glared right back at her. He felt guilty for not having saved his aunt, but he’d not shoulder the blame for starting this feud. Alex Murray had done that when he had kidnapped his aunt. “You’d best try to sleep,” he said tersely. “We must try to leave here before dawn.”
Her head came up at that, like a fighter sensing a challenge. “Oh, I will be ready, sir knight.”
He slept.
Allisun listened to the rhythmic rasp of the knight’s breathing and knew exhaustion had overridden his wariness.
Slowly, cautiously, she bent to slide her hand down the, outside of her left leg. There, in the top of her boot, was the small knife no Borderer went without. One eye on her enemy, she eased the dirk free. If the past twelve years had taught her one thing, it was patience. She applied it now, pressing the sharp blade ever so gently to the leather that bound her to him.
Long minutes passed.
An owl called out from the branches above. Its mate answered, and the pair set out, gliding from the trees on silent wings, hunting in perfect accord.
Her parents had been like that, Allisun reflected as she worked at the bindings. Two bodies, one mind. One heart. Their love had been a thing of beauty, till her mother sickened and her father turned to Brenna for solace. Aye, the Murrays’ miseries, past and present, could be laid at the feet of that sorceress, Brenna. But she was gone, and there was no way to make Hunter understand that without seeming to vilify the dead.
She sliced through the last bit of leather, then held her breath, watching, waiting to see if he’d rouse. He was a handsome man, she thought, staring at his sleep-softened features, the square, stubborn jaw and full, expressive mouth. It was his eyes, though, that had fascinated her. So deep a shade of brown they looked black by moonlight, and so intent they seemed to see clear through her.
When he did not move, Allisun crept from beneath the cloak he’d draped over them for warmth and stole away. It had originally been her plan to climb up to the trailhead and wait in concealment for her men to ride by. But the fate of Hunter’s horse weighed heavily on her mind. What if it was alive but unable to cry out? The thought of so noble a beast in pain sent her toward the base of the gulch.
Keeping low to the ground, moving from tree to tree as Danny had taught her, she reached the base of the mountain. Here the woods were fed by a bubbling burn, the water sweet and cool to her parched throat. As she drank, she thought of Hunter Carmichael, who doubtless hungered and thirsted, too.
Bah. The McKies would find him come morn and carry him back to Luncarty, there to feed him and tend his ankle.
Rising, she turned away from the stream, and nearly fell over the body of the great stallion.
“Poor thing.” She touched its forehead.
“What are you doing?”
Allisun whirled around, the knife clutched in her hand.
Hunter Carmichael stood a few feet away, leaning heavily on a thick tree branch.
“How did you get here without my hearing?”
“Because I am as good at sneaking about as you are.” Limping forward, he knelt on the stallion’s other side and gently stroked the satiny shoulder. “Broken neck.”
“Aye. He did not suffer,” Allisun offered.
“That is something, I suppose.” His hand stilled. “I have two colts and a filly from him, but...”
“It is hard to lose someone you love.”
Hunter looked up at her, surprised by the understanding, the compassion in her face. Most people would have scoffed at the loss of a horse. Allisun Murray was different in a way that tugged at him. He couldn’t let it matter. “Why did you come down here instead of going up the tail?,
“I thought he might be suffering.”
The tug twisted deep in his gut. “He didn’t.”
“Nay. I am glad of that, Still...” A single tear glistened on her cheek. “’Tis a sad end to so magnificent a beast.”
Hunter stared at her a moment, wondering how a man as heinous as Alexander Murray, the kidnapper he’d hated for years, could have raised so gentle a daughter. Dismissing the notion, he turned away and removed Zeus’s trappings.
“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
