Aana’s stricken face seared itself into his mind. There was no choice but to get away from her as quickly as possible.

As though he might outrun her despair. Her disappointment in him.

As though it were any of his affair.

It was a dreadful mistake, coming to think of the lass as anything more than a means to an end. A new saddle, new shoes. Each stone in his path smarted against the soles of his feet, the leather worn to the point where it was nearly non-existent.

He needed the silver Earl Remington was prepared to grant in exchange for her delivery.

They all did. His needs and his desires were not the only ones in question. And the loyalty of his friends, the ones whose hands he placed his life in time and again, outweighed the concerns of a frightened lass.

No matter how much he had begun to want her for himself.

He hadn’t known it, truly known it in the deepest corners of his soul, until he’d all but held her by the banks of the stream. Until they’d been but a breath away from sharing a kiss he was certain would have led them down a path of pain and regret.

Once he’d kissed her, he was certain, he would never be able to free his soul from her grip. It was for the best, then, that he hadn’t.

They never could. Not ever.

Not once in his life had he known the sort of longing which consumed him when he imagined her as another man’s bride. The ache in his chest, the shortness of breath when he saw her in another man’s arms.

“Are ye hearing me?” Quinn nudged him.

They stood outside the stable, waiting for the owner to attend them while the horses dug at the ground with impatient hooves.

Brice did his best to clear his troubled mind. “My thoughts were elsewhere,” he admitted.

“Thinking about the lass, are ye?”

Brice rewarded him with a sharp look. “What makes ye say so?”

“Ye needn’t be so high and mighty,” Quinn chuckled. “I meant nothing by it. Only that we’ll be delivering her on the morrow and she seems none too pleased with it.”

“Oh, were ye thinking so?” Brice snickered. “She did attempt an escape, after all.”

“Aye.” Quinn rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing as he did. “Can I share something with ye?”

If his friend was about to confess love for the lass, Brice wasn’t certain that he’d be able to control himself. “Since when are ye asking me such daft questions? You’ve always been able to.”

“Aye, but I don’t want ye thinking I’ve gone soft or anything of the sort. Especially not toward her, if ye get my meaning.”

Brice’s eyebrows lifted. “Go on.”

Quinn looked back and forth as though wary of being overheard before leaning in. “I do not feel quite right about it. Delivering her, I mean. We’ve never been tasked with such a mission before.”

He managed to avoid a sigh of relief at the knowledge that he was not alone in his regret over the lass’s situation. “It is a difficult situation to be sure,” he admitted.

“It’s as though we’re delivering her over to be hanged,” Quinn muttered with a shake of his head.

“I don’t know that it’s that dire.”

“It seems that way to her.”

It was an effort to raise his shoulders in a shrug. The last thing he wished to do was to disagree with Quinn, as his thoughts on the matter were so similar—if not stronger.

To agree would benefit no one. It would only serve to make the entire endeavor more arduous.

“We were tasked with a responsibility,” he reminded his friend—and himself. “We must see it through. How the lass feels about it is none of our affair. Whether we believe it’s in her best interest is, again, nothing we need trouble ourselves with.”

He wondered if it sounded as flat to Quinn’s ears as it did to his own. There was no reason for the lad to know his true beliefs on the matter.

He only said what he felt compelled to say as a friend, and a partner.

* * *

As the innkeeper had all but offered the rooms for free, they’d taken three in total. Alana’s faced the street and was the largest of all. Brice and Rodric shared the one beside it, only a thin plank wall separating the two. Fergus and Quinn would share the next room.

“What do we do if she decides to make a run for it now?” Rodric asked in hushed tones, seated on the straw-filled tick which served as a bed.

Far preferable to another night on the ground, in Brice’s opinion.

He sat on his own tick, against the opposite wall which separated them from Alana. All was quiet in there save for the occasional splashing noise; the innkeeper had secured her a large washtub. Once the men had carried it upstairs, the innkeeper’s wife had seen to filling it.

The water was likely little better than lukewarm by the time of the filling, but Alana hadn’t seemed to care.

“She won’t,” Brice predicted. “Now that the innkeeper knows who she is, like as not someone has gone ahead to announce her arrival.”

“Ah,” Rodric frowned. “Perhaps I ought not to have mentioned it, then.”

“Oh?”

He shrugged, his features twisted in guilt. Brice knew that look well enough to recognize it at first glance. “I suppose I feel sorry for her. She’s a nice sort.”

Brice chuckled, mostly in surprise. “Ye only say that because she’s been a willing pair of ears.”

Rodric’s mouth fell open as though he wanted to protest, then, he laughed. “I suppose you’re correct! I’ve enjoyed speaking of Caitlin so freely.”

Alana had plagued him with questions as they’d shared the evening meal around the fire, and he had been more than glad to speak at length.

It had been a welcome reprieve for the rest of them.

“You would not allow her to escape, would ye?” Brice ventured, fairly certain it was the wrong question but unable to keep himself from voicing it.

“Of course not,” Rodric was quick to reply. “I do not wish to imagine what would come of us if we allowed her to slip through our fingers.”

“I agree.”

“Even so…” Rodric shook his head. “I canna help but remember how Caitlin escaped my brother, after their wedding. She was desperate. Foolishly so, perhaps. She brought danger on the heads of all those who cared for her. I hope Alana is a bit wiser.”

Brice held back from giving voice to the protestation which immediately came to mind.

Caitlin had been reckless and foolish.

But her actions had led to happiness with Rodric.

The splashing stopped after a time, telling Brice that Alana had finished her bath. And he’d thought it was difficult enough to keep her from his mind when she was bathing.

How foolish of him.

For knowing she was out of the washtub meant knowing her dripping body was exposed as she dried using linen sheets the innkeeper’s wife had provided. It was the closest thing to torture he could imagine, having her right there on the other side of the wall, knowing he was unable to touch her or even look upon her beauty.

“I need a breath of air,” he decided, standing before the words were out of his mouth and leaving the room before Rodric could ask any questions. He barreled down the narrow, split-log stairs and out the door into the street.

It was quieter than it had been when they’d arrived, most villagers in the comfort of their homes at that time of the night. The sky was darkening to a deep blue which would soon lend itself to black.

He avoided meeting the eyes of anyone who happened past him, just as he refused to look in through the open doors of the homes in his path.

Why interest himself in what others were doing? How they lived their lives? He would not be staying.

Anger simmered just beneath the surface of every movement as he very nearly marched up and down rows of homes, places of business. He considered ducking into a tavern and downing all the ale his stomach would hold—which he knew from experience was quite a quantity—but stopped himself in time and merely kept walking on.

Perhaps if he exhausted himself, he might fall right to sleep and not lie awake, thinking of her.

Then again, the others would wonder at his absence—it was a strange village, and English. He owed it to them to return.

The innkeeper looked put-out when Brice first stepped through the door, though in a moment he recognized one of the four escorts of Earl Remington’s soon-to-be bride. When recognition dawned, so did friendliness. “Ah, you were out for a walk, were you?”

The accent sounded amusingly unfamiliar to Brice’s unpracticed ear. He returned the man’s smile, willing himself not to react. “Aye, a fine, soft evening.”

The portly, bald-headed man held up a hand to keep Brice from continuing up the stairs. “My wife cleaned your lady’s riding clothes, then hung them to dry by the fire. She asked that I deliver the bundle but have been otherwise occupied. Might I press you into service?”

Brice’s teeth were gritted when he nodded in agreement. The very last thing he wished to do was see her, yet there was no way to refuse. He merely accepted the bundle of folded clothing and climbed the stairs with heavy feet.

It would not do to ask one of the others to deliver the bundle. He would have no reason to give as to his being unable to do so, and anything he managed to concoct would sound pitiful and childish.

And so, he continued down the narrow corridor after reaching the second floor, his knuckles sharp against her door when he knocked there.

“Yes?” She sounded tired, and wary.

“It’s me, lass,” he murmured. “The innkeeper asked me to bring your cleaned clothing.”

Her footsteps shuffled across the floor, coming closer, and she opened the door to him. The wariness in her voice extended itself to her expression, for she appeared distrustful.

He held out the bundle almost as though it were a peace offering or a gift, willing himself to turn his eyes away from the wet hair which hung about her shoulders. He’d never seen it down before, out of her customary braid, and thought he could become lost in its waves.

“Thank ye,” she whispered, her hands brushing against his as she took what he offered.

It seemed as though he ought to say something more. “Is the room to your liking?”

“Quite,” she nodded. “I’m certain it shall serve me well.”

“I’m glad.”

They fell silent then, merely staring at each other.

Her lips parted as they had earlier in the day, drawing his attention. They fairly begged to touch his own, pleaded with him to taste them.

Something flashed in her eyes, and there was no denying her.

Or himself.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.