear. “Thanks.”
With that, he placed one foot in the stirrup, swinging easily into the saddle, settling himself in front of her.
Crowded now, Anna reached for his sides to steady herself, but Bram found her right hand with his and drew it forward until it was near the middle of his waist.
“When I give the horse his head,” he said over his shoulder, “ye hold fast. Whatever happens upon that bridge, dinna release me.”
She nodded before realizing he couldn’t see this. “Okay.”
“And ye keep your head against my back. If they strike at us, I need ye still.” His voice remained as even as ever as he adjusted the sword at his side, advising her, “Keep your hands on me, as they are, and clear of the hilt.”
Anna nodded, this time against his back, feeling the firm warmth of him through the layers of wool between them. Her heart had already begun to pound, though Bram, if he felt any apprehension at all, concealed it well.
He might not trust her, as he’d plainly admitted, but she realized, perhaps more clearly than ever before, how completely she trusted him.
Not that she believed his plan couldn’t fail—it very well could—but she also believed Bram would do everything in his power to see them safely to the other side.
He gathered the reins and turned the gelding away from the bridge, retracing the narrow woodland path they’d followed an hour ago.
Anna understood his purpose almost at once, supposing the horse would need space to build speed. They rode in silence for another minute or two before Bram gradually drew the horse around to face the direction of the bridge.
Anna instinctively tightened her arms about Bram’s waist just as the horse stepped forward at an easy walk, then a trot as they emerged from the trees.
Bram remained perfectly upright in the saddle, neither hurried nor tense, waiting with remarkable patience until they reached the stretch of open road leading directly toward the bridge.
Only then did she feel him shift his weight slightly, gathering the reins a little shorter in his hands as the horse sped up.
The ground rushed beneath them and Anna squeezed her eyes shut, but only briefly before she realized she didn’t want to be surprised by anything, a man or blade coming at her. The wind of the swift ride caught her hair and pulled it back from her face.
The gelding gathered speed again just as Bram lowered himself over his neck.
She bounced helplessly with the horse's stride, her feet threatening to slip from their awkward position, and concentrated upon the one instruction Bram had made unmistakably clear: hold on to him.
She heard warning shouts called out, and realized from her left side perspective, that they were nearly upon the bridge, the water almost directly below. Bram drew the sword from his hip, the metal hissing against the scabbard.
“Head down,” he ordered.
Anna obeyed instantly, burying her face against his back just as the gelding’s hooves struck the bridge with a thunderous clatter.
After that, she saw almost nothing clearly.
Grey stone rushed beneath them. Someone shouted.
Scarlet cloth flashed at the edge of her vision, followed by the brief, startled glimpse of a man's face.
Bram's body twisted violently against her arms and his boot struck something—or someone—with enough force that the impact jarred through them both.
The gelding broke stride, and Anna’s stomach lurched as the horse swerved sharply, hooves scrambling upon stone before Bram hauled him straight again.
“Hold fast!”
She was!
Steel crashed against steel somewhere terrifyingly close to her head. Bram shifted again, one arm driving forward, and the force of the movement nearly dragged Anna sideways with him. She clung harder, her cheek pressed against his back, smelling wool and horse and sweat.
Another shout. Another violent movement beneath her hands.
Then pain burned suddenly along the outside of her thigh. Anna gasped and flinched. It felt like a thorn or branch dragged sharply across her skin, startling more than painful, but before she could look down, the gelding swerved again and nearly pitched her from the saddle.
Bram caught the horse and redirected him.
Then, almost as suddenly as it had begun, the pounding echo of hooves upon stone gave way to the softer rhythm of earth beneath them.
The shouts behind them grew fainter, swallowed by the river and the sound of their own escape, and Anna released a burst of breath—they’d made it.
Bram didn’t ease the gelding’s pace. His body remained taut beneath her hands as he urged the horse onward, likely wanting to put as much distance as possible between them and the bridge.
Anna dared to turn her head, and though it was hard to see detail while bouncing along, she thought that two men were down while another leaned heavily against the stone railing as if wounded as well, and the fourth stood directly in the center, his thin blade lowered to the ground as he watched them ride away.
“They’re not chasing us,” she said with no small amount of wonder.
“They’ll want to pretend they never saw us,” Bram supposed.
Anna thought he meant, they’d never mention to any superior the strange pair evading their checkpoint and crossing the bridge, the four of them unable to stop the man atop the stolen gelding. “Thank God.”
***
Having some suspicion that the bridge they’d crossed most likely spanned the River Tees, Bram reckoned Scotland lay little more than a day’s hard ride ahead if fortune continued to favor them. He intended to press on for as long as the gelding could manage.
His bare foot had not escaped the crossing entirely unscathed.
The point of an English blade had found its mark as they thundered across the bridge, but only just. His own sword had turned what would have been a crippling blow into little more than a shallow cut across the top of his foot.
The wound bled freely enough, though it caused him scant discomfort and didn’t require attention.
Once again they rode hard across open country, the land mercifully level beneath the gelding’s hooves.
With no pursuit immediately behind them, every stride carried them farther from the bridge until the better part of an hour’s hard riding lay between themselves and the English patrol.
Bram resisted every temptation to glance over his shoulder.
Whether the soldiers had given chase or abandoned the effort altogether mattered little now.
Only when the open ground gradually yielded once more to woodland did he finally ease the gelding’s pace. Anastasia’s grip around his waist loosened as the horse settled into a walk, the trees closing about them once again and offering welcome concealment.
Bram lifted his gaze through the canopy, judging the lowering afternoon sun against the direction of their travel.
So long as he kept it upon his right shoulder for another hour or two, they would continue steadily north.
Satisfied they had not wandered from their course, he allowed the gelding to pick his way through the trees at an easier pace.
They’d ridden nearly another mile before Anastasia finally spoke.
“I hate to sound like a five-year-old on a road trip,” she said, “but I have to pee.”
As with so many things that she said, Bram was forced to rely upon context to suss out her meaning.
“Aye, but I’d like to be deeper within the trees ere we stop.”
The gelding needed the respite almost as much as Anastasia.
White foam had dried in streaks along the horse’s neck and shoulders, and though the sturdy beast had answered every demand placed upon him since acquiring him, even the finest mount had its limits.
If they were to pause, Bram wanted the shelter of thicker woodland surrounding them before granting horse and riders alike a brief rest. His preference remained to travel until darkness made further progress unwise, but he could not deny a measure of satisfaction with the ground they had covered since leaving the bridge behind.