Kitabı oku: «The Laird's Captive Wife», sayfa 3

‘No.’

‘Dinna be a fool. You’ll catch your death.’

He reached for the front of her gown. Seeing his intent she turned to run but staggered again and almost fell, prevented only by the arm about her waist. Ashlynn shrieked, struggling to free herself from his hold but it was like doing battle with oak. The arm yielded not a whit. It swung her round instead bringing her eyes level with a broad chest. Panicking now she struck out with clenched fists. They might as well have been bird wings and, as they had relinquished their grip on her clothing, her garments fell open affording him an uninterrupted view of what lay beneath. He caught his breath. The reality close to only served to reinforce his earlier impression.

‘Well now, not just a pretty face then.’

As soon as the words were spoken he regretted them, realising they were hardly calculated to reassure, but his temper just then was not of the best. Thanks to her his quarry was away and free. Just why he hadn’t left the wench to drown was a mystery. Right now he half-wished he had.

‘Be still, you little hellcat!’

‘Let go of me!’

‘I said be still,’ he growled.

For answer Ashlynn kicked out and felt the blow connect. He gritted his teeth but his grip yielded not at all.

‘All right, have it your way, you contrary little vixen.’

Without warning his hands closed on the edges of her gown and dragged it down over her shoulders. Ashlynn began to fight like a cornered wildcat. In her panic she saw only Fitzurse’s men, felt their hands on her, restraining her while they did their will. It was all happening again. She wanted to scream but her throat was dry and suddenly it was harder to breathe for it was as though there was an iron band around her chest. The stranger’s face loomed over hers. Then all colour drained from her cheeks and she was vaguely aware of him catching her before she fell into a dead faint.

She had no idea how long she was unconscious but when she came round it was to an awareness of voices, of men and horses. She was cold, her body shaking violently. Then something was supporting her shoulders and a hand was forcing a cup between her lips. She heard a man’s voice.

‘Drink this.’

The tone brooked no refusal. Hot sweet liquid carved a path down her throat and all the way to her stomach. Ashlynn gasped. He made her drink it all, but slowly, and by degrees the heat spread and began to warm the cold core within, enough for the shaking to subside a little. Becoming more aware she realised that she was swathed from head to foot in a huge fur-lined cloak.

Looking up for the first time she saw a black leather tunic. Above it was long dark hair and a face whose rugged good looks were only too familiar. Dark eyes met and held hers for a moment before turning their attention to someone opposite, out of her line of vision.

‘We’ll leave presently, Dougal. We’ve delayed long enough as it is and I want to reach Hexham tonight. Besides, the injured need tending.’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘We need to be back at Dark Mount before the weather closes in.’

‘Aye, my lord.’ Dougal paused. ‘What about the lass?’

‘We’ll take her with us for the time being.’

‘I can see your reasoning. For a drowned rat she’s no so bad-looking. Dry, she’d be a welcome addition in any man’s bed.’

Ashlynn’s heart lurched. The man beside her glanced down briefly, his expression sour.

‘This one would turn your bed to a couch of thorns.’

‘Well then,’ Dougal continued, ‘sell her. She’d likely fetch a good price were ye minded to get one. Or ye could ransom her, did she have kin.’

He frowned. ‘I’ll decide later. In the meantime, where are the things I asked for? Where the devil is Archie?’

As if on cue another man hastened forward and handed over a bundle of cloth. ‘Beg pardon, my lord. I’d a problem with the size.’

The laird looked down at Ashlynn again and then at the bundle he was holding.

‘You’ll be needing this.’

For a moment she stared at it and then back at him. Then, slowly, her dulled wits began to understand the significance of the great cloak around her and the immediacy of the soft fur against her skin. Her cheeks, so pale before, turned scarlet.

If she could have hit him she would have but both hands were imprisoned beneath the folds of the heavy cloak. ‘How dare you treat me like this!’

‘Dare had nothing to do with it, you wee fool,’ he replied. ‘Your clothes were soaking and little better than rags anyway. If you’d kept them on you’d have gone down with a fatal ague for certain.’

‘Is that your excuse?’

‘It needed no excuse. ’Twas a matter of common sense.’

Bereft of speech she looked away. The man neither appeared nor sounded even remotely apologetic. Instead he drew her to her feet and taking a firm hold on her arm led her aside to a clump of bushes. Then he thrust the bundle of clothing at her.

‘Put these on. They’re not the most feminine of garments, but they’re all that’s available and they do at least have the advantage of being intact.’

Ashlynn glared at him. The dark eyes grew flinty.

‘Perhaps you’d like my help, lass?’

‘No.’

‘Then dress and make haste or by heaven I’ll finish the task myself.’

Her jaw clenched but she took the offering without further comment and retreated a few yards behind a small clump of bushes. Bare of leaves, they were not ideal to the task but provided a degree of privacy from prying eyes. A glance over her shoulder revealed that her large companion hadn’t moved. Indignation surged: the brute had no shame at all! Then she reflected that it scarcely mattered; there was nothing for him to see now that he had not already seen before.

Giving her attention to the bundle she found it comprised a cloak in which were wrapped shirt, tunic, belt, trews and hose all clean and of strong and serviceable material. With them was a pair of leather boots. With no little relief she hurriedly pulled on the hose and trews and dragged the shirt over her head before divesting herself of the big cloak. Finally she pulled the tunic on. Like the shirt it was decidedly roomy but, she reasoned, it would allow for greater freedom of movement. It would be a lot warmer too. She fastened the belt but even on the last hole it still hung loose on her waist. The boots completed the outfit. Like everything else they were too big but better than going barefoot. Finally she threw the cloak round her shoulders and fastened it. Then, having retrieved the borrowed fur she rejoined her companion.

He watched her come, observing the transformation wrought in one comprehensive look. His expression gave nothing away but under that penetrating gaze she felt her anger mount again. With an effort she controlled it. The knowledge that she was beholden to the rogue didn’t make things any better. Trying to gather a few protective shreds of dignity she drew in a deep breath.

‘I suppose I should thank you for pulling me out of the water.’

‘Aye, you should. If it hadn’t been for you, Fitzurse would never have escaped.’

‘I’m sorry he did.’

‘So am I.’

‘Why did you want to kill him?’

‘That need not concern you.’

His wrath was almost palpable. That she should have been in part responsible only made matters worse. In a more diffident tone she said, ‘I am grateful for what you did back there.’

The reply was a snort that might have been compounded of anger or disgust, or both. It brought her chin up at once.

‘You could have left me to drown. Why didn’t you?’

‘Believe me, lass, I was tempted.’

With that quelling reply the conversation died, for Ashlynn could think of nothing to say and her taciturn companion clearly had no wish to pursue it further. Instead he took his cloak from her and put it on. Then, resuming his grip on her arm, he led her towards a shaggy bay gelding that stood among the waiting horses.

‘Get on.’

There was nothing for it but to obey. He watched her gather the reins and swing into the saddle. Then he mounted his own horse and drew it alongside. A few moments later the whole cavalcade set off.

They rode in silence for some considerable time. The stranger made no attempt to break into her thoughts and in truth she had no inclination for speech either. In her mind she saw Heslingfield in flames and the bodies of the slain all around. Her jaw tightened. She would never see any of her loved ones again. There had not been a chance to bury them either or say a mass for their souls. They lay unshriven on the cold earth for the crows and the foxes to pick the flesh from their bones, or else their ashes lay in the blackened ruins of the hall. They were memories too bitter for tears. Once she had imagined that an arranged marriage was the worst fate possible. How naïve she had been to think so.

It wasn’t until noon that the cavalcade stopped to rest. The landscape had changed as they progressed, wood and pasture giving place to rolling hills and open heath strewn with boulders and dead bracken. A few scrubby trees leaned to the prevailing wind and, hard by, a brook tumbled over a rocky bed. The riders turned off the road and dismounted. Ashlynn watched the stranger step down.

‘We’ll stop here awhile,’ he said. ‘The horses need a rest and the men too.’

Glancing around she realised with a start that there were perhaps fifty of them all told, mostly long-haired and bearded and variously dressed in stout leather tunics and cloaked like their leader, and every one of them fully armed. Remembering that they had defeated the Norman mercenaries she shivered a little. Unaware of her regard the men opened saddlebags and drew out bread and cheese and pieces of dried meat. It was then she remembered that she had eaten nothing since the previous morning and precious little then. The stranger threw her a shrewd glance.

‘Come.’

He steered her to a boulder nearby that was a convenient height to sit on. Then he opened his own saddlebag and drew out the food inside. When he offered her a piece of bread she took it and fell to devouring it at once. Observing this he passed over a chunk of cheese as well before falling to himself. The solid fare was coarse and plain enough but it lined the stomach and took the edge off the clawing pains she had felt before. They ate in silence and only when they had finished did he bend his gaze on her again.

‘Tell me, how did you fall foul of the Normans, lass?’

She looked away. It was a painful subject and she had no wish to discuss it. He made no attempt to push her. Instead he let the silence draw out and waited, though the quiet gaze never left her. Ashlynn forced herself to meet it and drew in a deep breath. He had saved her life after all so she supposed he was owed an explanation.

‘They burned my home and slew my family. I was the only survivor.’

‘How came you to escape?’

‘I wasn’t there. I’d gone out for a ride and when I returned…when I returned the rest were dead.’

‘I see.’ He paused. ‘Where was your home?’

‘At Heslingfield.’

‘Heslingfield!’

‘You know it?’

Recalling only too vividly what he had seen there, he could understand her earlier reticence. He would not revisit the nightmare now. ‘I know of it. Lord Cyneric was its thane, I think.’

‘Yes. He was my father.’

‘I never met him but his reputation went before him: a brave fighter by all accounts. He had two sons I heard tell.’

She nodded and blinked back treacherous tears. ‘They died trying to defend our home. Ethelred fell beside my father. I didn’t see Ban’s body and there was no time to look.’

‘How did the Normans find you?’

‘They had not gone far by the time I returned. When they saw me they gave chase. I thought they would kill me too at first but Fitzurse…Fitzurse had me taken to the barn and stripped. He meant to take his pleasure and afterwards let his men take theirs.’ She drew in another ragged breath remembering every detail of the ordeal at the Norman’s hands, the fear and the humiliation and the impending horror. The stranger was silent, waiting. Ashlynn’s gaze was on the ground and she missed the expression of pity and anger in his eyes. ‘Before he could do what he intended, your men arrived and launched their attack. In the confusion I tried to run away. The rest you know.’

‘Where were you heading before the Normans found you?’

‘North, over the border.’

‘You have kin there perhaps?’

‘No. I’d hoped to reach the court at Dunfermline and perhaps enter service there, but I didn’t exactly have time to make a detailed plan.’

He did not miss the ironic edge to the tone but let it go.

‘The border country is wild and dangerous; too dangerous by far for a woman alone.’

‘There was no other choice.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ He paused. ‘You never told me your name.’

‘You never asked.’

One dark brow lifted. ‘I’m asking now.’

‘Ashlynn.’

‘A pretty name and most apt, I find.’

As he spoke he knew the words for truth. Dougal was right: most men would find her a welcome addition to their bed. Unbidden his mind went back to the scene by the river and relived it with startling clarity. He indulged the memory for a moment and then pushed it away. That kind of distraction had no place in his scheme of things.

Unable to follow his thought and uneasy beneath that apparently dispassionate gaze Ashlynn forced herself to meet his eye.

‘You still have all the advantage.’

‘Aye, I believe I do.’

‘Is your identity such a closely guarded secret that I may not know it?’

This time irony was underlain by a hint of impudence. Moreover, there was an expression in those blue eyes that was almost provocative as though she were testing the boundaries. It was tempting to show her just how close those were, but again he let it ride. His turn was coming.

‘No secret, my lady,’ he replied. ‘I am Iain McAlpin.’

The name seemed strangely familiar somehow though it resisted precise identification. It niggled like a bad tooth. Earlier she had heard him say they would stay at Hexham that night. Where exactly? Surely no inn could cater for so large a party. Had he friends then who would give them shelter? His men called him lord. Lord of what? Where was Dark Mount? The missing pieces of the puzzle plagued her. Rather than labour over it she decided to ask. The answer was given readily enough.

‘Dark Mount is a fortress at the head of Glengarron.’

‘Glengarron!’

‘Aye.’

She was suddenly very still as, in one moment of total comprehension, the last pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

‘You are the Laird of Glengarron?’

‘That’s right.’

Ashlynn felt her stomach knot. In her relief at having escaped the hands of the Normans she had put herself into others every bit as dangerous, for who in the north of England had not heard of Glengarron or the man they dubbed Black Iain? It was small comfort to think she had no gold, nothing with which to trade for her freedom, in short nothing to tempt him at all. Then she remembered his earlier conversation with Dougal and her cheeks paled.

‘What are you going to do with me?’

‘I haven’t decided yet, but you’ll come with us as far as Jedborough at least.’

‘Jedborough?’

‘Aye, I’ve business there. When it’s concluded I’ll make my decision.’

She drew in a deep breath and tried to get her voice under control. ‘You could leave me at Hexham.’

‘I could, but I won’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘It doesn’t accord with my plans.’

Incredulous she glared at him but the gaze that met hers was unwavering and utterly disconcerting. Indignation swelled like a tide.

‘Why should I co-operate with you?’

‘Because you won’t like the consequences if you don’t.’

The threat was thinly veiled despite the mild tone with which it was delivered and, for a moment, it hung there between them. Given his previous experience of her, he was half expecting an outburst of rage. It never materialised, though her chin lifted at a defiant angle. In spite of himself he was amused and oddly touched. With somewhat grudging admiration he acknowledged that the lass had spirit as well as looks.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded. ‘My future can be of no interest or importance to you.’

‘It isn’t.’

‘Then the only reason for holding me is concerned with profit.’

‘Good enough reason, in my view.’

Ashlynn strove against rising panic. ‘Leave me at Hexham.’

‘I have just said I will not. The matter is closed.’

‘I cannot…I will not go with you further.’

The dark gaze met and held hers but now there was no discernible trace of humour in it.

‘You can, my lass, and you will.’

Chapter Three

The question of how to free herself from her captor exercised Ashlynn strongly now. What she would do after effecting an escape was uncertain; the important thing was to get away and find somewhere to hide. Somewhere he wouldn’t think of looking. When he failed to find her he would perhaps give up for all his efforts seemed to be directed towards reaching Scotland. What was his business in Jedburgh? Who was he meeting there? ‘After that I’ll make my decision.’ Since she had no close kin who might ransom her, there was only one other way for her captor to profit. The Scots frequently seized prisoners on their raids across the border. Slaves were a valuable commodity. She shivered. Was this what the brute intended? The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. That being so, the more necessary it was to prevent it.

The first stars had appeared before they reached the outskirts of Hexham and already frost glittered in the blue twilight. The frozen breath of men and horses hung in the still air as the group drew rein and dismounted before an imposing walled manor. Ashlynn looked around her, taking in the house and the courtyard with its outbuildings and churned snow, while the men led the horses off towards a big barn. Then Iain took hold of her arm and guided her towards the house, a large rambling affair of timber and stone. A servant hastened to open the door and the laird strode into a large hall, drawing his captive with him. It was dimly lit and passages led off it. She was conducted down one of these and thence to a door off to the right which the servant opened. It gave on to a small bedchamber. The man set down the candle on the table and then withdrew.

Ashlynn cast a furtive glance around. The chamber was clean but sparsely furnished. There was a window, now shuttered fast, and a fire burning in the hearth. By its light she took in table and chair, a stand with a basin and ewer on it and, most prominently, a bed on the far side by the wall. With calmness she was far from feeling she turned to face Iain. The confines of the room served only to emphasise that powerful presence, and he was watching her now with an unnervingly penetrating gaze. Her chin tilted a little and, forcing herself to return that steady regard, she waited.

‘You will sleep here this night,’ he said then. ‘I will have food sent to you shortly.’

‘Whose house is this?’

‘Does it matter?’

The tone brought a tinge of colour to her cheeks. ‘No.’

‘There are things it is better not to know.’ He paused. ‘You should try and get some rest. We have another long ride ahead of us tomorrow.’ With that he turned to go.

At those words all her earlier desperation revived and she caught hold of his arm. ‘Why will you not leave me here? Surely the price of one more slave matters little to you.’

‘I told you that the matter is not open to further discussion.’

‘I disagree.’

His hands closed on her shoulders, drawing her closer. The dark gaze bored into hers. ‘Your opinion on the subject is irrelevant. I am the law here and you’ll do as you’re told.’

Ashlynn bit back the angry denial that sprang to her lips. He was the law here, every last arrogant inch of him. He was also very strong and much too close for comfort. She could feel the warmth of his hands through her clothing and the curbed anger behind his gaze. His face came much nearer to hers. Dangerously near. If he bent his head their lips would touch. The realisation both shocked and excited.

‘Do you understand me?’

‘I…yes.’.

‘I hope for your sake that you do, lass.’

Unable to think of anything to say Ashlynn remained silent. He had half-expected her to argue further but when she did not the anger faded from his eyes and was replaced by something else entirely, something she could not name but which sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with winter cold. Iain leaned closer, breathing the smell of wool and sweet air from her clothing and beneath it, the scent of the woman, subtle and arousing. The response caught him unawares and he drew a deep breath, mentally upbraiding himself. There could be no dalliance here, however tempting the thought might be. Slowly he pulled away from her.

‘I must leave you now for I have other matters to attend to,’ he said then. ‘Get some rest, Ashlynn.’

His hands relinquished their hold and she was free. She remained quite still, watching him cross the room. He paused a moment on the threshold.

‘If you require anything else let the servant know.’

As the door closed behind him she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. She tried the latch anyway. The door didn’t budge. For a moment she leaned against it, listening to the sound of his departing footsteps. When at length they died away she moved slowly back to the hearth and warmed herself before the fire, staring down into the flames, her thoughts in chaos.

Some time later the servant reappeared with a tray of food: good white bread and a large earthen pot of a fragrant meaty stew. She ate all of it for the long ride had sharpened her appetite. The food did a great deal to banish the chill and restore her spirits. By the time she had finished it was full dark and the edges of the room were blurred in shadow. She glanced at the bed. There seemed little else to do save sleep but at least it would be a welcome oblivion. Removing her cloak she undressed to her shirt and then curled up beneath the fur coverlets.

Having left Ashlynn’s chamber Iain was heading for his own quarters when he met Dougal.

‘Are the men settled?’

‘Aye, my lord.’

‘And the injured?’

‘They too.’

‘What of the lad we found at Heslingfield?’

‘In poor case. If it hadn’t been for the cold slowing the blood loss, he’d have died long before we found him.’ Dougal paused. ‘Have you told her?’

‘No. She believes that all her kin were slain.’

‘You really think he is kin? He might be just a servant.’

‘They’re related all right,’ Iain replied. ‘The likeness is too pronounced.’

‘Well then, perhaps it is better she believes him dead like the others. Frankly, I doubt he’ll survive and then she’d only have to go through it all again.’

Visualising the destruction he had witnessed at Heslingfield when they rode by, Iain nodded. ‘She’s been through enough just now. Let’s wait on events. He might survive after all.’

‘Aye, perhaps. If he does, it’ll come as a happy surprise to her, won’t it? Happy for us too were you inclined to sell him on later.’

‘Keep me informed, Dougal, but say nothing to the lass. Tell the men to keep their mouths shut too. I’ll tell her when the time is right.’

Having bidden the other goodnight Iain retired, but sleep did not come easily. On reflection, he wondered whether silence was the best course of action with regard to the injured Saxon youth. The resemblance to the girl was striking. It had been apparent at once. He could see Dougal’s point and knew the advice was well intentioned, but at the same time was aware of a vague twinge of guilt. Was he right to keep her in ignorance? The lad’s injuries were serious and there was a long way yet to travel. He was still unconscious which, given his other wounds, was probably just as well.

Then there was Ashlynn herself, spirited and rebellious too judging from her response to his plans. Recalling the scene that evening he frowned. Whether she liked it or not she was going along. There was no other viable alternative: to do anything else would take time. That would run counter to his plans and he couldn’t afford to let it happen. Too much lay in the balance. Iain thumped the pillow hard: he was as far as ever from having his revenge, the work of months lost. By the time he completed his mission and was free to start hunting again the Norman might be anywhere.

The recollection of his enemy brought other related images: that first brief startling glimpse of the lass afforded him by Fitzurse ‘Do you like her? I’ll give her to you.’ That was swiftly followed by the memory of dragging her from the stream. In truth his sole intention in removing her clothing had been to restore some warmth to her body and quickly too. Yet when he’d stripped off the torn and sodden gown he had been unprepared for the beauty of what lay beneath or for the way the image would linger in his imagination. She had been understandably angry with him about that but, while he regretted the circumstances he could not for the life of him regret the memory of her naked body. Was that why he had been tempted this evening? His anger returned, this time directed at himself. Temptation was something he couldn’t afford. In the years since Eloise there had been women, occasionally; women willing enough to satisfy his physical need. Those brief encounters were ideal: both parties benefited in their different ways and then parted. There were no complications, no entanglements, nothing to deflect a man from his sworn purpose. He thumped the pillow again. Once he was free of his obligations at Jedburgh then he’d decide what to do with the girl.

The next thing Ashlynn knew it was dawn. With the light returned all the detail of the strange room and the consciousness of her current precarious situation. As she recalled how it had come about her immediate dread was submerged by much keener sensations of sorrow and loss. For several minutes she didn’t move until, with an effort, she had forced back the negative emotions. They wouldn’t help her. She must help herself now.

Climbing from the bed she dressed quickly, trying to marshal her thoughts. Whatever happened she would not allow herself to be taken to Jedburgh or, God forbid, Glengarron. Having made her feelings clear on that score, she knew he would keep a close eye on her now so it behoved her to be careful, to make it seem as though she had bowed to his will. Having lulled him into a sense of false security she would await her opportunity to escape.

Presently a servant appeared with a platter of food and Ashlynn broke her fast. She had only just finished when the door opened again. Her heart skipped a beat to see the familiar figure standing there.

‘In good time, lass. We need to move.’ He glanced at the bed across the room. ‘I trust you slept well.’

‘Thank you, yes.’

‘Good. There’s a long ride ahead.’

‘You have no right to make me come along.’

‘Right has nothing to do with it. You’ll come along because it’s expedient.’

‘Not to me it isn’t. I don’t wish to go.’

‘But then we’re not discussing your wishes.’

If he was aware of her anger it was not evident, for his expression remained maddeningly unperturbed. Her fists clenched at her sides as she fought the urge to hit him.

‘I won’t go.’

‘You’ll go, lass—one way or another.’

The threat was plain and she knew it was not idle. He had the power to compel obedience. The expression in those dark eyes was deeply disquieting and she turned away from him, heart thumping, trying to think. Once across the border escape would become harder which meant she must get away before they reached it. In the meantime argument was futile and she would not bandy further words with him, but if Lord Bloody Iain thought she would tamely submit to his will he had another think coming.

Almost as if he heard the thought Iain’s voice broke in. ‘Dinna think of trying to run, Ashlynn. I’d find you again very quickly and then you might find my temper unpleasant.’

‘What difference would that make? Your temper is always unpleasant.’

The words were out before she was aware and drew down on her a look that caused her heart to miss a beat.

‘Put the matter to the test,’ he replied, ‘and you’ll discover a great deal of difference, I promise you.’

With that he took hold of her wrist in a vice-like grip and led her out to the courtyard. The cold air hit her for there had been a hard frost in the night and everything was rimed with silver. Around them men were already mounting. Robbie approached leading his own horse and a pretty chestnut mare.

‘Dougal told me to bring this for the lady,’ he explained.

Ashlynn wasn’t listening, her whole attention focused on the horse.

‘Steorra!’

Hearing her name the mare turned her head and whinnied softly. With tears in her eyes Ashlynn went forward to greet her, stroking the furry neck, utterly relieved that the horse had taken no hurt from her recent adventures.

Iain regarded them keenly. ‘I see you two know each other.’

For a moment all her resentment was forgotten. ‘Where did you find her?’

‘I didn’t,’ he replied. ‘My men found her wandering loose after the battle and brought her along with the horses we took from the Normans.’

‘I see.’

‘Will you mount, Ashlynn, or do you need my help?’

The bland tone didn’t deceive her for a minute, nor was the implication lost. Biting back the pithy retort that sprang to mind she lifted her chin.

‘That won’t be necessary.’

He watched her gather the reins and swing easily into the saddle. Then he mounted his own horse.

‘Let’s go.’

They rode at a steady pace and soon Hexham was far behind. To her relief Iain rode on ahead with Dougal and left her to the charge of the young man called Robbie. Though he cast sidelong glances at her from time to time, conversation was minimal. However, Ashlynn had no desire for it, her mind on other things. With every stride of the horse beneath her the feeling of desperation grew. Soon they would reach the border. Soon she would be lost. She could not allow herself to be sold into slavery or worse. Death would be preferable. Escape was a risk but a calculated one. All she needed was the opportunity.