Page 11 of Promised to the Cursed Laird

"My brother didnae want me going with ye," she said. "In the interest of being direct about it."

He turned toward her, his face hard beneath the grime and sweat of battle.

"What Fearchar Chisholm wants," he said, "is none of my business. It is between him and his conscience. It has naething tae do with what happens next."

"And what happens next?"

"Ye come with me tae MacKinnon land," he said. "Where ye were contracted tae come. Where ye should have arrived three days ago."

He put his hands on her waist without ceremony and lifted her onto the saddle as though she weighed approximately nothing, which she found simultaneously undignified and impressive.

"And we work out the rest of it from there."

He swung up behind her in one fluid motion that suggested a man who had been mounting horses since before he could properly walk.

She barely had time to steady herself before his arm came around her waist and gathered the reins. She grabbed the pommel, breathless.

She could feel the heat of him at her back, could hear his breathing close to her ear, and for one strange moment the chaos around them seemed distant.

Then she remembered where she was.

"Ye're very certain of yerself," she said.

"I'm certain of the situation," he said.

Three days ago, she had been doing the same thing in the opposite direction and the irony of it sat somewhere between wry and overwhelming, and she chose wry because overwhelming was not something she could afford yet.

"MacKinnon," she said. "Fearchar will come after me."

"Then let him."

Neilina turned her head to look at him. "Ye don't know my brother."

"I know enough." He raised his voice slightly, not much, just enough to carry to his men. "We ride."

Marcas turned the horse toward the open gates, and Neilina held tightly to the pommel as they rode out beneath the arch.

His men gathered around them. The main gate hung at an angle but remained passable, and they rode through it into the dark of the Highland night with Cailleach MacRath standing in his own courtyard watching them go.

She felt him watching. Behind them, the MacKinnon warriors were already falling back, retreating before the MacRath could regroup, while smoke drifted across the courtyard and men shouted orders that grew fainter with every stride.

Neilina looked back at the stronghold until the walls began to disappear behind them.

Then she turned forward again.

"Will Cailleach come after us?" she asked, as the trees closed around the road.

"I expect so," Marcas said.

"He has more men than ye."

"He does," Marcas agreed.

"That doesnae concern ye?"

A pause. Behind her she felt him settle into the rhythm of the horse, easy and unhurried.

"Many things concern me," he said. "I try tae address them in the order they present themselves." The trees thickened. The road ahead was dark and the road behind was darker. "Right now, the thing that concerns me is getting ye off MacRath land before dawn."