Leah’s animals shied and reared for a moment, sending the gatekeeper into the tower. Sorcha’s heart dived. She was certain all was lost.
“Here!” Bjorn, still holding two destriers, grabbed the reins. “Be strong with the horses, Tom,” he reprimanded Leah, his voice harsh. “How many times do I have to tell you!” He smacked the reins back into Leah’s hands and continued through the gate.
Hooves echoed dully on the bridge as they led the horses to the green in front of the forest. To the east, the sky was turning a lighter shade, and the mists that crept along the ground swirled around their feet. Sorcha heard the sound of the huge gate being lowered again, and when they were finally near the woods, she let out her breath.
They didn’t say a word until they were at the edge of the forest, and Erbyn, the sleeping dragon, was still lifeless as it loomed at their backs. “ ’Tis time,” Bjorn said, climbing astride McBannon. “Within the hour Roy will discover me gone, and the guards will notice that there are but three horses still grazing here, with no one watching over them. Baron Hagan will surely follow us.”
They had planned to ride together for several miles, then split up, Bjorn heading north, and Leah and Sorcha taking the road to Prydd. Sorcha helped Leah onto Lady Anne’s bay jennet, then she climbed onto the sleek back of a white palfrey.
Leaving three horses grazing in the meadow, they rode carefully into the forest as the early light had barely pierced the woods.
Slowly night became day and they turned onto a little-used road and let out the reins. “I can’t believe we’re doing this!” Leah said as they galloped easily, putting much-needed distance between their horses and Erbyn.
The plan had been simple, but Sorcha felt pleased with herself. Bjorn had proved a worthy ally, not only in providing their disguises and weapons, but in his knowledge of the area. It was he who had come up with the route to Prydd and had handled the guard at the gate as if he’d been lying to sentries all his life. He’d earned his compensation, and though Sorcha would miss McBannon, Bjorn would treat the horse well.
As the sun climbed in the sky, it was partially hidden by clouds, but the mists parted and it was soon easy to see far ahead. The horses loped until they were breathing hard, and Bjorn signaled for them to slow.
Sorcha didn’t question him, for her palfrey was laboring and flecks of lather stood out on McBannon’s dark coat. She noticed the lines of strain surrounding Bjorn’s face and knew that the ride was difficult for him. His ribs, though healing, were still not knit, and the jarring ride was surely painful.
“If you want to rest—” she offered, but he shook his head.
“ ’Twould be death to stop.”
Sorcha agreed. “I want to thank you for helping us.”
“Wait until you’re safely back to Prydd,” he said without a trace of humor. “Then you may thank me.”
Prydd. She smiled as she thought of her home and the happy memories of her childhood. Absently patting the mare’s white neck, she considered the conversation she would have with Tadd. He would be furious with her for eluding him, and his temper would grow black when he heard that she’d given McBannon to a stableboy. But he would be pleased that she had freed Leah, tricked Hagan, and come away with two fine horses. They were not nearly as valuable as McBannon, of course, but they were worth much. And they are stolen. Do you think Hagan will not track you down and demand them back? She couldn’t think of Hagan, not now. Her images of him were too confused. One second she thought of him as Hagan the Horrible, the beast of Erbyn, her sworn enemy. The next moment she was remembering the way he smiled at her, or the feel of his arms around her when they danced, or the tingle of excitement that slid down her spine when he slowly removed her clothes. Oh, she was a hopeless wanton, fantasizing about a man who no doubt, at this moment, would like to strangle her.
They had just turned a sharp corner in the old road when Bjorn pulled up. McBannon’s ears twitched nervously, and Sorcha’s heart leaped to her throat.
Bjorn’s eyes were trained on the road, and he slowly urged his mount forward until he came to a fork in the path. He hopped lithely to the ground and studied the
animal tracks, as if reading his future in the trampled grass and mud.
“What is it?” Leah asked, but the cutting glance he sent her stopped further questions.
Kneeling, he touched the cold earth, and Sorcha, who couldn’t stand the suspense a second longer, dismounted and followed him. She saw the curved impressions of horses’ hooves along with tracks of roe deer and boar. A badger had passed this way, as well. She knew, for she could read tracks as well as any page. Years before, her father had shown her the footprints of the forest creatures, and she’d placed them unerringly in her memory. Also, wheel marks, as if from a very heavy cart that had passed, were carved into the mud.
Several piles of dung littered the road. “Many horses have passed this way, and recently,” he said, his frown deepening. “The tracks and dung are fresh.”
“So?”
He rocked back on his heels. “An army?”
Sorcha’s throat closed in on itself. “Mayhap just a party going from one castle to the next for the revels.”
“Mayhap,” he said, but a smile didn’t touch his eyes. “But these tracks, they come from the direction of Prydd.”
She’d already thought of that and wondered if her brother had finally come to free her.
They climbed back on their horses.
“What is it?” Leah demanded as they rode into a shadowy thicket of oak.
“We don’t know. Maybe an army. Maybe guests for—”
An arrow hissed, splitting the air and burying deep in Bjorn’s shoulder. “Son of a dog!” he growled, sucking in his breath as he nearly toppled off his horse. He managed to turn McBannon away from the attack. “Run!” he yelled through gritted teeth.