The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle) by Ashley York Page B

hide.
    Oh, Iain.
    Where was he now? For the hundredth time, she went over those last few minutes with him. There were no answers. She pushed the thought away.
    If her father had lived, men like Seumas, so rugged and strong, would have been part of her life. Men, both local and from far-flung clans, would have courted her, their attention causing her no second thoughts. Her father would have taken her wishes into consideration, making her a good marriage. A happy marriage. Perhaps to someone like Seumas. A life so different from what she had now.
    The cries of the falcons soaring overhead pierced the calming scene, jerking her into wakefulness. She had no idea how long she had been asleep, but the sun hung much lower in the sky. The sight of the riders coming out of the woods at a recklessly fast pace set her heart to pounding.
    She stood at once, alert and ready for flight. The men either brought important news or they were in pursuit. Perhaps they were even after Calum and her. They had been sleeping in the woods to the east of the castle for a week before finally seeking shelter last night. Had these men found signs of their encampment?
    Calum appeared out of nowhere to stand at her side. Robbie ran to the inner courtyard to assist the riders as needed.
    “You fell asleep.” Calum sounded defensive.
    “You should have awakened me.”
    “You looked like an angel.”
    She glanced at him with a lopsided grin. “And you were not just enjoying playing with your friend?”
    He avoided her gaze. “Perhaps.”
    “Could be trouble.” Iseabail’s peace lessened with each rider passing over the bridge.
    “It may not be about us.”
    “True.” She did not want him to worry needlessly, but her pulse quickened as her own panic increased. “Is that the same man from the last village?” She pointed a slightly shaky finger at the rider in black who wore no colors to distinguish his allegiance. “He is the same size.”
    “Aye, it could be him.” Calum turned to her with worried eyes. “He is the one spreading our names about, telling everyone we are murderers.”
    Fear rose. They could not stay here, but she hated to put Calum in distress. “Methinks he is from Uncle Henry.” She smiled at him, preferring to treat their escape as a lark. “He will not catch us this time either.”
    Calum nodded with determination, eager to play. “Is it time to leave, then?” he asked, his gaze back on the eight riders now making their way into the outer bailey.
    “So it seems.” Iseabail wiped her sweaty palms on her cloak. “I wonder if there is an easier route of escape than passing these fine gentlemen.”
    Calum snorted at her sarcasm. They exchanged knowing glances. “Usually is.” Calum grinned. “’Tis a shame you are so clean, though.”
    She bowed deeply, much to Calum’s amusement. “You are too kind.”
    He giggled but tipped his head in acknowledgement.
    Calum led the way alongside the barn until they had reached the back of the castle. A young girl came into view, and they dropped into a crouch behind the rain barrels. Iseabail rolled her eyes as the girl dumped a pile of kitchen scraps down a hole in the stone wall, and the putrid odor wafted into the air.
    “Mayhap it is only breakfast,” Calum whispered.
    Iseabail made a face. “Humph.”
    Still, she did not hesitate to follow as Calum dropped feet first into the hole. Both slid down the muck, the ooze slipping between their fingers, until they came to a stop on top of a warm pile of castle slops and other discarded refuse. Ducking low, they ran to the cover of the forest. The trees smacked sharply against her, the branches dragging at her cloak. They slowed only slightly with the thickening forest as they headed to the river. Out of earshot now, they paced themselves as they had learned from their two months in hiding. Running too fast did not get them as far as being steady. Calum had a shorter gait than Iseabail, so they were well-matched with her legs