Amanda Scott (51 page)

She kicked a second time but missed, whereupon a low voice growled in her ear, “Easy, lass, I mean ye nae harm, and if ye
cripple me, I’m sped.”

Elspeth stopped struggling, realizing that further such efforts would be useless. He was too large, too strong. She would
hurt only herself.

“Good lass,” he said. “What lies yonder behind that shrubbery?”

His hand was still clamped across her mouth. When she tried to twist away from it, he said, “I ken fine that ye canna speak,
lassie, but I’ll ha’ your word first that ye willna shriek.”

She hesitated, then nodded.

He moved his hand enough so that she could talk but kept it near enough to let her know that he would clap it across her mouth
again if she tried to scream.

When she did not speak at once, he said more urgently, “Be there a cave there, where ye were hiding?”

“Aye,” she said, “but ’tis only a shallow one.”

“Big enough for the pair of us?”

“Since I cannot see you, I do not know how large you are,” she said.

“Large enough,” he said, and to her surprise she detected laughter in his voice. “I’ll put ye down, lassie, but if ye shriek,
I swear I’ll throttle ye.”

He set her gently on her feet, and she turned to face him.

She had known from the way he held her and the ease with which he had lifted her that he was a large man, but the reality
was greater than she had imagined. He was a full head and shoulders taller than she was, which made him at least two or three
inches above six feet, a height unusual among Borderers, who tended to be small and wiry. His shoulders were very, very broad.

He had thick, dark hair, but where a shaft of sunlight touched it, it gleamed with auburn highlights. His eyes were stone
gray, set deeply, with lashes long enough and curly enough to be the envy of many a woman, and laugh lines at the outer corners.
His eyebrows were thick and straight, like hasty slashes in a drawing. His other features were well chiseled, as if a skilled
sculptor had modeled them. His complexion was tanned and ruddy. His beard was short and well trimmed, emphasizing the strong,
straight lines of his jaw. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen, and his intense, penetrating gaze stirred feelings
in her body the likes of which she had never known before.

He wore the tawny breeks and brown doublet of a hunter but carried himself with an arrogance that showed he thought he was
superior to most other men. Doubtless, his size gave him that confidence, she decided, his size and the sword and dagger he
wore at his side. Certainly, he looked capable of wielding both weapons expertly.

His voice was deep and pleasant, but his accent puzzled her. He spoke broad Scot, of course, but the cadence was neither that
of a Scottish Borderer nor yet quite that of an English Borderer. Still, to her finely tuned ear, it sounded nearer the latter
than the former, and England was only a few miles away.

Bluntly, she said, “Are you English?”

“Nay, lass, I be as much a Scot as ye be yourself, but we’ll no fash ourselves over me antecedents just now if ye please.
Will I fit into yon cave o’ yours, or no?”

“Aye,” she said, measuring him again with her eyes, “but barely.”

“Then we’ll ha’ tae cuddle up a bit, I expect.”

“You cannot keep me with you,” she exclaimed as nerves stirred in places she had not known she had nerves. The thought of
cuddling with him was not at all distasteful. Still, she said firmly, “I must go home straightaway. Surely, you heard Drusilla
calling me!”

“I didna recognize that infernal shrieking as ‘calling,’” he said. “What a heathenish voice that lass has got! Still and all,
I collect that Drusilla must be your sister and ’tis rude o’ me tae condemn any kinswoman o’ yours.”

She opened her mouth to correct him but, instead, said weakly, “I must go.”

“Nay, lassie, I canna afford tae trust ye that far, I fear. Ye’ll bide wi’ me in yonder wee cave till the danger be past.”

With a sigh, she nodded and turned to lead the way, pausing when she reached the thick bushes in front of the opening. Clearly,
the dogs had his scent, and she wondered when it would occur to him that simply hiding in the cave would not be enough to
shield him from them.

The cave was larger than she had led him to believe, but it was not deep enough to protect them both from discovery or attack,
and she could hear the dogs more clearly now. They were rapidly drawing nearer.

“Who is chasing you?”

“My erstwhile host,” he muttered. “I beg your pardon, sir. I do not understand what you mean.”

“Them be English soldiers, lass, and no pleasant folks at all. Now, get ye inside,” he added, this time his words a clear
command. He held the bushes apart and nodded at her to go first, following her at once.

Inside, enough light penetrated the shrubbery to reveal the walls of the cave, and he grunted at the sight. She could stand
upright, but he could not, and although they could sit, they would be more vulnerable to attack on the ground.

He drew his sword. “This doesna seem tae be the best place for concealment after all, lass. We’ve no retreat here, and they’ll
easily track me tae this place. Mayhap ye’d better leave me, after all. I’ll no want ye tae suffer for helping me.”

She had been trying to think of a way to persuade him to let her go, but at these words, perversely, she changed her mind.
“One moment,” she said, turning away. “I have something that might help.”

He made no move to stop her when she bent to retrieve the jug that some weeks before she had placed on the floor of the cave
near the wall.

“What be that stuff?”

“Aniseed,” she said. “Sir Hector’s huntsman told me that it is one of the few things that will put sleuthhounds off their
scent. One of the local reiver bands uses it frequently, he says.”

“Ye begin tae intrigue me, lass,” he said. Taking the jug and removing the stopper, he sniffed and grimaced. “Ha’ ye tried
it on your own hounds?”

“Not yet,” she admitted. “I did think, however, that it might prove useful if Drusilla ever sent our dogs to find my hiding
place.”

“Do I just shake it out on the ground yonder?”

“Aye, but perhaps you would be wiser to let me do the shaking. If someone should see me, he would think nothing of a young
woman walking in the woods.”

“I’ll let ye, but only if ye promise to do it quickly and come back here,” he said firmly. “I’d no trust the men wi’ them
dogs tae act honorably wi’ any female.”

She did not argue with him, nor did he repeat his insistence that she return. She had a feeling that it did not occur to him
now that she might disobey him. What man, she wondered, had that sort of confidence in his ability to command others? Surely,
he could not be only a common huntsman.

He held the shrubbery aside for her, and she hurried out, going the way he must have come, toward the barking dogs. They were
only a few minutes away now.

When she had gone as far as she dared, she shook aniseed from the jug. Realizing at once that such a method was less than
efficient, she poured some into her hand and then flung it, as if she were scattering grain for chickens.

The dogs were closer yet, not more than a half mile away.

Backing toward the cave, she scattered more aniseed as she went, taking care to scatter it heavily over the route they had
taken after he captured her.

As she neared the cave, still scattering the pungent herb, she wondered if she had taken leave of her senses. She had only
his word that the men hunting him were English. They might as easily be Scots, chasing a thief or murderer, but she could
not shake the notion that returning to him represented safety while remaining where she was represented danger. She had no
time left to make for Farnsworth Tower. The dogs would be upon her before she could cover half the distance.

They were too close even now for comfort. What if they could catch her scent in the air? Deerhounds and many sleuthhounds
possessed that ability.

Running now, still flinging aniseed across her path, she saw that he was still holding the bushes apart for her. Diving toward
them, she stumbled, but he caught her arm, steadying her and drawing her into the sanctuary of the cave.

“Take some deep breaths, lass,” he recommended calmly. “Ye must steady your breathing, or the hounds will hear ye. Their sense
o’ hearing be nigh as acute as their sense o’ smell.”

The sound of the dogs changed. They had been baying in a rhythmic way, all of them making a similar sound, but many were yelping
now, in some disorder.

“They’ve come upon the aniseed,” he murmured. “Be still now. Not a movement, not a word.”

“I am not a fool, sir,” she said.

Nevertheless, she was grateful to feel his large body close to hers. Big, warm, and solid, it made her feel safer despite
the increasing danger outside. Her fears continued to ease only to return threefold when she heard the sound of hoofbeats
and knew they announced riders following the hounds. Chills shot through her body. She had not let her thoughts dwell on the
men with the dogs.

Swallowing, she did what she had done since childhood whenever she felt herself in danger. She thought about something else,
pretending that she was far away, in a very safe place. The warmth of the large body next to hers made it easier than usual
to return to memories of her early childhood, of a large, muscular man—her father, surely—holding her close. She basked in
that warmth, telling herself that she was on the shore of a pond with her father, surrounded by woods that were a haven of
safety, the only sounds those of birds and squirrels, and the occasional splash of a fish leaping to the fly that twitched
at the end of her father’s rod.

When her companion’s hard, muscular arm draped itself across her shoulders, she leaned into it, forgetting that it belonged
to a stranger, accepting its comfort without question or comment.

Through the shrubbery blocking the entrance, she could see the dogs now, at least a half score of them, and she saw at once
that the aniseed had put them off their scent. Three bunched near a tree, and feeling the body beside her stiffen, she wondered
if that was where he had stood, watching her emerge from the cave.

Riders appeared, guiding their ponies through the trees toward the dogs.

“Damnation,” one of the men exclaimed. “They’ve lost him!”

“Look up in the trees,” another voice shouted. “Mayhap he’s climbed one of them and is hiding in its branches.”

They were English voices, so at least he had told her the truth about that.

“As I recall, there’ll be a brook or a river to the east,” another shouted. “Mayhap he walked into it to cover his trail.
Send the dogs along its banks on both sides, and I’ll wager we’ll find him again in short order.”

“How far away is that burn?” her companion murmured when the area nearby had fallen silent again.

“Five minutes’ walk from here,” she murmured back.

“And where does it lead?”

“Its source lies in the hills north of us. It flows southwest into Annan Water and thence into Solway Firth.”

“And if they follow it on north?”

“They’ll pass Farnsworth Tower,” she said. “The burn provides our water.”

“Farnsworth Tower is your home?”

“Aye.”

“Surely those English will not remain long on the Scottish side of the line,” he muttered as if he were talking to himself.

Elspeth said gently, “If they have declared a hot trod, they can remain in the west march for six days.”

“How so?”

“Well, if I am remembering Border law correctly, either side can declare a hot trod up to six days after a crime and anyone
chasing a criminal may cross the line as long as they are in hot pursuit of him.”

“And how is it that a lass like yourself kens aught o’ Border law?”

“Sir Hector frequently serves as clerk when opposing march wardens meet for Truce Days, and he often explains such laws to
us at home.”

“I see. Six days, eh? But it means only that they can cross the line for six days after they discover the crime, and only
if they know who they are chasing?”

“Aye, but Sir Hector says that many interpret the law to mean that if they follow at once, they can search for the full six
days. Did they follow you at once?”

“You mean directly after I committed my crime?”

Again, she detected laughter in his voice, but this time it annoyed her. “I do not think that felonious activity should be
a matter for humor, sir,” she said primly.

He chuckled. “Doubtless you are right, lass. I confess, I’ve been up to my ears in felonious activity for so long now that
I’ve forgotten how most folks tend to view such behavior. At present, however, I care only about saving my skin.”

“Your accent has changed,” she said.

“Has it, then? I ha’ a knack for picking up cadences from whomever I’m speaking with unless I take care no tae let m’self.
Doubtless I ha’ just picked up a bit o’ your pretty speech, for ye dinna talk like a common Border wench.”

“I speak as Drusilla and Jelyan speak,” Elspeth said. “Sir Hector taught us all to speak properly.”

“Ye ha’ two sisters, then. What be your name?”

“They call me Elspeth,” she said, believing it unnecessary to explain to him that Drusilla and Jelyan were not her sisters.
“What of you?”

“Ye should call me Patrick,” he said. “That’ll be sufficient.”

“The men who seek you, what will they call you?” Again, he chuckled. “Ye be too wise for your own good, sweetheart. It doesna
matter what they will call me.”

“It will matter if they seek you at Farnsworth Tower,” she pointed out, ruthlessly ignoring the way the casual endearment
stirred her senses. “I am in trouble already for being away so long. If they learn that a villain is running loose hereabouts,
they will likely ask me all manner of questions. Did I not see or hear the dogs? Did I perchance see the man?” She grimaced.
“I am not a good liar, sir.”

“Then you must practice,” he said with a wry grin. “Believe me, practice makes nearly anything possible. I know that much
for a fact.”