Page 24 of The Beast's Bride
Tonight, she unsaddled Lasair properly and rubbed her down with a twist of grass, for the horse had worked hard over the past two days. Lasair huffed a breath into her hair when she’d done, and Rhona favored her with a weary smile. “Just a wee bit longer, lass … ye have done well.”
Rhona lowered herself onto the ground, a few yards away from where she’d tethered her horse, under the sheltering boughs of a birch. Her backside and thighs ached tonight as she was unused to spending so long in the saddle. This evening a little of the shine had gone out of her adventure. Even so, she had no regrets about leaving; she was just anxious to reach the coast, before her father’s men caught up with her.
He would have sent a party to find her and drag her back to Dunvegan—and she knew it was always easier being the hunter rather than the quarry. Some of her father’s men were skilled hunters and trackers. She just hoped they didn’t travel at night, or she’d never make it to the coast.
Rhona frowned, irritated by the worries that plagued her. Of course they didn’t travel at night. They weren’t wolves or owls. Just like her they would need to rest their horses.
Even so, she was on edge this evening. To distract herself from her thoughts, she opened her package of food. Only two oat-cakes and a small wedge of cheese remained. She’d eaten more than she’d planned on the journey and had hoped to be having supper in a tavern in Kyleakin tonight.
Rhona sighed. After a day out riding in the fresh air she was starving. She didn’t want to finish her remaining food, but she knew she would need to. She’d just have to resupply as soon as she reached the coast in the morning, or try her luck with the slingshot if she got desperate.
Leaning back against the rough trunk of the birch, she started to nibble on an oat-cake.
It was then she felt the hair on the back of her arms prickle.
Rhona swallowed her mouthful of food and put the oat-cake down, her heart fluttering against her ribs. She glanced around her, squinting to make out the details of her surroundings in the gloaming. Beside her Lasair snorted, suddenly restless.
Rhona’s pulse quickened further.
Although she couldn’t see anyone, her instincts—and her horse—warned her that someone was nearby, watching her from the shadows.
Slowly, Rhona reached into her satchel and withdrew a knife. It had a long sharp blade, a knife that cook used for boning fowl. Rhona had taken it from the kitchens when Greer and Fiona’s attention had been elsewhere. She gripped the bone hilt tightly and held the knife close to her waist as she rose to a squat and surveyed her surroundings.
“I know ye are there.” Her voice sounded surprisingly fearless, despite the fact that her heart now hammered. “Stop lurking in the shadows, and step out where I can see ye.”
A long silence followed, and then a few yards away the shadows shifted, and a tall, broad shape stepped out from behind a birch.
Rhona’s breathing caught. She knew him.
Even in the half-light, with only his silhouette visible, she recognized Taran MacKinnon’s bulk. Few men in Dunvegan had such broad shoulders or walked with such predatory stealth.
“Taran,” she choked out his name, rising to her feet. Relief washed over her that it was him and not Dughall MacLean who stalked her. Even so, he was not a welcome sight. “Ye nearly made my heart stop.”
“Apologies, Lady Rhona.” His voice, gravelly and low, filled the dusk hush. “I didn’t mean to scare ye.”
Rhona frowned, peering at him. “And where are the others?”
“I’m alone. Yer father sent me to bring ye home.”
Alone.The news surprised Rhona as much as it pleased her. “I’m not going back to Dunvegan,” she replied firmly. “Tell Da ye couldn’t find me.”
He loosed a gentle sigh. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not? Just tell him I traveled too swiftly and crossed to the mainland before ye could catch me.”
“He told me not to return until I bring ye with me.”
Rhona tensed, her fingers flexing upon the knife’s hilt. “I’m never going back there. Turn around and leave. Pretend ye never saw me.”
She couldn’t see his face, but she saw movement and realized he was shaking his head. “I can’t do that.”
He advanced toward her then, long strides that ate up the distance between them.
“Stop!” She darted to the side, keeping the knife low and close as he’d once shown her. “Get back from me.”
Her heart, which had momentarily settled, now beat a frantic tattoo against her ribs. Panic rose within her, and she decided to take a different approach with him. Taran had always been good to her, indulged her even. Maybe she could sway him.
“Don’t return to Dunvegan then,” she said, her voice low as she backed slowly away from him. “Cross to the mainland with me. I’m sure my uncle would welcome a warrior like ye at his keep.”
