Page 30 of The Dark Wolf's Deliverance

She looked away, and he realised he had embarrassed her with his compliment, let alone his half-naked body earlier. Such innocence contained in one so tough, so resilient. He supposed her father kept her from the other men so that she would fetch a better price in the marriage market. In doing so, he had been cruel, as she had no idea of her own delicate beauty.

‘You must know that you are really bonnie, Kenna, enough to break hearts and make men dream of you, ruin their sleep with the wanting of you.’

‘Don’t say such things.’

‘Such things are the truth, and whether you believe it or not, your face is fair.’

She looked down at her toes and then up at him from under golden lashes. The sun came out from behind a cloud and turned her eyes almost to lilac. Forget-me-not eyes, he thought. Why had he not seen it before? Why had he not realised how lovely she was? Had he been back at Dunslair and Kenna a stranger to him, nothing would have stopped him from pursuing her relentlessly. How could he help himself when there was such temptation? But now, knowing what he owed her, what she had sacrificed to save his life, he could not. Kenna had somehow become so much more than a quick lifting of skirts and a tumble in the hay. So like a stallion that wants to run but is hobbled, Conall could not act on his desires. It hit him like a slap in the face.

‘We should get on, Kenna. The light will fade in a few hours, and if it’s a clear night, there’ll be a full moon to guide us. It will be cold, but at least if we keep on moving, we can stay warm.’

Conall grabbed her hand, and they set off again on aching legs.

Chapter Thirteen

Not much progress was made during the night, but as dawn broke, they found themselves further down the river, and the dense forest had thinned considerably.

‘It’s widening out. We must be closer to the sea now,’ said Kenna. Indeed if she strained her ears, she thought she could detect the pounding of the waves over the stiff wind.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Aye, for my brothers brought me once or twice. Follow the river, they said, and you cannot go far wrong. It always reaches for the sea. I remembered because I was rarely allowed far from the castle, and it was such a treat for me to see the ocean.’

They pushed onwards as the sun rose higher in the sky, the pounding noise getting louder with each step, and suddenly, as they rounded a bend in the river, there it was, grey-blue and churning against the pale beach. Kenna turned to Conall, and he smiled and took her hand in his tightly.

Suddenly the hairs stood up on the back of his neck and every muscle in his body tensed. There it was again, faint but there all the same…dogs, barking as they picked up a scent. Dogs, many of them, hunting them down.

Memories of the oubliette flooded his mind with dread. They would drag him back into that darkness. Better a sword through the heart or the dogs tearing him to pieces than go back into that tomb. He would not be able to control his fear, and he was afraid he would scream like a coward, shame himself in front of her.

Conall felt a soft hand in his, pulling him forward, insistent, sure. ‘Come on, before they catch us,’ she said.

They sped downwards, dragging their feet through the dunes and the seagrass, eventually emerging onto the open beach where a fierce wind whipped Kenna’s skirts and hair hard against her.

‘There,’ she shouted, pointing down the sand.

A solitary fishing boat was hauled up onto the sand some way down, and a man was loading up lobster pots and poles and nets and making heavy weather of it, struggling to hoist them over the side. Kenna looked fearfully behind her, but Conall could no longer hear the dogs over the sound of the waves scouring the shingle.

‘There’s no way of knowing how close they are, so we have to get on that boat before it leaves,’ he shouted. ‘Run as fast as you can.’

They flew headlong down the beach, which was thankfully hard sand and made running easier. Kenna did not slow him down one bit. She ran like the wind. Nevertheless, when they reached the boat, they were panting hard. The fisherman had noticed their approach and gave them a suspicious, steely look as Conall spoke. He sported a bandage around his forearm, stained where blood had seeped through and dried.

‘We want to get a boat back to the mainland.’

‘Don’t take passengers,’ snapped the man. He had a surly, brutish look about him.

‘What have you done to your arm?’ said Conall.

‘Not your business.’

‘Look, I have a strong back. I can work, help you land your catch. Your arm is injured. Hard to haul up your nets with one hand.’ Conall began loading equipment into the boat.

‘Aye, I suppose it is, but I don’t take passengers, so bugger off and leave me be.’

‘What if we pay?’

The man’s beady eyes narrowed.

‘Will this change your mind?’ said Conall, jingling a leather bag of money in front of the fisherman.

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