Suzanne Barclay - Pride Of Lions

“You cannot carry the saddle, not with that ankle.”

“I’ve no intention of trying. I’ll hide it and the lance in yonder brush, then cover his body with branches.”

“Why?”

“If the Bells come down here looking for us and find the horse, they’ll know we are afoot.”

“If they don’t see him, they’ll assume we rode on.” Allisun nodded, her mind racing. A half hour’s climb would put her at the top of the trail. She was fairly certain the rocks there would conceal her while she waited for her kin.

“Go, if you want,” said Hunter. “I’ll not stop you.”

She looked at his foot, braced gingerly against a rock, then up at the strong, clean lines of his face. “What of you?”

“I will soak my ankle in the cold burn till daylight, then. climb up to the trailhead and watch for my men.”

“What if my kin come along first?”

He grinned, his teeth a white slash in his tanned face. “Then I’ll have to hope you’ll intercede with them on my behalf.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re a fair-minded wench.”

Allisun scowled. “We are enemies.”

“Whom fate has thrown together. You’ve two sound legs to walk about. I’ve a sword for defense and food.” He dangled a pouch before her. “Oatcakes, dried beef and a flask of whiskey.”

“I’m not hung—” Her stomach growled in disagreement. There was never enough to eat, and she was always hungry.

Hunter chuckled. “What say we declare a truce, Allisun Murray? Just till we’re rescued.”

“What happens then?” she asked warily.

“I swear that if my men find us first, we’ll either leave you here unharmed or take you to wherever you want to go.”

She sniffed. “Jock McKie’ll not abide by that.”

“My uncle is back home at Luncarty. His leg was badly smashed when your brother ambushed him.”

“What?” Allisun exclaimed, torn between outrage at the accusation and joy that their nemesis was wounded. “If Danny fought, ’twas only after Old Jock attacked him. And them riding under a flag of truce.”

“My uncle says differently.”

“Then he lies,” she snapped. “My brother is not here to defend himself, but I will tell you this—Danny was a gentle lad, only a year older than I am, who had hoped to become a priest. This damned feud shattered that dream, as it did our lives, but Danny still hated killing. He’d not have struck first.”

Hunter hesitated, weighing her earnestness against his uncle’s earlier impassioned tale. Jock was loud and crude, but he had a reputation for honesty. And this woman was a stranger, an enemy. “It matters little what happened in the past. Fate has trapped us here, afoot in an area teeming with rapacious Bells. Our best chance of survival lies in working together. My offer of a truce between us still holds.”

She eyed him narrowly. “That is what Old Jock offered when he lured my brother to his doom.”

“Dieu,” Hunter exclaimed, raking his thick hair back with an exasperated hand. “You are a hard, suspicious thing.”

“Thank you. I’d not have survived otherwise. Still, I suppose there is naught to be gained by squabbling. So, I agree to the truce. But just till we’re rescued, mind.”

With her chin tilted up, her jaw set, Hunter could see there was much of the fighter in Allisun Murray, too. “I agree to your terms.”

To his surprise, they worked well together. Still it took time for a small woman and a limping man to do what must be done. Dawn was lightening the sky above the trees by the time they’d gotten the horse covered and the armaments hidden.

Hunter ducked behind a bush to remove his hose, then limped to the bank of the stream wearing only his thigh-length quilted tunic. The ankle was bruised, swollen to twice its normal size and throbbed like a bad tooth. He hoped it was just twisted and not broken. Sitting down on a rock, he eased his foot into the swift-running water. Air hissed between his teeth. “Ach, ’tis cold as ice.” He pulled his foot out again.

“Just what’s needed to bring down the swelling.” Allisun knelt beside him, grasped his calf and pushed the foot back in.

The feel of her hands on his bare skin sent a shiver up his leg, stirring something he had no right feeling for Alexander Murray’s daughter. Desire. But the body cared little for grudges and feuds. She was young and beautiful, in a wild, untamed way he found oddly appealing. The baggy trews that had disgusted him the night before molded temptingly to a surprisingly shapely rump as she bent to examine his injury.

Hunter groaned softly and tried to pull away.

“Easy.” Her grip on his leg tightened, and so did other, less discerning muscles farther up his leg. “I just want to see...” She rotated the ankle.

“Ach!” Hunter yelped as pain exploded.

“Does it hurt here?”

“Of course it does. Damn thing’s likely broken.” And then where would he be? Crippled, if it wasn’t set properly. “If only my Aunt Elspeth were here. She’s a skilled herb woman.”

“If I were wishing, it’d be for two horses.”

“I suppose you are right.” He leaned forward, peering at his dripping foot. “Do you think it’s broken?”

“Nay, I think...” She turned, and suddenly their faces were only a scant inch apart. The heat from his body, the faint scent of his skin teased her senses and made her insides draw tight as a bowstring. Fear? Nay, nor was it the hatred she wanted to feel. An odd sort of excitement ruffled through her, quickening her pulse, raising the fine hairs on her arms and neck.

Hunter watched her blue eyes darken and knew she felt the same sensual tug he did. The spark that arced between them kindled an unexpected heat deep in his belly. Lust stirred, dulling his brain, heightening his senses.

Her hair had come loose from its thick braid and straggled down her back. He wanted to thrust his hands into the tangled mass and see if it was as soft as it looked. He yearned to press her tense little body to the aching length of his and cover her mouth with his own. He longed to kiss her till they were both mindless and breathless with desire.

“Allisun,” he whispered, lowering his head.

“What?” She blinked and shook her head, then flinched. back away from him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“This.” He moved closer, a hairbreadth from her lips.

She gasped and dodged aside. “Is this the way you keep your truce, by...by attacking me the moment my guard is down?”

“I was merely giving us what we both want.”

“Want?” She dropped his leg back into the water. “You are mad! This unholy lust must run in the Carmichael blood. But I am not as easy a mark as my poor father was.”

“You will cease implying that my aunt was some sort of—”

“Whore!” Allisun sneered. “Adulteress. Is that not what they call a woman who steals another woman’s bus—”

“Hello, there!” called a loud male voice.

Hunter whipped his head up, shocked to find a band of mounted men watching them from across the stream. There must be a score, at least, dressed in leather jacks and trews, swords at their sides, riding sleek horses.

Allisun cursed ripely under her breath and reached for the knife she’d set on the bank.

“Not Murrays, I take it?” Hunter whispered.

“Nay. Nor Bells, either, but they’re not the only vermin hereabouts.” She scrambled to her feet, her knife held before her. “Stay back.”

Hunter grabbed his sword from the stony riverbank, for all the good he’d be on only one leg.

Chapter Four

“Who are you?” Hunter demanded.

The foremost man, a stout fellow with graying hair and a wide, florid face, smiled and held both his hands up, palms out. “Easy...easy. We mean ye no harm.”