Quinn and Fergus went ahead, intending to ride a distance up the road to look for signs of a search party. The night sky was clouded over, the moon and stars hidden from view, giving them an advantage.

A search party would like as not need to use lit torches in order to progress. They would be easy to spy from a distance, giving Alana time to hide herself.

So Brice needed to believe.

His gelding pawed the ground impatiently, shifting forward and back as though it wished to break free and run full-out. As though it sensed the tight nerves, the raw excitement they all felt as they awaited the signal.

Alana sat beside him, astride her mare. There was an intensity about her, a cold rigidity. She stared straight ahead, as though focusing on only what was just in front of her, though her eyes seemed to see something far beyond them.

She was looking at… what? Remington’s mistreatment? What would undoubtedly happen to all of them should they be found?

If her thoughts frightened her, she did a marvelous job of pretending otherwise—her back ramrod straight, her head high, self-possessed, always in control of her skittish horse.

He would have ridden into battle with her at that moment.

A low whistle floated to them on the night air. Quinn’s whistle. Rodric nodded to Brice, who led the way out of a thick patch of bushy buckthorn and onto the road with Alana close behind. Rodric would bring up the rear, watching over his shoulder.

They brought the horses to a quick trot, easily covering the stretch of road between them and their lookouts. By the time Fergus and Quinn were with them again, the entire group was outside the forest.

“I walked so far?” Alana whispered, eyes round with surprise.

“Aye, ye did. No wonder ye wore those slippers down to nearly nothing.” She was all but barefoot, not to mention half-naked in her ruined finery. He would make certain to purchase new garments for her when they reached their homeland. Quinn’s cloak served well to cover most of the lass, but she would be in need of something to serve through days of travel.

They moved quickly, as quietly as they could, through the darkness. Brice did what he could to affix an eye on the road ahead while also keeping watch over Alana.

It appeared she was hardly in need of watching, her head slowly swinging from side to side as she watched for any signs of danger. He would have reminded her once again that she need only ride and leave the watching and protection to the men surrounding her, but that would have been wasted effort.

They passed one farmhouse, then another, riding alongside rock walls which lined the road. The houses appeared dark, the occupants asleep. He attempted to remember how many such houses they had passed on their way from the village but could not.

He hadn’t known there would be a need to pay attention to such things.

Who could have foreseen what they would find themselves doing?

The passed one final house, dark as the others had been, the only sound coming from the area the lowing of cattle in the barn. A cat walked along the wall to Brice’s right, its green eyes glowing in the dark as it watched the party progress.

“If that is our only witness, we should be safe,” Fergus whispered.

Brice did not share his attitude. It seemed too easy. He would not feel satisfied until they were in Scotland, and even then, would likely be on his guard until they reached Anderson lands.

They reached the crest of a hill which Brice remembered cresting upon exiting the village. This meant they were close—and closer than ever to being captured.

“Do ye think the guards would have spread the word in the village?” Rodric asked in a low voice.

The question was likely intended for Brice, but it was Alana who answered. “Nay. It would mean embarrassment for him, and he would not want that.”

“I agree,” Brice nodded. “Remember, they said he did not wish for word to get out among the guests. They would not have come out explained who they searched for or why.” If only that were true. He was not certain whether he could believe it.

Rodric pointed to Quinn and Fergus. “Perhaps the two of you ought to go ahead and ride through the village, see if there are any guards still on the watch for her. They might not even recognize you if they’re so concerned with finding her.”

“Aye, can you imagine what it would be to return to the castle without her?” Quinn agreed with a grim smile. “I canna say I would return if I were in their position.”

“I might take a new name and learn a trade,” Fergus smirked, bringing the horse around. “We shan’t be long.”

“We will await you here.” A grove of birch trees would provide shelter and cover in the meantime.

Alana rubbed her arms, shivering after she dismounted. Brice longed to wrap her in his warmth but held back. It was not the time, nor was he certain she would accept his embrace.

It was enough to have her there, safe, under his protection. When he remembered his despair at believing he would never see her again and the certainty that her life as Countess Remington would not be a long one, the ability to look at her and hear her breathing was more than he could have hoped for.

She looked over her shoulder to where he stood, waiting, watching. “What will happen to me after this?” she whispered.

“I do not know what ye mean.” He exchanged a glance with Rodric, who was wise and discreet enough to give them some measure of privacy. Brice knew without asking that his friend would keep watch while he and Alana spoke.

She was unaware of this, too concerned with looking at him as though he’d gone simple.

“What will I do? Where will I go? I cannot return to the Stewarts, of course. Douglas would either personally escort me back or have me killed for defying him.”

The lass was merely conjecturing, but the very idea was enough to set Brice’s blood to boiling. “Ye know we would never allow such a thing.”

She turned to him, head tilted to one side. He could hardly make out her expression in the deep darkness but thought he might be able to imagine the pursed lips, the narrowed eyes. She always looked that way when she was assessing someone or something.

She had when they’d first met, standing outside the door to her father’s home. How his feelings toward her had changed since that day, when he had found her tiresome and disagreeable. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed since then.

“Why would you not?” she whispered. “It seems you are going to all this trouble for nothing.”

“I would hardly call ye nothing, lass.” There was so much he wanted to say, an entire lifetime’s worth, but he did not dare speak it.

“You have put yourself in a precarious position,” she insisted. “When the Stewarts get word of my escape—for ye know Edward will be certain to demand things be made right, though I have no knowledge of what that would entail—he will be looking for me, as well. And if I am with you…”

He held up a hand to stop her, shaking his head. “Do not worry yourself over that.”

“How can I not? Are ye daft?” She laughed softly, throwing her hands into the air. “Last night, ye begged me to consider the others. Rodric, his wife, and child, your brother. Quinn. And now ye tell me it’s no matter, that I need not bother myself. Which is it, lad?”

“Now that the thing is done, there is no choice but to follow through,” he replied. “I do not blame ye for fleeing. None of us do. We wish to see ye safe, out of his control, unharmed by him.”

“I suppose I wonder why it is you’re taking this on yourself, then. And what you plan to do once we’ve crossed over into Scotland.”

He could not quite answer that, for he did not have a plan. All that mattered just then was getting her away from her betrothed; there had not been time to think beyond that.

He knew what he wanted, what he wished for. That she be his.

First, the matter of escaping England.

A horse approached on the road.

They waited with bated breath, Alana’s hand finding Brice’s in the darkness and squeezing hard.

He held a finger up to his lips, urging her silence though he did not need to do so. She would know well enough.

He looked to Rodric, who held the horses in place as best he could and endeavored to quiet them.

“It is only I,” Quinn whispered.

Alana let out a sigh, falling against Brice who bolstered her. “All is well,” he murmured before leading her out to where Quinn waited.

“We saw nothing to give us pause. The village is asleep, or as good as. We ought to make haste.”

Brice did not disagree. They hastened to mount the horses and proceeded to the village at a trot, still watchful but somewhat more hopeful.

Fergus met up with them at the crossroads of the two main thoroughfares. “It could be that we missed them,” he murmured, “or it could be that they took rooms for the night and plan to continue their search on the morrow.”

“All the more reason to make haste,” Rodric observed, looking to Brice for agreement. He nodded firmly, and all of them spurred the horses to greater speed once they’d made it through the heart of the village.

Only when the sun was on the rise did they stop, all of them at the point of exhaustion and yet very nearly delirious with gladness at their escape.

“Did we make it?” Alana asked again and again, as though she could scarcely believe it.

“Aye. It would appear as though we did.” He helped her from the saddle. She was stiff, groaning in discomfort after everything she had endured.

Now that the excitement had passed, and they were reasonably certain of their escape, she would feel the pain and exhaustion more acutely. One of the many things he’d learned in battle.

“Find her a place to sleep,” Rodric suggested. “We’ll tend to the animals.”

And so, with her leaning against him, Brice led Alana into a clearing well away from the road. Pine trees surrounded the open space, providing seclusion. The only intruders he spotted were a pair of frolicking squirrels who darted away at the sound of needles crunching underfoot.

“Have I thanked ye?” she asked, her head lolling back when she looked up at him. There was barely strength left in the lass to speak, yet she insisted on trying to do so.

“I canna remember,” he answered in truth, “though it matters not. I know. We all do.”

“But you, especially,” she whispered as he cleared a place for her to rest. She swayed on her feet, prompting him to hasten his work. Once he removed her cloak and spread it out on the ground, she sank down upon it with a happy sigh.

“Why especially?” he asked as he wrapped the ends of the garment around her.

“Because I know it was ye who wanted to find me.” Her eyes slid shut.

“How?” Why it was important for him to know at that very moment was beyond him. The lass needed her sleep—so, in fact, did he—and yet he would have shaken her just to keep her awake long enough to answer.

“Because…” But it was too late, for she was already sleeping by the time the word escaped her lips.

He sighed, running a hand through her hair to loosen the last of the white buds which had been tucked into it. “Sleep, lass,” he whispered. “Sleep, my love.”