Page 5 of Highland Treasure (Highland Brides 9)

“Nay,” Rory said abruptly when she began to gather her reins as if to leave at once. “The Sinclairs are good friends. We would be pleased to see ye to them.”

Rory noted the way her shoulders seemed to ease a bit at his agreement, but she offered no gratitude, merely gave a stiff nod and said, “Then shall we?”

Rory hesitated the briefest moment, pondering the fact that it apparently hadn’t even occurred to her that there might be some reason he could not leave at once. For surely there was no way she could know that he’d planned to leave this morning anyway. But more important to him was the fact that she offered no explanation for this journey and he knew there must be an interesting one. Usually a simple trip to visit relatives would have included a large retinue of soldiers and servants, along with wagons to carry tents and such for the lady’s comfort. It definitely would have included other women to accompany her. But she was alone with two soldiers.

Before he could ask any of the questions now rushing through his mind, a sharp whistle drew his attention to where he’d left Conn and Inan at the edge of the woods. Their number had doubled. Fearghas and Donnghail were now with them and the foursome was moving into the clearing to approach.

Eyebrows rising, Rory rode to meet them, knowing that only trouble would have made Donnghail and Fearghas follow them when they had been ordered to stand guard.

“Riders,” Fearghas announced once Rory was close enough to hear. “A large group. At least twenty riders, but I’d guess more from the noise they’re making. I’m thinking ’tis the soldiers we saw approach Monmouth as we left.”

Rory frowned and then glanced back to the woman and her two men to see that one of the soldiers was grabbing up the last two bags and the fur from the cart. He passed the fur to the other man to roll up and tie to his saddle, while he hung the bags from his own. It made Rory realize that he still held the second bag he’d picked up. Hooking the tie to his own saddle with the first, Rory considered the situation. He had no idea if the contingent of soldiers they’d seen approach Monmouth were looking for the lass, but it didn’t matter. He’d rather avoid them either way. Soldiers en masse could be trouble on the road and something he’d like to avoid when they had a lady in their midst.

“We’ll stay away from the main road and travel as fast as we dare through the woods,” he decided as he straightened in the saddle. He didn’t wait for agreement, but led them to the English trio to tell them of his decision. The grim expressions of the soldiers and the way the woman stiffened at the news of a troop of soldiers approaching told him they were expecting trouble, but he didn’t question them. There was no time now. He could get the answers he needed later, Rory decided, and got them moving at once.

“Are you all right, m’lady? Do you need a rest?”

Realizing she had begun to slouch and sway a bit in the saddle, Elysande straightened abruptly and scowled despite knowing Tom couldn’t see her expression through her veil. Or perhaps only because he couldn’t. She knew the soldier only asked the question out of concern and she surely would have appreciated it if it didn’t simply make her focus on the pain she had been trying to ignore for the last several hours of travel.

The truth was, Elysande was not all right. In fact, she was weary and in agony and there was nothing she wanted more than to stop and rest. But they could not stop. She would not be safe until they reached Sinclair. She could rest then—and even sleep for a week if she wished.

But dear God, she was racked with such agony right now that all she wanted to do was lie down and die. And the pain was not all just physical. Her mother and father—

Elysande cut off her thoughts lest they lead to tears, and forced herself to stiffen her spine. She would not die. At least, not without one hell of a fight. She would survive her losses and this hellish ride, and get to Sinclair. It was the last thing she could do for her mother.

“I will tell Buchanan you need a rest.”

Tom’s voice drew her from her thoughts and she shook her head at once. “Nay. I’m fine. No stopping.”

The soldier hesitated briefly, but then sat back in his saddle with a dissatisfied grunt. She wasn’t surprised. Tom knew just how badly injured she was. He’d had to carry her from her mother’s bedchamber, using the secret passage to deliver her down to the cart and horses he and Simon had waiting in the woods outside the castle walls. He’d laid her gently in the cart and then they’d been away, and while she’d tried, she hadn’t been able to wholly stifle her moans and cries of pain as she was shaken and jolted about on the ride to Monmouth.

They’d arrived a couple of hours before dawn and Elysande had rested until the sun rose, only mounting her mare after Simon had returned from delivering her mother’s message to Rory Buchanan. The two men had both protested the move, insisting she should travel in the cart, but Elysande had been equally insistent that she would ride. She had not wanted to meet the Buchanans on her back. She hadn’t wanted them to know that she was injured, nor suffer the humiliation of their seeing her men helping her mount. Tom and Simon had pretty much had to place her in the saddle. She hadn’t been able to manage it on her own, but once seated she’d actually felt a little better. The cart had shaken and jolted horribly on the journey to Monmouth, causing her constant agony. But seated upright on the saddle she’d felt better. At least, she had until they’d started to ride. Now it was nearly as bad as the ride in the cart had been. At least there she hadn’t had to use her trembling muscles to keep her seat.

Tom suddenly dropping back behind her again drew her attention to the trail ahead to see that it was narrowing once more, forcing them to ride single file. If it could be called a trail, Elysande thought. Half the time the lead Scot seemed to be beating a path through the woods. But then perhaps that was normal. She had no way of knowing; Elysande had never traveled beyond the forest around Kynardersley castle until now, while the Buchanans were from Scotland and surely knew their way home.

That thought drew her gaze to the man riding in front of her as her eyes slid over the dark plaid he wore. Rory Buchanan. She’d been a bit startled when he’d appeared in the clearing. The man was much larger than Tom and Simon. He was also wearing a scandalous outfit that left his knees and lower thighs bare between the tops of his boots and the bottom of the skirt he wore. Elysande had blinked at the sight and then forced herself to keep her eyes on his face for propriety’s sake. Not that that had been a hardship. Even through her veil she’d been able to see the man was handsome with a nice face, bright green eyes and long dark hair shot through with red. He was also large and muscled, but not overly bulky with it, and apparently that was a shape she quite liked. Although for some reason that same shape on the other Buchanan brother hadn’t affected her quite the same way. Alick, she recalled, and guessed by the way he deferred to Rory that he was the younger of the two Buchanan brothers. He actually looked very like the older, with the same auburn hair and green eyes. They were both handsome, but Rory Buchanan had an air of confidence about him that was missing with the younger man. Perhaps that was why she found him more attractive.

As if her thoughts had drawn him forward, the younger brother suddenly rode past her as the path widened again. She watched with curiosity as he moved his horse up beside his brother’s and began to speak. She could hear the soft rumble of his voice, but couldn’t make out his words. Elysande knew it must be about her, however, when Rory Buchanan suddenly glanced back at her.

She immediately forced herself to sit up a little straighter, realizing only then that she’d started to slump in the saddle once more. Ignoring the way her muscles and her very skin cried out at the action, Elysande held herself stiff in the saddle and raised her chin. She would not show weakness. She could manage this. Besides, it must be nearly midday by now, she reassured herself. They would stop soon if only to eat and relieve themselves. She hoped.

Rory let his gaze slide over the veiled figure behind them. Lady Elysande had been riding slouched in the saddle when he first glanced back, but had straightened when she realized he was looking. There was little to see but the headdress and veil that hid her hair and face from him, and the rich, warm cloak she clutched closed against the cold with one gloved hand while handling the reins with her other. In truth, she could have been a corpse or a man under the outfit, but there was nothing alarming in the way she sat her mare.

“She looks fine,” Rory said finally as he shifted his attention forward once more.

“Aye. Now she does,” Alick said with irritation. “But I am telling ye there is something wrong. She was slumped and swaying slightly in the saddle until ye looked back.”

Rory looked back again, but she was still sitting upright, seeming perfectly fine.

“Why do ye think she wears the veil like that?” Alick asked suddenly.

Rory just shrugged. He had no idea.

“Think ye she is so ugly her mother feared we would refuse to escort her did we see her face?”

That brought a startled laugh from his mouth, and Rory raised his eyebrows at his brother. “What difference would her face make? We are doing this as a favor to the Sinclairs, not because of what the woman looks like.”

“Aye,” Alick agreed on a sigh. “Still, it seems fair strange that she would cover herself wholly like that. It must make it hard for her to see where she is leading her mount.”

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