Page 39 of Promised to the Cursed Laird

He kept pace hard beside her, his hand still gripping her rein though she no longer needed the forcing, his eyes cutting back over his shoulder every few strides to track the men now breaking cover behind them. There were three of them, not two. Two were already nocking a second arrow.

Three. They’d planned this thoroughly.

A second shaft struck the packed earth just short of her horse's rear hooves, close enough that the animal shied sideways, and his heart seized, his chest going hollow for the half second it took her to recover her seat, her hands sure on the reins despite everything, before the horse straightened back into its stride.

If that horse goes down⁠—

He didn't let himself finish the thought. He closed the gap between their mounts instead, near enough now that his leg brushed hers with every stride, near enough that if her horse stumbled, he'd have some chanceof catching her before the ground did.

A third arrow whistled wide into the brush behind them, the distance opening now, the archers falling back rather than giving chase on foot against two riders who'd found their speed, and still he didn't ease the pace, didn't trust the distance, didn't let one single muscle in his body unclench until the trees finally broke open ahead of them and the grey MacKinnon walls rose up solid and real against the sky.

Only then, gate in sight, did he risk a proper look at her.

"Are ye hurt?" His voice came out rougher than he intended, still not fully believing, even with the walls in sight, that the danger had passed.

"Nae." Her voice came thin, breathless, her hands clenched so hard on the reins that her knuckles were white. "Marcas — what⁠—"

"Later." He kept his own hand close to her rein still, unwilling, even now, to put the full distance back between their horses. "We'll speak of it inside the walls. Nae out here, where I cannae see what else might be waiting."

She didn't argue that, and he noted it distantly, that she'd learned, in the handful of days since the postern gate, exactly when his word was worth trusting without question. She had given him that trust now without a single further protest, riding hard and silent at his side through thegate and into the relative safety of his walls.

The moment the gate closed behind them and the outer bailey swallowed the worst of the wind, he was off his horse and at her side. Before the stable boy had even reached her bridle, his hands came up to help her down though she was more than capable of managing it herself, needing to have his hands on her, to feel for himself that she was whole and steady and real.

"Marcas, I'm fine⁠—"

"I ken." He didn't let go immediately, his hands still bracketing her waist once her boots found solid ground, his forehead dropping, briefly, against her hair, a single unguarded breath escaping him that he made no effort at all to disguise as anything other than what it was. "I ken ye're fine. Give me one moment tae believe it myself."

She went still under his hands, surprise plain in the set of her shoulders, and he felt her slowly, cautiously, lean the smallest fraction of an inch back into him, as if she too needed, just for a moment, to have proof of the other still standing.

"Ye were afraid," she said, quiet.

"Aye." He straightened, made himself release her, though it cost him to put even that little distance between them. "Aye, I was afraid. I've faced men with blades in my hand a hundred times and felt less of it than I felt watching that arrow miss yer shoulder by a hand's width." He held her eyes, and made no attempt, this time, to armor any of it away. "I'll speak plainly with ye about it inside, if ye'll still hear me after everything else this morning's asked of ye. But first I need tae ken ye're truly unharmed, Neilina. All of ye. Nae just what I can see."

Surprise moved through her face and beneath it, warmth. The last of the guardedness from his study seemed finally to be thawing.

"I'm unharmed," she said, more softly now. "Truly."

"Good." He let out a breath he felt he'd been holding since the tree line. "Good. Then come inside, and I'll see ye warmed properly, and I'll tell ye whatever ye want tae hear about the men who did this, and about my mother's kerchief besides, if ye’ll still hear it."

She looked at him a long moment, and nodded. "Let’s take the horses to the stable yard."

And before he could protest, she shook her head. "I need the walk."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

They led the horses towards the stable yard, Neilina falling a few steps ahead of him.

She needed to put one foot in front of the other and feel the solid ground beneath her, to let the pounding of her heart settle into something nearer normal. The danger was behind them now, the walls of MacKinnon rising safe around them, yet her body had not quite understood that.

She could still hear the arrow, could still feel the rush of it past her shoulder.

So, she walked faster.

By the time they reached the yard, she was several paces ahead of Marcas, leading her horse towards the nearest stable.

Then her foot caught on something in the packed earth. She lost her balance and reached for the horse's reins, but the movement only pulled the animal's head towards her. For one startled second, she was certain she was going down.

Apair of hands closed, sure and steady, around her waist.