Page 59 of Here in Your Arms
It should have been a moment of calm, but he felt anything but.
Rose sat stiffly in the saddle, her spine ramrod straight, her hands resting just barely on the pommel. She hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the gates. No sharp remarks. No stray questions. No idle chatter.
And for some reason, that did not sit well with him.
She wasn’t the sort to chatter aimlessly, but in the time he'd known her, he’d sensed that silence had often made her uneasy. But now... nothing.
He told himself he was grateful for it. It was easier this way, cleaner. Still, the silence pressed on him. He considered saying something—asking if she was cold, or if the saddle was too uncomfortable, or if she needed a rest. Mundane, unnecessary things. The sort of things heneversaid. And yet the impulse tugged at him.
He rolled his eyes. Why the hell did it matter if she spoke or not? He certainly wasn’t the sort who needed conversation. He’dridden entire days with men who said less than a dozen words. He much preferred it that way.
So why did her silence feel so loud?
Because it was final, he realized. That’s what gnawed at him. Because this was the last time they would share anything—words, or a horse, or even the same stretch of road. Because once she stepped through the gates of Dunmara, she’d be gone from his life. He shifted slightly in the saddle, tightening his grip on the reins. And he realized, with no small amount of irritation, that he didn’t like that thought at all.
It was not supposed to feel like this, like something was slipping beyond his control.
Relief should have been the only thing he felt right about now.
The landscape shifted as they rode, the steep hills rising more sharply, the trees growing denser, thick with moss and rain-dampened bark. They had been traveling for nearly thirty minutes when Ruairidh, riding ahead, veered back toward them, his horse kicking up clumps of damp earth. He pulled alongside Tiernan, his expression grim.
“The ford’s too high,” he said, spitting onto the ground. “The river’s flooded past the banks. We’d be foolish to try crossing it.”
Tiernan ground his teeth. He had intended to take the fastest route, but if the river was impassable, there was no choice. “The eastern pass, then.”
Ruairidh nodded, though his displeasure was evident as well. The alternate route would add at least another hour to their trek.
And so, they veered east, taking the winding trail that cut through the hills, moving steadily toward the narrowest part of the pass. The air grew still, too still, and Tiernan scowled, considering the unnatural quiet, the usual sounds of the forest—birdsong, rustling leaves, and snapping twigs—eerily absent.
Tiernan’s grip tightened on the reins, his instincts flaring with warning as his gaze swept the cliffs above them, searching for movement among the jagged outcroppings of rock. But there was nothing. Just sheer, moss-covered walls rising steeply on either side, narrowing the path and trapping them within a corridor of stone.
A moment later, without warning, a small rock tumbled down from above, bouncing harmlessly along the path ahead.
Arailt, in the lead, threw over his shoulder in an unperturbed voice, “Rains turned everything soggy. It’ll all be sliding down sooner or later.”
A moment later a second rock followed, then a third, the size of a man’s head. Neither of those made contact with any of their party.
The pass narrowed, cliffs rising steeply on either side—two stories of jagged rock looming above them, silent and still.
And then a deep, splintering crack split the air. The entire cliffside seemed to groan, a shudder rippling through the earth as a cascade of stone and debris broke free and thundered down the slope. Tiernan’s head snapped up.
“Go!” he barked, heels slamming into the destrier’s flanks. He yanked Rose closer against him, his arm tightening around her as the massive horse surged forward.
And then the mountain gave way.
A cascade of stone and debris broke free from the cliffside with a deafening roar. Boulders the size of barrels crashed down in a deadly torrent, striking the ground behind them with bone-shaking force. Dust exploded upward, a blinding cloud that swallowed everything, thick and choking, turning sky and ground into one seething haze.
Behind them, a horse screamed, and a man cried out, but Tiernan didn’t look back. There was no time. He needed to get Rose safely away.
She clung to him, her fingers digging into his forearms, but he barely felt it. His entire focus narrowed to the path ahead, to getting them clear. He coughed as they were enveloped in a haze of pulverized stone, urging the destrier to move faster, ignoring the sudden sting of grit in his eyes, and the burning in his lungs.
Rose jerked against him and emitted a strangled cry. Assuming she’d been struck by some falling and shooting rock debris, a vicious, seething anger coiled in his gut, a primal surge of protectiveness that nearly broke his focus. But there was no time to check on her, no time to do anything but escape, and get clear of the danger.
As they emerged from the fog of gritty dust, Tiernan realized more danger lay ahead.
Two mounted men stood ahead in the narrow pass, horses planted firmly in the center of the trail. They were motionless, waiting—shadowy silhouettes at first, emerging from the lingering haze like ghosts.
Tiernan growled as reality hit him hard. These weren’t helpful travelers, and they weren’t errant scouts. These were armed men, one holding a short hatchet, the other sitting with a short, makeshift spike across his lap. Knowing this wasn’t chance, Tiernan’s mind moved swiftly, sharper now, his instincts roaring to the surface. The slide hadn’t been caused solely by the softened earth from several day’s rain. The rain might have made it easier, but this had been planned.
