LITMIR.BIZ

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one last fight. ‘I am going to the Whore’s Eye, a raunchy tavern near the coast.’

      She grimaced. ‘I have heard of the place. Nothing good, either.’

      ‘’Tis not the place for a woman, let alone a lady.’

      ‘I can take care of myself, Gavin.’

      He sighed, the lines of pain around his eyes deepening. ‘I will let you accompany me part of the way. No matter how much help you will be, I canna let you go all the way.’

      Seeing the determination in his eyes and knowing he could only be pushed so far before he became intractable, she concurred. When they reached the point where Gavin ordered her to turn around, she would refuse. He was not the only stubborn person in this room.

      ‘A deal,’ she said.

      Before he could think of another argument or condition, she grabbed her woollen cape and two blankets. The night was bitterly cold and storm clouds rode the sky like hounds after a fox. Better to be prepared.

      He tried one last tack. ‘But you stand out like a rowan berry in green leaves. That hair sparks even in this dim room.’

      Her first reaction was to bristle at his reference to her hair. ’Twas the second bane of her existence, after the freckles. But she knew he was only trying to keep her from accompanying him. She might make light of the situation, but she was following him into mortal danger. The English would do whatever it took to recapture an escaped Jacobite. Even now, months after Culloden, they rode the Scottish hills, killing and imprisoning any man who might even remotely have fought for Bonnie Prince Charlie. They would think nothing of killing Gavin—and her with him—if they found them.

      She swallowed the whimper of fear that threatened to escape her throat. If Gavin saw her weakness, he would use it to start another argument and they did not have time.

      ‘I will keep the hood over my head, Gavin. Now, we’d best be going.’ She moved to the door and pushed him out into the damp, blustery night.

      He shivered. ‘’Twill snow before we reach our destination.’

      ‘’Tis why I have brought two blankets.’ A soft whicker caught her ear. ‘Why did you not put your horse in the stable?’

      ‘Do not be daft. The last thing I need is for some stable boy to know I’ve been here and then to tell a redcoat.’

      A chill chased down her spine. ‘I am not used to subterfuge. Sorry.’

      ‘Just see that you get your own mount without them knowing why.’

      She had not thought of that. ‘Wait a minute.’ She rushed back to her stillroom and picked up the bag she took when calling on a sick person, adding what was left of the whisky to the pack. Returning to Gavin, she said, ‘I will say I am going to deliver Mistress James’s baby. We had word earlier she was due soon.’

      She was well down the lane and through the gate that guarded the entry to de Warre Castle before she met up with Gavin. He emerged from the shelter of brush and tree. She would swear he wavered in the saddle. She held her tongue.

      The speed of their passing flipped the hood off her head. Icy pellets of water hit her face like miniature musket balls. Jenna hunched her shoulders up. Melting hail blotched her eyeglasses, blurring her vision. She took the spectacles off and secured them in her bag of medicinals.

      She pulled even with Gavin and asked, ‘Why leave from here?’ Twould be easier and quicker to cross to France from the eastern coast.’

      ‘And better watched, I’d warrant.’ Gavin spurred his mount on. ‘’Tis colder than a witch’s—’ He caught himself. ‘My pardon, Jen.’

      ‘No pardon needed. I’ve heard worse.’

      She kept her attention on their path and her companion. The moon peeked fitfully out from the canopy of clouds, silvering the bare tree limbs. She loved these cold, stark nights. They were harshly beautiful. But tonight, she wished it were warmer.

      A glance showed Gavin slumped over, his hands clutching the pommel. He rode with an awkwardness that was not normal. She had hoped her assessment of his wound was too severe. She was afraid she had been right. Anxiety tightened her chest as a premonition of trouble twisted her stomach, that part of her that was most susceptible to nerves.

      Off to one side, as though coming through one of the bordering fields, she heard the sound of horse’s hooves in sucking mud. The glow of a storm lantern pierced the night’s darkness, flickering through the surrounding trees like fairy light.

      Gavin caught the bridle of her horse and pulled them to a stop. ‘Hush,’ he whispered, his voice nearly lost in the sough of the rising wind.

      A troop of six men rode not thirty feet from them, their mounts following the trail she and Gavin skirted. Crimson flashed in the lantern’s illumination.

      Redcoats.

      English.

      Jenna’s hands turned clammy. She could not have spoken if her life depended on it.

      The sounds of hooves plopping in mud and men muttering among themselves reached her as they passed. The storm lantern cast a baleful yellow glare on the dirt track and disappeared into the distance.

      Jenna released her breath, only then realising that she’d been holding it. Blood rushed to her head and for moments she was dizzy.

      ‘That was close,’ she whispered, the scare making her breathy.

      She glanced at Gavin for his signal to go forward. He sat as one frozen. He must have been even more frightened than she. After all, he had just escaped the redcoats and then to have them nearly discover him…

      Uncomfortable speaking so soon after their close call, she reached out to him, intending to comfort with her touch. As though moving slowly through heavy water, he slid to one side. Jenna watched in shocked denial as he tumbled to the wet ground and lay in a motionless heap.

      She jumped down and knelt beside him, heedless of the mud weighting down her skirts. She bent her lips to his ear. ‘Gavin,’ she whispered, putting as much command into her voice as possible without raising it. She could not take the chance that a stray brush of wind would carry his name to listening ears.

      He did not move.

      She shook him. Nothing. Her left hand grasped his right shoulder just as the metallic tang of fresh blood met her nostrils. The wound must have reopened. Apprehension chewed her insides.

      There was no time to change the bandage. ‘Gavin,’ she ordered, ‘you have to get up.’ She stooped above him with her hands under his shoulders and pulled with all her might.

      He tried, but his body was like a sack of corn, flaccid and heavy, too cumbersome for her to lift without his help. He sprawled back down.

      Tears of frustration and fright sprang to her eyes. She swiped them away, determined to save him, no matter what. But how? He had lost so much blood and more seeped from him as he lay here in the cold. She took deep calming breaths until the fear threatening to devour her eased. If he could not get up and ride, then he could not leave for France and safety. She had to get help.

      She would have to leave him here, under the shelter of a hedgerow. She tugged at him, managing to slide him along the slick ground. He groaned, but she kept pulling. There was nothing else she could do.

      Gasping for breath, she sank once more to her knees beside his head. ‘Gavin, I must leave you here. Go on without you.’ She sucked in air and willed herself to speak calmly, even though her entire body shook. ‘Gavin, I am going for help.’

      He gazed up at her, his eyes glassy from pain. ‘The Ferguson,’ he said, his voice a bare thread. ‘Go to Duncan.’

      Even now he would not give up his goal of escape. ‘’Twould be better to take you home and hide you in one of the priest holes.’

      He shook his head. ‘No. Duncan.

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