MOVING FORWARD
Brodgar stared at her. It was Ettie! He had thought it was Ambeal. Known it was Ambeal. He had put his desperate plan into action, recognizing the horse she rode. It had worked, but he had thought with horror that he might have wounded her. Now he saw she was alive – if injured – but it was not Ambeal.
“Ettie!” he stroked her hair, knowing tears ran down his cheeks. Tears of exhaustion, of amazement, of fright and horror and relief. “Ettie. Is that you?”
“Of course it is.” Ettie laughed. She had bruised her ribs in the fall, it seemed, for laughing ached through her chest. She stopped. Raised a hand and stroked his wet, rain-soaked hair. “My love.”
Brodgar smiled. His face was dirt-streaked and strained. Nevertheless, the smile, warm and heartfelt, was the sweetest thing she'd seen.
They kissed. His mouth was warm on hers and she felt herself melt in his embrace. She breathed in, too surprised and delighted for clear thought.
“You're freezing,” Brodgar commented as he moved. He held her to his chest, rocking her in his arms. “Come. We must find shelter.”
Ettie nodded. Now that she thought of it, her teeth were chattering. Her fall had sent her tumbling on the wet leaf-mold and her dress was damp, the moisture soaking through to her skin. She shivered and snuggled closer to Brodgar, seeking warmth.
“Come on,” he said again softly. “There's a cave here. We can shelter in it.”
“Snow-soft,” Ettie said through chattering teeth. She struggled to find words as she stood. Why was everything so difficult? “Where. Is. She.” Heavens, but she was tired. One word came at a time to her mind. Slowly, slowly...
“She's here,” Brodgar said: he was holding Ettie beside him, her arm through his, and his other hand, she noticed wearily, held a bridle. He had called the horse to him, it seemed, and they were all headed to the cave.
“Good,” Ettie whispered. “Saved...my life. You. Her...” she trailed off. The blow to her head when she fell, combined with the cold and the crazy exertions of the chase, had left her too tired to think straight. Brodgar nodded.
“I don't think they would have killed you, my dear.”
“Questions,” Ettie whispered. “Too many. No questions I can answer.”
“Yes,” Brodgar nodded, as if she spoke clearly. “Good that they couldn't ask you questions. Now come. Not much further.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She found herself in a cave. Ferns concealed the entrance, though inside it was big enough to stand. Brodgar led the horse in with them. She warmed the space. He knelt to the leaf-mold.
“Fire,” he murmured. Ettie watched him dreamily. It came to her that he was trying to start a fire. She crouched down.
“Let me help,” she whispered. She was sure that, sometime in another life, she had remembered to put a flint and striker in her belt-pouch beneath the cloak. She searched for it, her fingers thick and unresponsive with cold.
“Let me help, dear,” Brodgar said, reaching tenderly to take it from her. He fumbled it open, and then sighed. “You wonderful, clever girl.”
Ettie felt her soul melt. She smiled at him crookedly. She was so cold! “Thank you...I think,” she whispered. “You sound too surprised for me to take it as a compliment.”
He beamed. “I'm not surprised,” he insisted. He was already gathering the small pile of kindling, moving flint and tinder as he spoke. “Just grateful, my dearest. So grateful.”
Ettie smiled at him as the light flared, then went out, then flared and stayed there. The grass he had lit was dry and crackled, sending up a wisp of smoke. The horse shifted, clearly made nervous by the smoke, but Brodgar whispered to her and she stood still.
Ettie bent to the fire, feeding it scraps of dried leaves and bark and handfuls of dry grass until they had a small, wavering blaze.
“Twigs,” Brodgar said succinctly, crawling to the entrance of the cave. He went out foraging. Came back with the few dry twigs he could find.
Two more trips and the two of them were seated around a small fire, painting shadows everywhere. They held their hands to the fitful blaze, letting it warm them. Ettie shivered.
“You saved me,” she whispered.
“And you me,” Brodgar said. “You unblocked the tracks.”
Ettie blushed. “It was nothing.”
“It was brave and brilliant and wonderful,” Brodgar retorted firmly. “You saved my life.”
“And you mine.”
The two of them looked at each other, hesitant and surprised. Her slate-blue eyes were pools in the darkness, firelight moving across their surface, orange and black and shifting. He stared into them and reached for her hand. “Henriette Fraser, I love you.”
“I love you, Brodgar MacConnoway.”
They meant it. Ettie felt as if a rock had settled in her chest – firm and steadfast and sure. This love was solid and firm and wonderful and would guide her all her life: anchor her and support her steps forever.
Later, shivering, they sat against the wall. Their hands were warmed and Ettie felt Brodgar take her fingers in his, those long, muscular ones squeezing and stroking her hand, helping the blood to flow.
His arm was around her and they touched all down one side, sharing their warmth.
“I know this is most unsuitable,” Brodgar whispered. His fingers moved over hers, tickling her wrist. She gasped. She could feel his breath beside her and his warmth seeped through her dry clothing, setting her heart aflame. This close, she could smell him and sense him and feel him and she was aware of changes in her body – a quicker pulse, warmth spreading through her, converging at her thighs, a catch in breathing.
“It is,” she whispered.
They laughed.
“We are betrothed,” Brodgar whispered back. “I wish I...I am not sorry it's so cold,” he whispered back.
“Why?” Ettie asked, though some instinct in her made her blush, knowing answers.
“Because. If it weren't, I'd forestall our vows.”
Ettie flushed scarlet. So did he. They kissed.
The fire burned into reddened charcoal and they fell asleep.
The next morning, they awoke to a cold space, Cramped and shivering, Ettie turned sideways. She found herself looking into Brodgar's eyes. They were outlaws. They were in love and they kissed.
Later, they planned. They had to find breakfast first – they knew they were dangerously weak. Ettie produced some way-bread from her saddlebags and was horrified to see how Brodgar wolfed it down, almost starved. She had noticed his face was thinner and she could feel his ribs. She ate hers slowly, too cold and hungry even to feel hunger. She fed a small measure to the horse, which snorted and took it.
“We should head north,” Brodgar said, once breakfast was over. “Go to Lochlann.”
“Lochlann?” Ettie recalled the place dimly. She was sure, sometime in that other life before her fall, when she wasn't cold and hungry and exhausted, it had a meaning.
“My sister Joanna is there,” Brodgar explained. “It's a strong fortress. I doubt MacDonnell will suspect that we have gone there. And since he will now be convinced his daughter is somewhere in these woods, alone and riding, he will be focused here.” he grinned at her. “My lady, well done.”
“It wasn't just my idea,” Ettie blushed. Four of them had planned it – Amice, she and Alina, with Chrissie adding thoughts. It had been her idea that the distraction was Ambeal, though, and she'd agreed to do it.
“Well, it was brilliant.” Brodgar kissed her. “Brilliant and inspired and true. Now. Let's take stock and see if we can head north.”
Ettie nodded. Her legs had cramped during the night and standing was difficult. Brodgar helped her and together they managed. They had a horse. Some provisions. A sense of direction.
“We can do this.”
Brodgar helped her onto the horse. For reasons of concealment, they swapped cloaks. Ettie had to smile, seeing him in the ocher velvet cape.
“We look like outlaws,” Brodgar grinned crookedly.
“We are,” Ettie smiled.
He nodded as together, she, Brodgar and Snow-soft, outlaws all, traced the cold and lonely road north to Lochlann.