Chapter Twelve

Kirk muffled a grunt of fatigue as he swung down from the saddle.

It had only been five days since he’d taken Lillian captive. He was used to far more difficult conditions than they’d experienced. Aye, the air was sharp, for the land was wrapped in autumn’s embrace, and aye, it had rained most days, but that didn’t explain the corded tension in his shoulders, the perpetual knot in the pit of his stomach, or the ache in his jaw from clenching his teeth.

Nay, the explanation didn’t lie in the conditions of travel. It was his captive. He reached up for her, and she slid limply into his arms from the horse’s back.

How had she bewitched him so completely? She’d hardly spoken as they’d ridden these past several days, seeming to concentrate on keeping her seat across his lap, for being on horseback clearly made her ill at ease. Even without speaking, though, she held herself with a weary but noble bravery.

Each day, they’d cut through dense forests and hurried across exposed, rocky moors, keeping inland and away from the roads and villages that broke up the wildness of the Highlands.

And each night, they made camp in near-silence. She watched everything with those large, dark eyes, though. Kirk didn’t miss the fear, the sadness, and the pain in their velvet depths. Lillian was certainly scared, but she also seemed resigned to her fate. She never uttered a word when Kirk would slip beside her under the cloak and settle in for sleep, nor did she stiffen with unease anymore. Instead, she accepted his nearness without resistance and even slept peacefully alongside him.

She’d never tried to slip away in the dead of night. She’d never attempted to mount the roan horse and make a bolt for it, or club Kirk over the head when he’d turn his back on her for a moment.

Her sad, silent submission had planted a seed of an idea in Kirk’s head.

They weren’t far out of Inverness now. The town was the gateway between the Highlands and the Lowlands. Kirk knew from his time serving in the Bruce’s army that many of the King’s messengers used Inverness as a hub of sorts, stopping to rest on their way to deliver information to the Highlands or return to the King’s makeshift camp in the Lowlands.

It was his best chance to get word to Colin MacKay that the Bodyguard Corps’ plan to protect Lillian had gone sideways—thanks to Kirk. But he hesitated at the thought of showing his face in Inverness.

That was the danger of working secretly within the ranks of the enemy. Recognition, either by friend or foe, would mean certain death.

Kirk cursed himself and his swirling thoughts as he set Lillian on the ground. He was careful with her, for her ankle was still swollen and sore. Plus, it was obvious that she was bone-weary. He left his hands around her waist for a moment to ensure that she was steady enough not to topple over with fatigue.

Before this mission, Kirk hadn’t contemplated what it would mean to travel from the farthest reaches of the Highlands back to the Compound in central England with a woman as his charge. Aye, he’d gnawed on the troubling issue of sacrificing an innocent’s freedom for the larger goal of bringing down the Order. But he’d never considered the countless, small intimacies that happened every day in such close quarters.

The dark crown of Lillian’s head brushing against his chin as they rode.

Watching her eat in solemn silence, her lips working and her tongue darting out to catch every crumb of biscuit.

The scent of her, delicate and feminine, drifting all around him as they slept side by side, sharing body heat under his cloak.

Kirk dragged a hand over his face, repressing another curse.

“We’ll rest here for the night.”

Those, along with Be ready to ride again at dawn , were beginning to be the only words that passed his lips.

“Very well,” Lillian replied. “When will we—”

A screech in the distance cut off her words.

Kirk instantly stiffened, flicking his wrist on instinct so that one of his throwing daggers dropped into his palm.

Lillian’s eyes widened, shimmering with the fading light of the day. “What was that?”

The sound came again, high-pitched and angry. Kirk whipped his head around to the trees off to their left, where the screech had come from.

“It is likely just an animal,” he said, his eyes straining to penetrate the darker woods in the distance as twilight began to turn everything blue. “I’ll check on it.” He didn’t need some angered beast bursting upon their camp or drawing attention to them with that piercing screech.

Kirk turned, but then hesitated. If he left Lillian alone, she might just prove him a fool and make a bolt for it. “Ye’ll come with me.”

Her eyes widened even more, her body jumping when the animal’s cry sounded again. Before she could form a response, he closed a hand around her elbow and, mindful of her ankle, guided her slowly through the forest with him.

Even before his eyes landed on the struggling, tangled mass of feathers and netting, Kirk knew the beast must be a goshawk from its harsh kek-kek-kek call, which grew more distinct as they approached .

“W-what is that?” Lillian murmured, tugging against Kirk’s hold as if to keep more distance between herself and the wild hawk flailing underneath the net.

“It’s a goshawk,” Kirk said. “A juvenile female, from the looks of her.”

Even in the fading light, Kirk could see that the bird was the soft chestnut brown of youth rather than the slate gray of maturity. Despite that, the hawk was big. Even with all her struggling, Kirk could see that her body was at least two hand-spans long, far larger than male goshawks grew.

With one of his throwing daggers still in his hand, he released Lillian and began to slowly approach the trapped bird.

“What are you doing?” Lillian said, alarm edging her voice.

Before Kirk could answer, a branch snapped loudly in the distance. Kirk whipped around toward the sound, his whole body going taut.

“Damned bloody branch.” It was a man’s voice, loud with annoyance—and drawing nearer.

Shite . Kirk’s gut coiled with dread in anticipation of a fight.

They’d been found.