than cold.’
Her first inclination was to refuse the offer, but she was more practical than that. The weather was beastly, and the last thing her cousin needed was for her to get too sick to care for him. With as much grace as she was capable of, and knowing he could not see her scowl in the darkness, she took the blanket and swung it around her shoulders. The damp wool smelled of hay and horses and less pleasant things. Soon it would be soaked as everything else she wore, but for the moment it warmed her.
‘We had best hurry,’ she said. ‘Gavin has not much time, I fear.’
She urged Rosebud on, wishing she could hurry, but knowing she should not for safety’s sake. The footing was precarious and the moon a poor substitute for a lantern. One moment the muddy track shone with a silver sheen. The next it nearly disappeared as the clouds scudded across the sky in time to the rising wind.
Jenna prayed Gavin would survive. He had a strong constitution and had survived a wound at Culloden and later internment in an English prison. Surely he could live through this. He had to.
In spite of her worry about her cousin, she was intensely and uncomfortably aware of the man riding behind her. When the wind let up for a moment, she could just hear the creaking of his leather saddle and the soft whickering of his horse. At times she thought she heard The Ferguson swearing under his breath, but neither of them dared talk. Sound would carry on the wind for some distance.
For all she knew, the redcoats had left the inn and were behind them. Reacting to that thought, she turned her mount left and on to a narrow trail that went through the fields. This route would not be travelled by someone unfamiliar with the area.
She had only gone several steps when her companion’s hand clamped down hard on her wrist. She had sensed him moving abreast with her, but had not thought he would stop her.
‘Where are we going now?’ His words were a hoarse, angry whisper.
‘A way that is unknown to the English.’ Her reply was swept away by the wind. ‘A shortcut.’
‘How do you know that?’
She swallowed a sigh of irritation. Every minute they argued was another minute longer in their journey, another minute Gavin lay on the cold, wet ground.
‘Because I have lived here most of my life. Because I have been out on worse nights than this, going to a birthing or tending to someone so sick the family fears they might not make it until morning. Because I know what I am doing.’
She could feel his gaze on her even as his fingers tightened momentarily before relaxing and leaving her. The breath she had not realised she held sighed from her lips.
‘If this is—’
‘I know,’ she said with a weary sigh, ‘you will kill me. And I believe you. Now can we go?’
In reply, he moved ahead of her so she had to urge Rosebud forwards in order to regain the lead. Jenna hunched into the stable boy’s blanket and clenched her jaw.
She knew he followed by the soft whickering of his horse. She hoped he was scanning the area for redcoats as she was. The last thing they needed was to be stopped. The soldiers might let her go, but they would arrest him and likely hang him without a trial.
She urged Rosebud on, glad of the meagre glow from the moon to see by. It was a risk. A passing soldier might see them, but likely would not go out of his way to stop them, thinking them locals returning home.
She needed to reach Gavin. As it was, her cousin would not be crossing to France tonight. And if they were not lucky and prompt, he might not be leaving for a long time.
They entered a copse of trees and instantly what light there had been disappeared. Jenna slowed even more.
‘Are you sure we are saving time?’ he asked, doubt lacing his words. His voice floated on the cold, wet wind.
Exasperation was an emotion Jenna did not often feel. This man seemed to make the worst come out in her. ‘Yes. I have trod this path many a night. Gavin is just the other side of this copse.’
‘I hope so.’
The urge to turn in her saddle and berate him for his doubt was strong, but she knew it would accomplish nothing. And someone might overhear them. She gritted her teeth and kept going.
Minutes later, they exited the trees into a clearing. She stopped and slid from her horse. Squinting, Jenna could barely discern a darker spot on the ground that was her cousin. Heart pounding, she rushed to his side. She squatted down.
Gavin’s face was a pale glimmer in the returning moonlight, with his mouth pinched down and his jaw clenched. In spite of the cold, his high cheeks were washed in scarlet. A fever.
She heard The Ferguson take a deep breath. ‘We must get him to shelter.’
Without bothering to look at him, she said, ‘I know. I cannot move him myself. Otherwise I would have taken him home and hidden him instead of fetching you. He cannot cross the channel as he is no matter what he wants.’ She turned to face him. ‘I need you to help me lift him to his horse and tie him to the pommel. Then I need you at the end of the journey to help me get him into a priest’s hole where he will be safe. After that, you can go.’
His eyes narrowed in irritation. ‘I am not yours to order as you please.’
She bit her lower lip. ‘No, you are not. I forgot myself in my concern for my cousin. I need your help. Gavin will die without it.’
He nodded. ‘Where is the wound?’
‘His right shoulder.’ She lifted his cape and the blankets to show where the bandage bulged.
‘Fetch his horse closer while I get him up.’
Not waiting for her, he pulled the coverings from Gavin and grabbed her cousin’s good shoulder. With a grunt, he lifted Gavin enough to get his arm around his friend’s waist. Duncan stood, Gavin in his arms. The men wavered and she knew her cousin’s dead weight threatened to topple both of them on to the ground. Jenna winced and hurried the animal, but knew there was no easy or nice way to do this.
‘Hold the horse steady,’ The Ferguson ordered when she reached them.
He half-carried, half-dragged Gavin to the horse’s side and draped the unconscious man’s hands and arms over the saddle. Duncan pushed until Gavin’s body hung face down over the saddle.
Gavin moaned in pain. Instantly Jenna moved to the other side of the horse where Gavin’s face and shoulders were. She was glad the animal was well trained enough to remain motionless.
‘Gavin,’ tis me, Jenna.’
‘Jenna? What the…? Ah, I passed out. It hurts.’ His voice was hoarse and his words nearly incoherent. ‘My head is…I’m upside down.’
‘Gavin,’ Duncan said, ‘I’m here and, if you will help, I’ll get you sitting in the saddle.’
‘Duncan?’
‘Yes, my friend. We are going to get you to safety, but I need your help.’
With
