Chapter Twenty

"T hat's the third campsite we have found in two days." Dunstan's face settled into grim lines with their continued failure.

"We are closing in on our quarry." Garrick's voice was filled with certainty.

"Have you heard from our Scots friend?" one of his men asked.

The hoot of an owl echoed softly through the dense foliage, strangely out of place in the mid-morning light.

Patrick broke into a broad grin. "'Tis himself."

Sean gave the answering call, while the others slowed their horses to a stop, waiting.

The parting of tree branches was their first sign of MacInness's arrival. He moved like a predator, swift and quiet.

"You've finally come back then, you damned Scot," Patrick chided his friend.

"I've brought company with me." Grinning, he motioned to the shadows behind him. Iain, the man they'd waited for, pulled his horse up alongside and nodded his shaggy black head in greeting.

Eyeing him, Garrick took the man's measure in a heartbeat, and found himself silently agreeing with his vassal. Iain was the man they needed. It wasn't so much the man's appearance—the side of his face and his neck were badly scarred—it was the quiet control emanating from him that commanded the men's attention. Here was a man that exuded power. A man others could follow. Definitely a man Garrick needed on his side.

It seemed Iain had been taking Garrick's measure as well. A nod in MacInness's direction proved Garrick's theory. He let go of the breath he held, realizing that he too had passed muster.

"We've been following Owen's men," MacInness said.

Garrick's face lost all expression, becoming a mask of control. Rage simmered to the boiling point. Owen.

The silence of the woods enveloped them. Rubbing a hand across his face, Garrick quietly spoke, "It all makes sense now. Owen has much to gain by detaining my wife. Mayhap he is hoping I will speak to the king, knowing full well that William will not change his mind about her land. He thinks I will set Jillian aside. That would leave only one man standing between Owen and Loughmoe Keep. Henri du Guerre."

"The baron has not taken a wife as yet," Patrick said.

"Do you think Owen plans to push one of his whey-faced daughters on his new neighbor?" Sean asked.

"Now, Sean," Eamon began, "not all of his daughters are pale-faced wenches. Maryon has the face of an angel."

"And the tongue of a viper," Kelly added, laughing.

"Aneuch," MacInness bellowed. The group surrounding him fell silent at his command.

Iain spoke up, "They moved northward at the fork in the road just over the ridge. We had best be going."

Garrick gritted his teeth, readying himself internally for battle. He felt it in his bones—just hours away. The silent column of warriors kept up a fast pace, gaining back precious time as their quarry's trail lay before them.

"We're gainin' on them," was all that Iain would say.

Eamon signaled and rode ahead, returning a short time later with news. "They've stopped to water their horses at a lake just ahead. If we move quickly, we can take them."

Garrick shook his head. "If we attack them now, how can they lead us to the Rebel camp?"

"We take turns following close," Garrick said. "Patrick, you and Sean ride ahead."

Looking over his shoulder, he took in the sullen form of his youngest brother. "Roderick, ride with them."

His brother's face lit up, and for a moment, Garrick saw a man possessed. But his expression changed back to a stone-carved stillness.

MacInness looked at him, but Garrick shook his head.

By dusk, the small group rejoined the hunting party with the news that Owen's men had made camp for the night. They could do naught but wait and follow at daybreak.

"Dunstan, you ride with Iain and Kelly before first light. I want one of you to ride back and let us know when they break camp."

"Aye."

"MacInness and I will take the first watch."

Thus assigned, the men settled down for a brief respite from their quest.

An hour past dawn Dunstan stormed back into the camp at a full gallop. "They're gone. Iain and Kelly are following them, they ride to the north."

With a fist raised in the air, Garrick signaled to his men to mount up. Having broken camp hours before, they easily caught up to Iain and Kelly farther up the road.

"Send someone back to check on the wagons." He turned to face his vassal. "Time to put our plan into action."

Garrick turned to face his brother. "I'll need four more men if we are to fill each and every barrel."

Roderick motioned to four of the men-at-arms riding with them. The knights followed him back the way they had come. With any luck, the wagons would catch up this evening.

*

Jillian could hear the hoof beats growing louder. "Please God, no!" Since their escape, they expected to be recaptured daily. She was tired and afraid, but for Eyreka's sake, she could not give in to either emotion.

"This way." Alan pulled both women into the hollowed out bottom of a half-dead oak tree. It was damp from recent rain and filled with an earthy-smelling rot, but it offered both shelter and a place to hide.

Frantically gasping great gulps of air after their last sprint, Jillian tried to speak, but ended up shaking her head. Huddled together, in the warmth of their friends' arms, she finally relaxed.

They had been on the run for two days now, just out of the rebels' reach. So far they had out-run and out-hid them, but the rebel band drew ever closer. She didn't know how much longer they could hold out. Eyreka grew weaker by the day.

Jillian knew her mother-in-law was stout of heart, but not as young or strong in body. She watched as her mother-in-law's steps dragged as she tried to pull her body along. She knew when Eyreka was finally too tired to run anymore. Jillian had survived on sheer determination, now even that dwindled rapidly.

Their meager store of rations would have fed the two women for at least five days or more, but the three of them had gone through the food in just two days' time. Alan's great size needed more than a woman's small appetite to fuel his body. But she did not blame him, 'twas not his fault. They never would have made it this far without him.

The first day on foot, she had suffered from a cramped leg. Alan's sure hands had rubbed the knot from her calf so they could move on. By the third day, Eyreka showed signs of weakening. Alan had taken over her turn at the watch. He wouldn't hear of dividing the time with Jillian. He took the two watches in stride. Even though a prisoner, he fared much better physically than either of the two women.

Mayhap men were stronger. She shook her head, mayhap men were stronger when on the run being chased by a band of rebels.

They were the prey: cold, tired, and hungry. The rebels were the hunters: heated by their anger, rested and fed. The odds were not in her party's favor; their time would soon be up. Jillian knew it in her heart, as surely as she knew that she still had so much left to do in her life. She wanted to set things right with Garrick before she died.

Her heart was his. Even if the king would not grant her request to reinstate her land, mayhap he would change his mind and give it to Garrick, if Garrick were free to take a Norman bride.

Her heart twisted in her breast. The thought of him with another woman caused a shaft of pain to arrow through her. But he was not hers to love, though she would wish it with all her heart. She knew from that first day he had more than his own needs in mind.

Watching how he interacted with his people, she knew he was a man who placed others' needs before his own. He was responsible for hundreds of crofters in addition to his family and the knights who served under him. Though his eyes may have glowed with the depth of emotion she wanted to test, her heart told her to face the truth of it. Garrick was a man who held honor and duty above all things. He was honor bound to rebuild the lives of his people.

Her breath hitched in her chest as she held back tears. Though he may have wanted her, though she could feel the air between them crackling with passions barely held in check, she knew he would never give in to them if it meant forsaking his word. It was his bond and all he had left of value to give anyone, and he did not give it lightly.

While she lay there listening to Eyreka's shallow breathing, she marveled anew at God's hand in her life. She had lost her own mother, but had recently found the mother-of-her-heart. Merewood Keep and its people made her feel a part of their lives. She had a place now, a home. Though she would gladly give it up if it would help the man she loved, she truly hoped that God would let her stay just a little bit longer. Worry ate at her insides until she could not be silent.

"Alan," Jillian whispered.

"Aye?"

"What's to become of us?" Her concern grew with each day on the run, as had their friendship.

"I don't know, but don't give up hope yet. You've given it back to me. I never thought to be free again, until you were taken captive."

She could not see his face clearly in the dim, small space they occupied. But she could feel his strength, and she fed off it.

"It means much, being free," she said with conviction.

"I'd give my life rather than be taken prisoner again. Now that you have helped me taste freedom again, I'll never go back. I'm ashamed now that I had been weak enough to let myself remain captive."

"But you were hurt," she protested.

"Jillian?" Eyreka called weakly.

"Right beside you. Rest now, 'tis my turn at the watch." Stroking the older woman's brow, she fell silent until she heard Eyreka's breathing even out.

"We leave at first light, lass, rest now."

"But 'tis my turn to—"

"Nay." He pulled her into his arms until she felt warm and protected. She fell asleep dreaming it was Garrick's arms around her, his cheek resting on her head.

*

"Did you count the barrels?"

"Aye, brother," Roderick called out across the camp, "twelve."

Two wagons stood hitched and ready to go. The massive bulk of the horse teams chosen to pull the wagons stood chafing at the bit, their hooves pawing the ground.

"Iain?" Garrick called.

"Ready."

"MacInness?"

"Stop wasting time, mon. Ye know we're all here, like the horse team, champin' at the bit ready to fight. We dinna want to miss them."

Garrick's jaw tightened at the reminder that he had taken too long already, but he had to be sure his plan was flawless. Both his mother's and Jillian's lives would depend upon it.

Taking one more trip around the wagons, he knocked on the barrel closest to the back end of it.

"Ready," came the muffled reply from within the wooden depths.

Satisfied at last, he raised his fist into the air one last time. Three separate parties rode out, each one determined to make their part work.