Читать книгу Pride Of Lions - Suzanne Barclay - Страница 11

Chapter Three

He could not be dead, Hunter thought, for he hurt everywhere. Still, he couldn’t move. When he forced his eyes open, it was to suffocating darkness.

“Dieu,” he groaned.

“Shh.”

Something covered his mouth. The woman’s voice came out of the black, “Be still. They are above us.”

“Am...am I blind?” he mumbled.

“Nay. Only covered so they won’t see us.”

Coarse voices grumbled above them, arguing, he thought.

The woman whimpered softly, her breathing shallow and raspy. Her slender body, pressed more closely against his left side, shuddering convulsively.

Instinctively he put an arm around her, grateful that it moved to his command. Mayhap he was not paralyzed after all. As he lay there in the dark, his mind leaped back over the night’s events: the cattle raid, the woman he’d rescued, the precipitous flight from a band of brigands and the fall that had ended here.

A voice intruded, loud and coarse. “That armor he was wearing would be worth a fortune.” Gravel crunched. “Looks like they went over the edge here.”

“Curse the luck,” said another harsh voice.

The Bells, Hunter thought. He should do something...get up, draw his sword and prepare to defend. But he could not marshal the strength to move. To a man of action, lying here totally defenseless, waiting for the enemy to strike, was pure torture. His body jerked as he tried to force it to move.

“Stay still.” The woman stroked his cheek. “I know it is hard to stay hidden here,” she whispered. “But we could not hope to prevail. against so many armed, ruthless animals.”

Hunter wanted to scream. At the moment, he could not have fought a week-old kitten.

“They could be hurt,” said one.

“Do ye think so?” the other Bell asked eagerly.

“Aye. They was fools to try this in the dark. If they aren’t dead, they’ll be sore hurt.”

“Easy pickings. What say, should we go down and see?”

“Idiot, I’m not chancing this trail at night. Besides, if they’re hurt, they won’t be going anyplace. We can go and get our share of the cattle, then sneak back later when it’s daylight and take what we want.”

Their footsteps faded away.

“They have gone.” She sat up, flinging off the cloak with which she’d covered them.

“Well, at least I am not blind,” Hunter grumbled, blinking against the moonlight filtering through the leaves.

“I am sorry, but I feared they’d spot that shiny armor of yours.” She slung the cloak around her shoulders and shifted to her knees beside him. “They will be back. We must leave as—”

“I cannot move.”

“What?” She leaned over him, frowning as she poked and prodded. “Small wonder, I’d say. You’re wedged in between a rock and the tree that broke your fall.”

“My back?”

“I do not think it’s broken.” She smiled faintly. “Your armor’s caught fast in the rocks. Here, let’s get this out of the way for a start.” She tugged off his helmet.

He swore as his head thumped on the stony ground. “Have a care what you are—”

“Sorry. I’ve never done this before.” She attacked the leather buckles holding the breastplate and back of his armor together. When they were loose, she cocked her head, grinning down at him. “You look a bit like a turtle I once trapped.”

“This is not amusing.”

“The turtle didna think so, either. He ended up in a soup.”

“Just get on with it, will you?”

“Aye, since you asked so nicely.” She approached the task with far more zeal than skill. It was no easy task for a small, inexperienced woman to extricate a prone man from a set of full battle plate. After much sweating and swearing on both their parts, she wrested the armor from his torso.

Freed of the encumbering weight, which had indeed been jammed between two rocks by the force of his fall, Hunter managed to sit up. “Damn.” He gingerly flexed first his shoulders, then his back. “Argh.” His hand went straight to the spot just above his waist where he’d met the tree.

“Hurt?” She circled around and lifted the hem of the padded gambeson he wore to protect against the chafing metal. “The skin’s not cut, but you’ll have a dandy bruise.”

“You say that so cheerily because it’s mine, not yours.”

She chuckled and came around to sit beside him. “It could have been much worse. Worthless as I find your armor, it did save you from greater injury.”

“Worthless?” Hunter bristled. “It will stop an arrow and even a slashing blow from a sword or lance.”

“Aye, but it weighs down a man and his mount and makes him far less agile in battle.”

Hunter grunted. He’d heard that argument from more than one Scot who preferred the traditional armaments to the armor popular in England and Europe. “This time, I’d say my plate was both blessing and potential curse. My thanks, for hiding me earlier and for getting me free.” Bracing his hand on a huge boulder, he stood. Pain stabbed through his left ankle, sending him back down.

“What is it?”

“My ankle.”

“Can you move it?”

Hunter warily rotated the foot, then nodded.

“Mayhap it is not broken, then.” She tugged off his boot.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Hunter endured her poking and prodding.

“A bad twist, I’d say.”

“Bloody hell!” Hunter gazed angrily around at the stark, wild land. Then a new worry intruded. “The stallion?”

“I—I do not know. I think he slid on past us, but I have not heard a sound, from below.”

They both turned to look at the wall of trees and rocks that hid the rest of the descending slope, then at each other. The same thought was in both their faces. The horse was dead.

“I am sorry,” she whispered.

“So am I. My sire raised him from a colt.”

Tears glinted in her eyes. “I could go down and search.”

“Nay.” The tightness in Hunter’s chest expanded to fill his throat. “He must be dead. An injured horse is not quiet.”

“We cannot stay here.”

“I know.” Hunter glared balefully at his swollen ankle. If worse came to worst, he’d walk on it and damn the agony.

“It may not hold you.”

“It will,” he snapped. “But there is no sense blundering about in the dark. Mayhap a few hours’ rest will improve it.”

“Hmm.” Allisun doubted that but saw no reason to argue. A poultice might aid the healing, but the herbs she’d brought with her in case anyone was injured were lost with her horse. “I could walk up to the trailhead and—”

“Return with your kin.” His face and voice were as fierce as they’d been when he’d rescued heir.

“Nay, that is not what I meant.” But she knew he didn’t believe her. Why should he? Though they’d worked together to escape the stampede and the Bells, they were enemies.

“They will come looking for you?” he asked.

“Aye. Of a certainty they will.” Providing they were alive and free. Sweet Mary, what if they weren’t? What if—?

“Just as my men will search for me.”

“Providing the Bells did not get them all.”

He snorted. “My men are more than a match for that rabble.”

“That rabble is the most ruthless fighting force about.”

“My men will best them.”

Arrogant ass. Allisun glared at him. “The Bells may be more interested in cattle stealing than fighting.”

“Let’s hope so, for all our sakes. But it may be some time before my men find us.” He gazed up the mountain, then back at her. “We should get what rest we can.”

Allisun glared right back at him. “I have no intention of sitting here, waiting on a bunch of McKies.”

“Because of the feud.”

“Of course.”

“So, you are a Murray.”

“I never said—”

“Allisun Murray?”

She gasped. “How can you know that?”

“My uncle said that with your brother gone, you would lead your kinsmen in their raids. I thought him wrong to accuse a woman of such heathenish ways, but I was mistaken.”

“Aye, you were.” Allisun leaped up. “About so much.” She whirled to leave.

He grabbed her ankle, bringing her to the ground with a plop and a grunt of pain. “You are my prisoner, and so you’ll stay.”

“Nay.” She lashed out at him with her free foot. He captured that, too.

Holding both her ankles in one wide hand, he whipped off his belt with the other. “You are my prisoner.”

“I saved your life,” she exclaimed. “I could have left you here, unconscious, for the Bells to find.”

“And I could have let you fall to the stampede.” He hauled her closer, looped one end of the belt around her right wrist, the other around his left. “I would say we are even.”

Fury overcame her fear. “You McKies owe me for the deaths of my father and brothers.” She reached for her knife.

Before the blade cleared the scabbard, he seized her hand and held it fast. My name is Carmichael, not McKie.”

“Carmichael?” Her face turned whiter; her eyes widened.

“Hunter Carmichael,” he said with relish.

“You were there that day.”

“Aye,” he snapped. “I saw your father take my aunt.”

The color rushed back into her cheeks. “You saw, but you know nothing.” Her eyes narrowed. “This feud was your fault. Had you not raised a hue and cry—”

“Your lecherous sire would have gotten away with my aunt and no one would have known whom to blame for the heinous deed.”

She laughed, the sound choked, wild and bitter. “How little you know,” she whispered.

“I know what I saw.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

Not to a man who had always dealt in facts. “I was there.”

“So you were.” Her shoulders slumped. She bent her head and repeated the phrase softly, sadly. “And because you were, my family has been hounded—”

“With good reason.”

“So you say.”

Hunter stared at her; trying to pierce the veil of hair that hung before her delicate profile. “What are you saying?”

She turned, tossing the hair from her face, her eyes intent, burning into his. “Nothing, except that you are completely wrong about what happened.”

Hunter glared right back at her. He felt guilty for not having saved his aunt, but he’d not shoulder the blame for starting this feud. Alex Murray had done that when he had kidnapped his aunt. “You’d best try to sleep,” he said tersely. “We must try to leave here before dawn.”

Her head came up at that, like a fighter sensing a challenge. “Oh, I will be ready, sir knight.”

He slept.

Allisun listened to the rhythmic rasp of the knight’s breathing and knew exhaustion had overridden his wariness.

Slowly, cautiously, she bent to slide her hand down the, outside of her left leg. There, in the top of her boot, was the small knife no Borderer went without. One eye on her enemy, she eased the dirk free. If the past twelve years had taught her one thing, it was patience. She applied it now, pressing the sharp blade ever so gently to the leather that bound her to him.

Long minutes passed.

An owl called out from the branches above. Its mate answered, and the pair set out, gliding from the trees on silent wings, hunting in perfect accord.

Her parents had been like that, Allisun reflected as she worked at the bindings. Two bodies, one mind. One heart. Their love had been a thing of beauty, till her mother sickened and her father turned to Brenna for solace. Aye, the Murrays’ miseries, past and present, could be laid at the feet of that sorceress, Brenna. But she was gone, and there was no way to make Hunter understand that without seeming to vilify the dead.

She sliced through the last bit of leather, then held her breath, watching, waiting to see if he’d rouse. He was a handsome man, she thought, staring at his sleep-softened features, the square, stubborn jaw and full, expressive mouth. It was his eyes, though, that had fascinated her. So deep a shade of brown they looked black by moonlight, and so intent they seemed to see clear through her.

When he did not move, Allisun crept from beneath the cloak he’d draped over them for warmth and stole away. It had originally been her plan to climb up to the trailhead and wait in concealment for her men to ride by. But the fate of Hunter’s horse weighed heavily on her mind. What if it was alive but unable to cry out? The thought of so noble a beast in pain sent her toward the base of the gulch.

Keeping low to the ground, moving from tree to tree as Danny had taught her, she reached the base of the mountain. Here the woods were fed by a bubbling burn, the water sweet and cool to her parched throat. As she drank, she thought of Hunter Carmichael, who doubtless hungered and thirsted, too.

Bah. The McKies would find him come morn and carry him back to Luncarty, there to feed him and tend his ankle.

Rising, she turned away from the stream, and nearly fell over the body of the great stallion.

“Poor thing.” She touched its forehead.

“What are you doing?”

Allisun whirled around, the knife clutched in her hand.

Hunter Carmichael stood a few feet away, leaning heavily on a thick tree branch.

“How did you get here without my hearing?”

“Because I am as good at sneaking about as you are.” Limping forward, he knelt on the stallion’s other side and gently stroked the satiny shoulder. “Broken neck.”

“Aye. He did not suffer,” Allisun offered.

“That is something, I suppose.” His hand stilled. “I have two colts and a filly from him, but...”

“It is hard to lose someone you love.”

Hunter looked up at her, surprised by the understanding, the compassion in her face. Most people would have scoffed at the loss of a horse. Allisun Murray was different in a way that tugged at him. He couldn’t let it matter. “Why did you come down here instead of going up the tail?,

“I thought he might be suffering.”

The tug twisted deep in his gut. “He didn’t.”

“Nay. I am glad of that, Still...” A single tear glistened on her cheek. “’Tis a sad end to so magnificent a beast.”

Hunter stared at her a moment, wondering how a man as heinous as Alexander Murray, the kidnapper he’d hated for years, could have raised so gentle a daughter. Dismissing the notion, he turned away and removed Zeus’s trappings.

“You cannot carry the saddle, not with that ankle.”

“I’ve no intention of trying. I’ll hide it and the lance in yonder brush, then cover his body with branches.”

“Why?”

“If the Bells come down here looking for us and find the horse, they’ll know we are afoot.”

“If they don’t see him, they’ll assume we rode on.” Allisun nodded, her mind racing. A half hour’s climb would put her at the top of the trail. She was fairly certain the rocks there would conceal her while she waited for her kin.

“Go, if you want,” said Hunter. “I’ll not stop you.”

She looked at his foot, braced gingerly against a rock, then up at the strong, clean lines of his face. “What of you?”

“I will soak my ankle in the cold burn till daylight, then. climb up to the trailhead and watch for my men.”

“What if my kin come along first?”

He grinned, his teeth a white slash in his tanned face. “Then I’ll have to hope you’ll intercede with them on my behalf.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re a fair-minded wench.”

Allisun scowled. “We are enemies.”

“Whom fate has thrown together. You’ve two sound legs to walk about. I’ve a sword for defense and food.” He dangled a pouch before her. “Oatcakes, dried beef and a flask of whiskey.”

“I’m not hung—” Her stomach growled in disagreement. There was never enough to eat, and she was always hungry.

Hunter chuckled. “What say we declare a truce, Allisun Murray? Just till we’re rescued.”

“What happens then?” she asked warily.

“I swear that if my men find us first, we’ll either leave you here unharmed or take you to wherever you want to go.”

She sniffed. “Jock McKie’ll not abide by that.”

“My uncle is back home at Luncarty. His leg was badly smashed when your brother ambushed him.”

“What?” Allisun exclaimed, torn between outrage at the accusation and joy that their nemesis was wounded. “If Danny fought, ’twas only after Old Jock attacked him. And them riding under a flag of truce.”

“My uncle says differently.”

“Then he lies,” she snapped. “My brother is not here to defend himself, but I will tell you this—Danny was a gentle lad, only a year older than I am, who had hoped to become a priest. This damned feud shattered that dream, as it did our lives, but Danny still hated killing. He’d not have struck first.”

Hunter hesitated, weighing her earnestness against his uncle’s earlier impassioned tale. Jock was loud and crude, but he had a reputation for honesty. And this woman was a stranger, an enemy. “It matters little what happened in the past. Fate has trapped us here, afoot in an area teeming with rapacious Bells. Our best chance of survival lies in working together. My offer of a truce between us still holds.”

She eyed him narrowly. “That is what Old Jock offered when he lured my brother to his doom.”

“Dieu,” Hunter exclaimed, raking his thick hair back with an exasperated hand. “You are a hard, suspicious thing.”

“Thank you. I’d not have survived otherwise. Still, I suppose there is naught to be gained by squabbling. So, I agree to the truce. But just till we’re rescued, mind.”

With her chin tilted up, her jaw set, Hunter could see there was much of the fighter in Allisun Murray, too. “I agree to your terms.”

To his surprise, they worked well together. Still it took time for a small woman and a limping man to do what must be done. Dawn was lightening the sky above the trees by the time they’d gotten the horse covered and the armaments hidden.

Hunter ducked behind a bush to remove his hose, then limped to the bank of the stream wearing only his thigh-length quilted tunic. The ankle was bruised, swollen to twice its normal size and throbbed like a bad tooth. He hoped it was just twisted and not broken. Sitting down on a rock, he eased his foot into the swift-running water. Air hissed between his teeth. “Ach, ’tis cold as ice.” He pulled his foot out again.

“Just what’s needed to bring down the swelling.” Allisun knelt beside him, grasped his calf and pushed the foot back in.

The feel of her hands on his bare skin sent a shiver up his leg, stirring something he had no right feeling for Alexander Murray’s daughter. Desire. But the body cared little for grudges and feuds. She was young and beautiful, in a wild, untamed way he found oddly appealing. The baggy trews that had disgusted him the night before molded temptingly to a surprisingly shapely rump as she bent to examine his injury.

Hunter groaned softly and tried to pull away.

“Easy.” Her grip on his leg tightened, and so did other, less discerning muscles farther up his leg. “I just want to see...” She rotated the ankle.

“Ach!” Hunter yelped as pain exploded.

“Does it hurt here?”

“Of course it does. Damn thing’s likely broken.” And then where would he be? Crippled, if it wasn’t set properly. “If only my Aunt Elspeth were here. She’s a skilled herb woman.”

“If I were wishing, it’d be for two horses.”

“I suppose you are right.” He leaned forward, peering at his dripping foot. “Do you think it’s broken?”

“Nay, I think...” She turned, and suddenly their faces were only a scant inch apart. The heat from his body, the faint scent of his skin teased her senses and made her insides draw tight as a bowstring. Fear? Nay, nor was it the hatred she wanted to feel. An odd sort of excitement ruffled through her, quickening her pulse, raising the fine hairs on her arms and neck.

Hunter watched her blue eyes darken and knew she felt the same sensual tug he did. The spark that arced between them kindled an unexpected heat deep in his belly. Lust stirred, dulling his brain, heightening his senses.

Her hair had come loose from its thick braid and straggled down her back. He wanted to thrust his hands into the tangled mass and see if it was as soft as it looked. He yearned to press her tense little body to the aching length of his and cover her mouth with his own. He longed to kiss her till they were both mindless and breathless with desire.

“Allisun,” he whispered, lowering his head.

“What?” She blinked and shook her head, then flinched. back away from him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“This.” He moved closer, a hairbreadth from her lips.

She gasped and dodged aside. “Is this the way you keep your truce, by...by attacking me the moment my guard is down?”

“I was merely giving us what we both want.”

“Want?” She dropped his leg back into the water. “You are mad! This unholy lust must run in the Carmichael blood. But I am not as easy a mark as my poor father was.”

“You will cease implying that my aunt was some sort of—”

“Whore!” Allisun sneered. “Adulteress. Is that not what they call a woman who steals another woman’s bus—”

“Hello, there!” called a loud male voice.

Hunter whipped his head up, shocked to find a band of mounted men watching them from across the stream. There must be a score, at least, dressed in leather jacks and trews, swords at their sides, riding sleek horses.

Allisun cursed ripely under her breath and reached for the knife she’d set on the bank.

“Not Murrays, I take it?” Hunter whispered.

“Nay. Nor Bells, either, but they’re not the only vermin hereabouts.” She scrambled to her feet, her knife held before her. “Stay back.”

Hunter grabbed his sword from the stony riverbank, for all the good he’d be on only one leg.

Chapter Four

“Who are you?” Hunter demanded.

The foremost man, a stout fellow with graying hair and a wide, florid face, smiled and held both his hands up, palms out. “Easy...easy. We mean ye no harm.”

“English,” Allisun hissed.

Hunter scowled. “How can you tell? He sounds like a Scot.”

“To you, mayhap, but a Borderer can hear the difference.” Allisun glared at the newcomers. “Be on your way, Englishman.”

“Derk Neville,” the man replied, directing a puzzled glance at Allisun before returning his attention to Hunter. “And the lass is right, I was born across the Tweed. Like many men, I’ve land on both sides of the river. Last year, I bought a fine Scottish tower, and that’s where I make my home at present. We are on our way back there from Kelso.” He gestured at his troop, which included a few heavily laden packhorses. “Went there to fetch some goods my wife ordered.”

“How many men have you got sneaking around behind us?” Allisun demanded.

“None.” Derk looked affronted. “We came down to water our beasts and saw ye two, er, doing whatever ye’re doing.”

Hunter flushed. “I’ve twisted my—”

“He’s washing his feet,” Allisun said.

Derk grinned. “Oh, aye. Well, we’ll just give the beasts a wee sip and be on our way.”

“Don’t come any clos—”

Hunter clamped a hand on her leg. “You’ll have to excuse her curtness. We were set upon by brigands.”

“Was it Bells?” Derk exclaimed.

“Aye,” Hunter said slowly, neither trusting nor distrusting. “How did you know?”

“Well, most of the ill deeds done hereabouts can be laid at Ill Will’s door, but,” he said as he glanced around, “truth to tell, we’d not be taking this trail through the glen if my scouts hadn’t spotted Will and his bunch up on the moor.”

“What were they doing?” Hunter and Allisun both asked.

“Roasting a haunch of beef.”

“You are certain ’twas not a man?” Allisun asked.

“The lass knows Ill Will, I see. Nay, ’twas a steer. They had a good-size herd standing about nearby. Will’s men looked right busy keeping an eye on them, but my lads and I decided we’d not take a chance the Bells had time to rob us.” He grinned. “My Morna’d have a fit if I lost that thick Turkish carpet before she’s had a chance to walk on it.”

Hunter smiled back and laid his sword down. “We understand. Come ahead and water your stock, Derk Neville.”

“Nay,” Allisun softly cried. “What if he’s lying?”

“Shh.” Hunter motioned her down beside him. “The truth is, if Derk wanted to kill us, there is not a damn thing I could do to stop him,” he whispered. It galled, for he was a man who prided himself on his ability to cope with any situation. “I might take one or two with me,” he added, watching out of the corner of his eye as the Nevilles dismounted and brought their mounts to drink at the stream. “But I’d not win.”

“Us,” she hissed back. “I know how to use this, and if I had a sword—”

“Allisun.” He closed his hand over her clenched fist. “Even if we had two swords apiece, they’d best us.”

She glared hatred at the Nevilles. “What do we do?”

Derk Neville hailed them from across the stream. “Couldn’t help noticing ye’ve no horses about.”

“They are grazing,” Allisun replied.

Hunter squeezed her hand, then looked at Derk. “Actually, we lost both mounts getting away from the Bells.”

“Ah. Ye’re lucky to be alive. Ye hurt yer foot?” At Hunter’s nod, Derk frowned. “If ye like, we could juggle our load and free up a horse for the pair of ye to ride.”

“Aye,” said Hunter.

“Nay,” said Allisun.

“We must. No telling how long before our kinsmen can safely look for us,” Hunter said through his teeth. No telling if they were even alive. Then louder he said, “Thanks. We accept.”

Allisun spat a curse that would have made a trooper blush.

“Did your mother never tell you swearing isn’t ladylike?”

“She died when I was six.”

Hunter’s anger leached away. “I am sorry.” Recalling the gentle guidance and unswerving love of his own mother, Hunter felt a stab of pity for this prickly lass. With his free hand, he gently grazed her cheek.

She knocked his hand aside, her eyes flashing blue fire, her chin mutinously high. “I’m not going with you.”

Beneath her defiance, Hunter saw a flicker of fear. It stabbed at his conscience, reminding him that he was responsible for her safety. Whether she liked it or not. “Aye, you are. I’ll not leave you here alone and on foot with the Bells—”

“You are not responsible for me,” she snapped.

“Lovers’ quarrel?” Derk asked, grinning as he waded across the stream.

Allisun glared at Derk and tried vainly to wrench her hand from Hunter’s grip. “We are not—”

“Of a sort,” Hunter interjected, seeing an answer to the questions he knew Derk would pose about who they were. “We were running away.” Beside him, he heard Allisun draw breath to protest. He stilled it by wrapping a loverlike arm around her waist and squeezing... hard.

“Humph,” Allisun wheezed, exhaling noisily.

“Her family does not approve of me.” Hunter grinned in response to her outraged expression. Under cover of dropping a kiss on her brow, he whispered, “If you do not go along with me, he may learn you’re a Murray and decide to collect the reward Uncle Jock has offered for you.”

Her eyes widened, and her mouth snapped shut.

“Truly?” Derk climbed the bank, water streaming from his knee-high boots. His sharp gaze moved from Hunter’s equally fine boots and Spanish-made sword to Allisun’s worn tunic.

Hunter’s nimble mind seized a likely response. “I’m a Highlander,” he confided. “Her kin feared I’d take her north, and they’d never see her again.”

“Highlander, ye say. What clan?”

“Sutherland. I am Hunt Sutherland of Kinduin,” he added, borrowing his Uncle Lucais’s surname and estate.

Derk nodded his head in acknowledgment and turned to Allisun. “And ye, lass?”

“Allie...Allie Hall.”

“Hall?” Derk rubbed his thick gray beard. “From where?”

“Over Moffat way,” she said grudgingly, glaring at Hunter.

“Allie Sutherland, she is now.” Hunter met her scowls with a wide grin. “We are handfasted,” he added, to prevent her from being branded a loose woman.

Allie made a choking sound, her eyes wide with horror. Do you realize what you have done? they silently asked.

Hunter was a little shocked himself. The words had just slipped out before he’d had a chance to think...really think... about the consequences. In some places, merely declaring themselves wed before witnesses was enough to unite a couple for a year and a day. Then if the marriage did not suit them, the couple could separate. They’d be parting much sooner than that, Hunter thought. “’Tis just till we can find a priest and be properly wed,” he added, and hoped Derk would think lack of a permanent ceremony the reason for Allie’s outburst.

“Women set store by that,” Derk said. “’Tis pleased I am to meet ye both. Ah, here come the lads with the horses.”

While Derk went to meet his men, Hunter levered himself to his feet. “I am sorry for that,” he whispered to Allisun. “But I could not have him think you were a...a—”

“Better a whore than your wife,” she snapped.

“You are not the mate I’d choose, either,” Hunter said through set teeth. “But ’tis only for a few days, till my ankle heals and we can go our separate ways.”

“If they will let us.” Fear shadowed her eyes, and her lips trembled slightly as she watched the Nevilles close in on them.

Hunter felt another unwelcome stab of sympathy. Poor thing, she’d been hunted and hounded most of her life. “Do not be afraid.” He put an arm around her. “I will not abandon you.”

Allisun. threw off his arm and glared up at him. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“Aye.” Twelve years ago he’d been unable to save his aunt. He would not fail another woman.

“We are enemies,” she hissed as the Nevilles led forth a horse. “Why should you care what happens to me?”

“I do not know.” Hunter studied her delicate profile, the high cheekbones, haughty nose and willful chin. She was a complex lass, her bravery unquenched by hardship, her beauty undimmed by poverty. But the years had marked her, he thought, recalling the lush mouth that was made to smile but seldom did, the eyes so often shuttered and unreadable.

What was it about her that moved him?

The storm that had threatened the night before began in earnest as they set out.

The cool drizzle suited Allisun’s mood exactly. She wanted to feel as miserable on the outside as she did on the inside, torn by concern for her kinsmen and apprehension for herself.

“Here, this will keep off the rain.” Hunter draped over them both an oiled cloth he’d had in his saddle roll.

“I am used to being wet.” Allisun flung back the cloth.

“Allie, ’tis possible they are back home, safe and dry.”

“Our roof leaks,” she snapped.

“I am sorry for that.”

“Jock is not. He burned us out of our tower.” The memory of that chaotic night, filled with fire and screams of pain, bolstered her anger against Hunter.

“Getting sick yourself will not change that.” He tucked the oiled cloth securely around her, then clamped an arm about her waist to keep it there.

Allisun fumed, trapped against the hard wall of his chest. It was like being enveloped by a furnace. She tried to maintain her stiff posture, but the heat from his body seeped in to banish the cold from hers. Lulled by the warmth and the horse’s rolling gait, her tired muscles sagged and her weary mind drifted back over the night’s events.

Damn Hunter for being so confounding. His words, his actions confused her. She did not like him, but her reasons for hating him were no longer as clear as they had been. When he’d first guessed her identity, she’d expected to be abused or even killed. After all, he’d spent the past twelve years believing her father had murdered his aunt. But instead of taking his anger out on her, he had treated her with gentleness and respect. Oh, his high-handedness grated on her independent spirit, but his dry wit tickled her latent sense of humor. And that hadn’t happened in a long, long time. How could a man be infuriating and amusing at the same time?

Well, there was nothing humorous about the situation in which she now found herself. Handfasted to Hunter Carmichael.

Her parents and brothers were doubtless turning over in their graves. The only consolation she could offer to them, and to herself, was that it was temporary. As soon as they reached Derk Neville’s tower, she’d find a way to escape.

“Allie?”

“Hmm?” Realizing she’d slumped into him, she stiffened.

“Nay. Lean back, rest. I but wanted to tell you—”

“I am not tired.” She sat bolt upright.

The sudden movement overset their mount, who shied and sidestepped on the narrow trail.

“Easy.” Hunter’s arm tightened around Allisun’s waist. His muscular thighs bunched beneath her rump as he brought the horse under control.

Allisun was abruptly, vividly aware of him in a way she hadn’t been before. Through the layers of wool that separated them, she could feel the muscles of his chest supporting her back. It unsettled her to find the measured cadence of his heartbeat echoing hers. For some reason the heat radiating from his body made her skin feel too warm and a size too small. Restless, she tried to sit forward.

“Sit still, or you’ll rile our horse,” Hunter murmured. His breath stirred the hair at her temple, sending gooseflesh tingling down her cheek and neck.

Allisun shivered. Was she sickening?

“Are you cold?” He held her closer. The pressure of his arm on her waist scrambled her insides and made the quivering in her belly worse.

“Nay, I tremble with hatred for you.” She wished it were true. Wished she did not like him. “You are my enemy,” she added, as much to remind herself of that.

“I have never done you ill.” He managed to sound hurt.

Allisun bypassed the obvious—that had he not raised the alarm, Jock would never have known whom to blame for Brenna’s disappearance. “You snatched me from my horse, tumbled us down a ravine and tied me to you with this handfasting.”

Hunter’s temper flared, goaded as much by pain and lack of sleep as her accusations. “Ingrate! In all this, I have but tried to protect you. Would you rather I told Derk who you are?” he whispered. “I am not the one with a price on my head.”

She sagged in his arms and shook her head.

Oddly, that small sign of defeat deflated Hunter’s fury. Who could blame her for being prickly and defiant, given what she’d told him about her life. Orphaned. Driven from her home. Forced to dress in rags and live under a leaky roof. Once he might have thought such hardships no more than the Murrays’ due, but that was before he’d met this rare, brave lass. Strangely, he wanted to make it up to her, but he knew she’d reject his sympathy even more vehemently than she did his offers of help. “I wanted to tell you,” he said in a stern voice, parent to child, “that when we reach Derk’s home, I will offer to buy this horse from him so we can leave immediately.”

“You have coin?”

“Aye.” His father had taught him to carry a bit of gold in his boot, just in case. “Not a fortune, but enough to buy—”

“Two horses. I do not like being hemmed in like this.”

Hunter grinned ruefully, glad his thick tunic kept her from knowing how he felt about the forced intimacy. What was it about this grubby, rebellious lass that made him want to forget the feud? His desire for her was inappropriate and inconvenient. Clearing his throat, he tried to ignore it. “Two horses then.”

“And once we’ve got them, we’ll go our separate ways.”

“After I take you home.”

She swiveled her head, pinning him with wide blue eyes. “Nay, you cannot know where I live.”

“Nor can I let you wander about the countryside alone. What if you chanced upon the Bells?”

“Better that than to lead Jock McKie to our hideaway.”

I would not betray you. But Hunter knew she wouldn’t believe him. “Let us take each step in turn.”

Allisun snorted and faced front again. “You can take whatever steps you like, but I’ll not be showing you our camp.” Despite her brave words, she was shaking inside, her mind racing to find a way out of this damnable situation.

“I do not think Derk Neville will harm us,” Hunter said after a few moments. “He seems a decent man.”

“Looks can be deceiving, especially hereabouts.”

“Aye,” Hunter mused. “I’ve heard Borderers are a rough lot. Constant feuds. Raiding, arson, kidnapping. ’Tis said robbery and blackmail are so common they’re considered callings.”

“That is not true.”

“Nay? What of the Elliots and the Armstrongs?”

“They are riding families.”

“Meaning?”

“They make their way by raiding and reiving.”

“My point exactly.”

“But not everyone is like them. Most folk tend to their herds and their hearths.”

“Unless someone steals their stock,” said Hunter. “In which case, they ride hard after the raiders.”

“Aye. The hot trod, we call it.”

“Legalized cattle rustling, more like.”

“The hot trod is only to reclaim what was stolen. Would you deny folk the right to get back what was theirs?”

“And mayhap take a bit more into the bargain?”

“Some might, especially if they had kinfolk hurt or killed in the original raid, but my da never held with such things.”

Hunter listened to the passion with which she spoke of her father. Again he wondered what sort of man Alexander Murray had been. His own memory of the one time they’d met was bitter. “You cannot convince me your father never took what was not his.”

“Well, he never took your aunt. She came willingly.”

“I do not believe you.” Yet he vaguely recalled Jock saying something about Alex sniffing around Brenna at a Truce Day meet.

“I wish it were not true. I wish it had never happened.”

“But why? She and Jock had not been married long.” Through his mind drifted the sounds of their voices raised in argument. A quarrel, one they had made up. He remembered, too, the sounds of their lovemaking.

“They were in love,” Allie said nastily.

Lust, more likely. It had been leading couples astray since Adam and Eve. It struck Hunter that he could be falling into the same trap. “Can you prove he did not kidnap her?”

“No more than you can prove he did.”

Hunter scowled.

“Foul weather, ain’t it,” said Derk, coming to ride alongside them.

“Aye,” Hunter muttered.

“The raiding season’ll soon be upon us.” Derk wiped a drop of water from his bulbous nose. “Hard times then.”

“Is the threat so constant?” Hunter asked idly.

“Oh, aye.” Derk shrugged. “There’s little chance a band of broken men would attack a tower as stout and well guarded as mine, but if the great riding families take it in their mind to come this way...well, then it’d be fight or pay blackmail.”

“Because you’re English?”

“Don’t matter much. Does it, lass?” He winked at Allisun. “There’s English reivers just as like to cross the Tweed and burn me out as attack my Scots neighbors.”

What a revolting way to live. “The Border Wardens?”

“Do what they can. Last year Rob Croser and his band ravaged the land around Jedburgh. Killed ten, left another dozen bad hurt. Andy Kerr caught him driving a herd of stolen stock. Hanged thirty Crosers on the spot, the Warden did.”

“Without a trial?”

“Well, Andy feared if they waited about for that, Rob’s son would gather up his men and their Nixon kin and get Rob free.”

Border justice, Hunter thought, gut tightening with revulsion. His father had said that in this wild land, men were both victim and conqueror. “Such constant strife breeds hard men and women,” Ross Carmichael had added.

Thinking of the woman seated before him, Hunter could only agree. And yet he wondered what would become of Allisun when they parted company. Would she die? Would his uncle be the one to kill her or order her killed?

Much as he wanted to avenge his aunt’s kidnapping, Hunter did not know if he could live with that. It had been much easier to hate the Murrays when they were a faceless foe.

“Dinna fret about yer safety,” said Derk. “Ye’re welcome to stay with us till yer ankle’s healed, then I’ll give ye a pair of horses and a guide to get ye where ye’re going.”

“My thanks. That is most generous, is it not, Allie?”

Suspiciously so. Allisun grunted and watched Derk closely.

“Not at all,” Derk said expansively. “We’ve plenty of room now the repairs have finally been completed. The tower was in such deplorable shape my wife spoke against buying it. But it came cheap and is so well located I figured it would be worth the trouble and expense of fixing it. ’Tis situated on a bluff that commands a sweeping view of the valley. No chance of anyone sneaking up on my tower. The fields have not been grazed in several years, and provide rich feed for my stock. The river nearby is filled with salmon. What more could a man ask?”

“It sounds a veritable paradise,” said Hunter.

Allisun was less charmed. As the two men chatted about defenses, she watched the Neville out of the corner of her eye, searching for some sign of evil in his manner. By the time Derk called a halt, she was jumpy and grumpy.

Hunter reined in their horse beside the meandering stream. Dismounting, he reached up for her. “You’ll feel better once you’ve, er, stretched your legs.”

“I am fine.” Allisun ducked under his hands and slid to the ground. Her legs wobbled, but she caught hold of the horse’s stirrup to steady herself. “Just fine.”

“I can see that.” Humor danced in his eyes.