alongside.
The bouncing made her teeth clack together and jarred her spine. As they passed the last cottage, she urged the horse into a gentle canter. Its long stride smoothed out and she felt a lot less like a sack of potatoes. Perhaps she really could make three miles without falling off.
At the crossroads she hesitated. The right fork led to the path along the cliffs and a long gentle slope down to the cove. Straight ahead and she’d have to cut across country. The way down to the beach there was difficult and steep. It was quicker.
Nose to the ground, the dog dashed straight ahead. The horse followed. It seemed as though her decision was made. Shorter and quicker was better.
She let the stallion have his head and concentrated on retaining her balance and watching out for danger. After ten minutes or so, the dog veered off towards the sea. If there was a path, she couldn’t see it, but she urged the horse to follow and in no time at all, she could hear the steady roar and crash of surf. Salt coated her lips and she licked it away, inhaling the tang of seaweed. ‘Tangle’, the locals called that smell.
If she remembered correctly, the rest of the way was rocky. Dangerous to a horse. She brought the animal to a halt and slid down. Her bottom was sore, but her injured leg easily held her weight. Riding astride, even bareback, was apparently easier on her leg than a ladies’ saddle.
‘Where are they, boy?’ she asked the dog, looking around warily. One thing she did not want to do was run into the Revenue men or, worse yet, Dunstan’s company of militia.
The dog set off at a trot. She followed, leading the horse. Would she be in time?
The dog circled her as if to assure her everything was all right. Or was he, in the nature of his breed, trying to herd her in the direction he wanted her to go?
Stumbling on the rough ground, Selina followed Gilly, hoping he would lead her to his master and not on a rabbit hunt.
A dark rift in the rocks where a small burn ran in a gully down to the sea told her she had remembered correctly. She’d climbed down beside the stream to the beach on one of her forbidden explorations.
A sound behind her. Cracking of twigs. She whirled around, hand to her heart.
A large figure loomed out of the low brush off to her left, an outline against the empty sea and starry sky. It lumbered towards her.
‘Hold,’ a male voice whispered loudly.
Why hadn’t the dog warned her? Friend or foe? Could she take a chance?
She turned to flee.
The man threw himself at her legs and flung her down.
Pain. Her shoulder wrenched. Her cheek scratched by heather. She cried out.
He cursed.
A hand came over her mouth. Heart racing wildly, she kicked out. Missed. Kicked again.
A brawny arm lifted and set her squarely on her feet. ‘Hist, now,’ he said in a low murmur. Scottish, she thought.
‘Silence, man,’ someone whispered from not far away. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Ah,’ her captor said. ‘It seems I have caught myself a spy.’
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