The shock of her words registered immediately, and, horrified, Egan leaped to his feet and began to back away. “My father is still a young man and as strong as a bull. Your prophecy is wrong this time, Oriana, very wrong.”
Oriana let him stalk off into the night without comment, but her confidence in the knowing remained unshaken. However, now she understood the terror that prevented Egan from believing.
After a deep, dreamless sleep, the next morning Oriana awoke with a start and found a still sleeping Egan snuggled against her. He had not returned to their camp before she had fallen asleep, but she certainly did not recall inviting him to share her tent while they’d eaten supper. He obviously thought an invitation unnecessary, but a quick jab of her elbow served to disabuse him of the idea.
It wasn’t until Egan propped himself up on his elbow and raked his hair out of his eyes that the width of his grin made her realize the gravity of her error—it was now too late for her to slip out of the tent unnoticed.
“Yes, mistress?” Egan asked. Before she could respond, he used his free hand to pull her closer to his chest and leaned down to place a light kiss on her forehead. “May I be of some service?”
Oriana had never shared a bed with anyone other than her mother, and Egan was fast coiling himself around her, trapping her in his muscular arms, which was the very last place she wished to be. “You presume too much, my lord,” she stated accusingly, “and I’ll thank you to stay away from my tent from now on.”
“Very well. I’ve no real interest in your tent,” Egan assured her with a deep chuckle.
“And me as well,” Oriana quickly demanded.
“Well, now, that is another matter entirely, my lady.” Egan was accustomed to young ladies who enjoyed a playful jest, and he thoroughly enjoyed teasing Oriana, but her hardy distaste was impossible to mistake, so he regretfully released her.
Egan sat up and stretched his arms. “I shouldn’t have become angry with you last night. I meant to apologize, but you were already asleep, and I saw no reason to sleep out in the cold when you have this fine tent. Perhaps someone really has died, my stepmother or cursed half brother, but it can’t possibly be my father. He was in robust good health when I left home, and I haven’t been away long enough for such a strong man to grow frail.”
That Egan was distracted enough to release her was all Oriana craved, and she left the loosely draped tent at a quick crawl. Once outside, she pulled her chemise into place and grabbed the gown she had left folded atop her bag. She yanked it over her head and smoothed it over her hips with an anxious pat.
“Think whatever you like,” she said, “but we must be on our way.” She slid her feet into her shoes, but her first step toward the stream brought the agonizing burst of pain she had feared. Muscles she had not even known she possessed screamed with the effort to walk, and she lurched into the limb supporting her tent and hung on.
Egan left the tent in time to observe the unsteadiness of Oriana’s step. “You’re unaccustomed to riding, aren’t you?”
Oriana’s sleep-tousled curls bobbed as she nodded. “I don’t think I can ride again today,” she moaned. “Just go on without me, and I’ll follow the road back the way we came to return home.”
Egan circled the ancient oak to face her. “No, I think not. If you ride seated across my lap you’ll be comfortable enough, and Duncan’s horse ca
n carry our gear.”
Despite the shadow of his beard, Egan looked remarkably refreshed, while Oriana ached all over. The prospect of riding with him again wasn’t at all unpleasant, but she doubted it would be wise, as he used any excuse to hug and kiss her. He undoubtedly showed all young women the same easy affection, and although she was loath to accept it, she still wished it had been inspired by true regard rather than mere habit.
“I went to the fair simply to earn enough silver to purchase a new winter cloak,” she blurted out. “I didn’t long for an adventure.”
As expected, Egan stepped close and slid his arm around her shoulders in a comforting hug. “Perhaps you should have told your own fortune.”
“The gods won’t allow me to see my own future, but it doesn’t mean I can’t see yours.” Although she certainly wished she could discern more than menacing shadows and the uncomfortable presence of death.
“How much longer will it take us to reach your home?” she asked anxiously.
Egan shrugged and released her. “Two, maybe three days. It depends on how fast a pace we set.”
Oriana glanced over her shoulder to search for the horses and found they had not wandered far during the night. “How fast a pace can we set if we both ride Raven?”
The pain was too bright in her golden eyes for Egan to suggest otherwise. “You’re very slender, Oriana. I doubt Raven will even be aware of your weight. Now, can you walk to the stream on your own or shall I carry you?”
“No, thank you. I believe I should make the effort to walk there on my own.” Oriana clung to the branch to gather her resolve.
Egan had never met such a single-minded young woman, and disappointed his efforts at distracting her from her dreary predictions had again proven futile, he left to gather firewood to cook the fish he would catch for their breakfast.
It was a fine morning for travel, but he refused to be influenced by Oriana’s sense of urgency. Instead he allowed himself to dwell on how good she would feel in his arms rather than what he might find when he arrived home.
Oriana understood how desperately Egan needed her prophecy to be false, and thoughtfully did not repeat it. The specter of death still loomed between them, however, making them increasingly awkward companions. Their journey finally drew to an end on a breezy afternoon.
“Can you smell the sea?” Egan asked, and urged Raven forward at a swifter pace, while the brown horse they’d named Brute trailed on a tether.
“Aye, I can,” Oriana replied, for the salty scent drifted easily on the light wind. It was an invigorating fragrance, but, filled with dread of what lay ahead, she kept her fingers laced in Raven’s mane.