Chapter eleven
I turned to flee the moment James slumped forward, but when I reached my horse, I stopped and looked back at him.
Sadness hit me. He had lied to me. Of course, I’d lied to him, too, so I supposed I could not judge him too harshly, though admitting this didn’t lessen the sting of his betrayal.
I stared at him for a long moment, thinking of the powder I’d mixed into his wine when I’d gone to fetch it.
I knew I’d not give him too much, but he was so still, and my mind began to spin with doubt.
I wanted him out long enough for me to be well away from him, not dead. I was not a murderer.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I stepped back toward him and knelt.
The motion made my wounds scream, but I could ill afford to take anything to dull the pain.
I needed my mind sharp. I was going to have a hard enough time finding my way to the Dark Woods on my own.
I leaned forward, catching a whiff of his scent of fire and earth.
He was a liar, but a liar who smelled good.
“Damn ye,” I whispered, pressing my fingers to his neck.
His pulse was steady, if shallow. His warm skin under my fingers conjured the memory of his strong, sure hands on my body as he’d cared for me.
He wasn’t a bad man. I knew it instinctively.
No man who had cared for me as he had lacked honor, yet he had been willing to lie to me.
I suspected he stood to gain by delivering me to the king.
Had my past taught me nothing? I shook my head at myself in disgust, even as my chest tightened.
I traced James’s strong jawline, the curl of his dark locks against his tanned neck, and the wide, powerful span of his shoulders.
I barely knew this man, yet he already had the power to hurt me.
I had already begun to trust him, to let him in, despite myself.
I stared at his muscular arms and imagined them around me for one breath.
He represented everything I could not have—stability, protection, love, bairns of my own.
Then I had a flash of me standing over his body, passed on from this life with age, and I shuddered.
These thoughts and feelings of vulnerability were why I avoided letting a man close.
This pretty man had addled my brain in too short a time.
I pushed away what was not mine to have and shrugged off James’s plaid, leaving it on the cave floor beside his unconscious form.
The last thing I needed was anything of his weighing me down.
I snatched my cloak from where it had been drying, gathered my things, stuffed them into my satchel, and hurried to my horse.
The animal snorted and stamped, sensing my distress.
Outside, the storm raged, thunder crashing overhead and rain driving in sheets across the landscape.
Not ideal for escape, but perhaps it would work in my favor, making it harder to track me.
I led the horse out of the cave, glancing back only once at James’s still form.
Regret twisted in my chest. “Move, ye great lummox,” I muttered to the horse as I mounted, my injuries screaming in protest. The saddle was a special kind of torture, but I gritted my teeth and dug my heels into the animal’s flanks.
We plunged into the darkness, the storm swallowing us and forcing me to pull the reins to slow the horse to a walk.
Rain lashed my face, cold and stinging. My cloak, still damp, offered little protection. Within moments, I was soaked through, my hair plastered to my skull, water running in rivulets down my neck and back. The horse fought against the mud with each stride, but our progress was slow.
As I rode, tree limbs caught my skirt, and the moss hanging from the trees struck my face with surprising force. I ducked and weaved, but I couldn’t avoid everything. One branch caught my hood, nearly yanking me from the saddle before I jerked free, my heart in my throat.
I had no idea where I was going. North meant away from the king, away from Edinburgh, but in this darkness, with the storm distorting everything, I couldn’t tell north from east. I squinted through the rain, searching for landmarks, for anything familiar, yet the world had become a swirling mass of shadow and water.
“Come on,” I urged the horse, leaning forward to speak into his ear. “Just a bit farther, aye?”
The animal responded with renewed effort, his powerful muscles bunching beneath me as he pushed through the mud. We splashed through a stream I hadn’t noticed until we were in it, the water rising to the horse’s knees, cold spray soaking my boots and the lower half of my skirts.
The path I thought led north curved back on itself, and I realized with a sinking heart that I was lost. The trees all looked the same in the darkness.
My poor sense of direction had always been a weakness, but now it might get me killed.
If I couldn’t find my way, I’d be too easy for James to find, and he’d take me to the king, where I feared I’d encounter someone from my past. Then I had no doubt I’d be hanged as a witch.
The thought sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the rain.
I didn’t want to live forever, but I hadn’t yet given up hope of someday having a normal, curse-free life, and being hanged wasn’t the way to that.
“We need to get out of here,” I told the horse, turning him as best I could in the narrow space.
Suddenly, the ground dropped without warning, and the horse went down hard. I was thrown over his head, flying for a sickening moment before landing with a jarring thud on my hands and knees in the mud.
The impact drove the air from my lungs. Pain lanced through my arms and shot up my legs. I crouched there, gasping, rain pelting my back and mud seeping through my clothes. For several heartbeats, I could do nothing but breathe.
The horse scrambled to his feet with a frightened whinny. I looked up to see him standing, favoring his right foreleg. He took a step and nearly went down again as the leg buckled beneath him. My heart sank.
“Easy, boy,” I said, forcing myself to my feet despite the protest of my injuries. “Easy now.”
I approached slowly, speaking in a low, soothing voice. He let me touch him, let me run my hands down his leg. It was not broken, thank the gods, but badly wrenched. He would not be able to carry me any farther tonight.
“Ye did yer best,” I told him, pressing my forehead briefly to his wet neck. “Now ye need to rest.”
I unhooked my satchel from the saddle and slung it over my shoulder. The destrier would have to fend for himself until I could send help, if I survived to do so. I gave him one last pat, then turned and set off into the storm-lashed wood on foot.
The rain came down harder now, if that were possible.
My boots sank into the mud with each step, and my skirts dragged heavily, soaked.
The forest pressed close on all sides, dark and impenetrable.
I had no idea where I was going, only that I had to keep moving, to put as much distance as possible between myself and James.
The thought of him sent a fresh wave of anger through me. Let him wake to an empty cave, search the storm for me, and return to his king with nothing but excuses. James deserved that for deceiving me. Aye, I’d deceived him as well, but my deception would not have harmed him.
I pushed through the undergrowth, cursing my slow progress.
My breath came in short bursts, my lungs burning from trudging along the path.
I stopped by a large tree with an odd pattern on the trunk that looked like an old woman’s face.
The image gave me chills. I had to get ahold of myself, get my bearings, and slow my racing heart.
But just as my blood stopped roaring in my ears and the rain began to let up, a branch snapped behind me.
It could not be James. There was no way he could have awoken, but if someone was there, I had no intention of standing there for them to snap my neck as they had done to that man Dugga.
I strode forward, my heart hammering again.
The ground beneath my feet grew more treacherous, with roots snaking across my path and stones slick with moss.
I stumbled once, caught myself against a tree trunk, and pushed on.
I thought each step took me deeper into the woods, farther from the cave, from James, and, I hoped, from whoever might be following me if someone was there.
Then I stopped as I came across the same twisted tree I’d passed before.
There, in the trunk, the wood formed the same pattern I had noted before, a face.
By the gods, I’d been walking in circles!
Just as that truth gripped me, another twig snapped behind me, and I whirled. “Who’s there?” I demanded, my voice stronger now. “Show yerself!”
Fear crawled up my spine, making my skin prickle beneath my wet clothes.
I turned and ran, ducking under a low-hanging limb as my feet slipped through the mud.
Branches clawed at my face and arms, leaving thin lines of fire across my skin.
My breathing grew so fast that my lungs burned.
I had to get away. I had to find shelter, somewhere to hide until daylight.
A hand clamped around my throat from behind, hauling me off my feet.
I clawed at the arm, but it was like clawing at an oak branch.
I drove my elbow back hard into what I hoped were my attacker’s ribs.
He didn’t even grunt. The grip on my throat tightened, cutting off my air, and stars burst behind my eyes.
I kicked backward, my heel connecting with something solid, but it had no more effect than kicking a stone wall.
The man was enormous, his strength terrifying in its ease.
He held me as if I weighed nothing, my toes barely touching the ground.
I twisted in his grip, raking my nails down his forearm, but his grip didn’t loosen.
He let me exhaust myself, my struggles growing weaker as black spots danced at the edges of my vision. Only when I had nearly given up did he lean down, his mouth close to my ear.
“Quit fighting me,” he said, his voice low and unhurried. “Or I just might break yer pretty little neck.”
The calm in his voice was worse than rage. There was no heat, no emotion at all, just the flat certainty of a man stating a simple fact. He would break my neck if I continued to struggle. He had done it before. He would do it again.
I went motionless, my hands dropping to my sides. In that stillness, with the rain falling and his hand at my throat, I was certain this was the man who had snapped Dugga Johnstone’s neck and left him cooling on the road. I had seen enough death to recognize the hands that dealt it.
My body decided before my mind did. I let my muscles go slack so that he could read it as submission.
But my mind, my mind was not still. My thoughts raced forward, forming a plan.
I had to somehow drop the ribbon I’d tied my hair with and the twine knotted at my wrist. James would save me if he could find me, and he was at least the devil I knew.
“If ye scream, I’ll cut out yer tongue,” the man said, his breath hot against my ear. “If ye try to run, I’ll break both yer legs. Do ye understand?”
I nodded as best I could with his hand at my throat.
“Good, lass.” The praise was obscene in its casualness. “Now, we’re going to walk to my horse. Ye’ll do it quiet-like, aye?”
I nodded again, and he eased his grip enough to let me draw a proper breath. He turned me, keeping one hand on my throat and the other clamped around my upper arm. In the darkness, I could make out little of his features. He began to walk, half-dragging me along.
We had not gone far before a heavy gray destrier tied to a low branch materialized. The man released his grip on my throat only to grab a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back in pain.
“On the horse,” he ordered, shoving me forward.
I stumbled to the animal’s side, my mind racing.
If I mounted, I would be truly caught. There would be no escape once we were moving.
But if I refused, he would hurt me or worse.
Before I could decide, the man grabbed me around the waist and threw me belly-first over the saddle, knocking the breath from me.
My face pressed into the horse’s wet flank, the scent of sweat and animal filling my nostrils.
There was no chance to struggle. He mounted behind me, his weight making the saddle creak, and he pressed his heavy palm flat against my back.
I turned my head slightly and saw my captor squinting ahead at the path.
As the horse lurched forward, I worked my fingers up into my hair.
The ribbon that had held it back was coming loose anyway, thanks to the man’s rough handling.
I tugged it free, letting it fall into the mud below.
It was a small thing, but hopefully noticeable with its blue color and stars.
If James came this way, I prayed to the gods he would see it and perhaps recall it in my hair.
I held my breath, waiting for my captor to bellow at what I’d done, but when it became clear he had not noticed, I worked on the twine knotted around my wrist. It was a simple thing, but mayhap James had seen the children give it to me the day we’d left.
I managed to loosen the knot, then opened my fingers, letting the twine drop into the darkness behind us.
Last came the bit of plaid James had lent me to wipe my face.
I had stuffed it in my pocket, and with a bit of doing, I managed to wiggle enough to reach it.
I prayed these three things were enough threads for James to find me.
As the horse picked its way through the forest, I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing and on staying alive.
James would come. He had to. The alternative was too terrible to even consider.