Muted voices whispering from the hiding hole in the clansman’s croft. The staccato of hoofbeats. Scarlet coats made black by the night, suddenly illumined by torch fire. Discovery. Panic. Shouts... No! Her head snapped upright, her stomach roiling, the taste of bile thick on her tongue. Dizzy and disoriented she stared about her. They were rounding a curve. Ahead, an inn squatted beside a crossroads. Bright light poured from small windows, and a curl of smoke stood pale against the indigo sky. Ash halted, waiting until she was alongside him to speak. “We’ll stop there for the night,” he said. “You won’t say anything or do anything to cause a... situation.” “Why won’t I?” she muttered, head aching dully. “Because it wouldn’t do you any good,” he replied. “I have papers naming me your guardian in my father’s stead. No commoner is going to challenge the Earl of Carr’s will or, by extension, mine. And if you should bedevil some half-drunk farmer into thinking himself Galahad to your damsel in distress, remember, his wounds would be your doing.”
