It was not until the sun had nearly climbed overhead that Fergus realized he’d spent the morning looking for her. Listening for her. Waiting for her to appear.

Had Elspeth gone on her way without saying goodbye?

“Fool,” he muttered under his breath. Why would she say goodbye to him? She owed him nothing, he owed nothing to her. There was nothing between them but a chance meeting and a shared supper.

Like as not, she’d been too embarrassed after the previous night’s recollections to face him in the morning. She had no reason to be as far as he was concerned, but she was a prideful thing. Willful.

‘Twas a shame, then, as he would certainly have enjoyed sharing more meals with her. Two hunters were better than one, especially when one was as skilled as she.

It would be best to focus on covering ground. If Rodric and Quinn completed their mission and reached the inn before he did, they would leave word with Murphy of Fergus’s intention to meet with him. He would be waiting, perhaps even saving a job he knew Fergus would do well with.

It would not do to keep him waiting long.

He reached a familiar stretch of road not long after that and decided to stop to rest the horse and eat his dinner. He hobbled the gelding in a thick patch of grass it might enjoy eating, and settled himself in front of a birch whose branches provided shade against the midday sun.

This was roughly the place where his cousins found him.

He would be so much further along, had it not been for their treachery. Would that he knew where they made their homes. He would be more than happy to make the sacrifice of taking more time away from his purpose if it meant looking into their surprised faces before smashing his fist into them.

Had his father grown more ill since they’d said goodbye? How much longer did he have to live? If only they could have parted on better terms.

If only the man had not lied to him.

It was not Fergus’s fault that his father had chosen to lie.

He tossed an apple core to the horse that it might eat the thing. Resentment had all but soured the fruit’s sweet flesh. The horse seemed to enjoy it nonetheless. At least one of them had.

A pair of riders trotted past, neither of them paying notice to the man beneath the tree. It was just as well. After an all but sleepless night, not even a morning swim in the cold river had forced him into wakefulness.

The idea of holding a conversation, even idle bits of pleasantry, repulsed him.

A look at his pack told him of the need to hunt. He would stop earlier than usual that evening to allow time to use his bow and quiver for something constructive.

It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed roast venison. The odds of being caught and accused of poaching were slim, as he was still within Campbell territory and might call upon his relation to the clan if questioned.

But in all the time he’d spent riding through the Cairngorms, only twice had he come across his uncle’s men as they patrolled the land. Either they were lazy, or Luthais was sorely in need of greater numbers at his disposal.

Regardless of the reason, Fergus was glad for it. He did not relish the idea of a stranger dragging him back to Ben Macdui simply because he’d been hungry for something more than hare.

He followed the road, where it bent to shadow the flow of the river, where the ground dipped low enough in one place that it must have flooded at the height of the storm the previous day—while nearly all of the road had already hardened under the warm, spring sun, that patch was still muddy, as though the water had taken time to recede.

A good thing he’d taken shelter when he did, then, as he might have gotten caught in the flood water.

The fact that Elspeth had been there was merely a pleasant diversion.

Even if digging through mud was not his idea of an enjoyable way to spend his time.

Tightness in his shoulders and back were a reminder, if not unbearable at least persistent, of the exertion he’d used to free the lass and her mare. He would do it again if need be, though he hoped most fervently that the occasion might not come again.

He did wish he’d found out more about her, and questions would always pull at him. She had seemed lonely. As though she might need help.

Though he was not daft.

She would have refused any assistance he offered.

And like as not, he would have been in the wrong had he offered. She was not his responsibility. She meant nothing to him. The lass would have slowed him down when he had somewhere to be.

His stomach growled, reminding him of the need to hunt for his next meal. He pulled up on the reins at a likely-looking spot near the river’s edge, where a mere strip of grass and a handful of trees separated bank from road.

He tied the gelding and withdrew his bow and quiver, slinging the arrows over one shoulder before searching for a place in which to wait for deer to come looking for water. They would, once the day began winding into night—already the light had taken on a golden hue, the air had begun to cool.

He need only wait.

As he did, he kept his ears tuned to the road. The line of trees to his right made for decent cover, and if a rider approached he might have time to make it appear as though he’d been resting rather than hunting.

Further downriver was a thicket, dense with small, white flowers, and he watched it closely for signs of movement. Like as not, this would be the place from which deer would emerge—they were not foolish creatures and took few chances when it came to their safety. They would wish to hide themselves from the road, just as he did.

The light around him had grown soft and dim by the time there was movement in the thicket.

Fergus nocked his arrow, drawing it back until the bow bent.

A pair of doe emerged, the two of them bending to touch their noses to the water.

He checked his aim before drawing a deep breath to steady his arms. It would not do to miss—he would frighten them both away and face not only hunger but the knowledge of having wasted precious time which might have been better spent riding.

The doe nearest him lifted its head, ears twitching as though it heard a noise.

He was a heartbeat away from releasing the arrow when the doe went down, sending its partner running into the woods.

Surprise sent his shot off its course and into the trunk of a nearby tree, but he hardly noticed. Instead, he pressed his back to the trunk and looked around.

Someone had been tracking the same doe without his knowing it. How?

“Hello, there.” A voice from up in the trees, and he craned his neck to see who it belonged to.

At first sight of that wild thatch of brown waves, he slumped slightly.

How had he not guessed?

“What are ye doing up there? And where have ye been all day, that I find ye nearly on top of me?” He backed away from the tree to give her space to climb down. She’d been directly above him, and he’d never noticed.

Either his skills had dulled with time, or she was something beyond a mere woman. He’d heard tales as a child, of creatures who made the woods their home, sprightly things skilled at trickery.

At one time, he had dismissed these stories as the stuff of childhood. Perhaps he had been hasty in his decision.

Elspeth landed on the ground, smiling from ear to ear. “You might have been successful if you had not hesitated so long,” she informed him, brushing pine needles from her kirtle before going to the doe.

He followed, still speechless, watched as she knelt beside the felled creature. A beautiful thing who had not suffered. The bolt had struck clean through the heart.

To his surprise, the lass stroked the doe’s tawny hide.

“Thank you for giving your life,” she whispered before taking a grip of the bolt with both hands. She let out a breath, then inhaled and pulled in one sharp, quick movement.

The doe’s body twitched as the arrowhead slid free.

Elspeth handed him the bolt without looking. “Can you wash this in the river?”

This roused him to speak. “Pardon me?”

“If we’re to skin and clean the thing, we ought to do it under better cover, and we do not have much time.” She brushed back a lock of hair to meet his gaze. “Do you disagree?”

How had she lured him into claiming part ownership of the beast?

He took the bolt, knowing it was better not to argue. The lass had a point, they ought to get the doe out of sight before Campbell patrols found them.

So she was aware of their presence, too, and of the laws against poaching game from clan territory.

And yet, she’d done it. Why?

Another question, one of so many.

He held the doe’s front legs while she took the rear—her strength ought not to have surprised him by this point in time—and they hurried across the road and into deeper wood. She grunted with the effort to carry the carcass but would not give up until they’d reached a clearing far beyond the tree line, through rows of pines whose low-hanging branches would provide cover.

He then returned to the scene of the hunt to retrieve his horse and packs.

He did not notice until he’d crossed the road, reins in hand, that he was smiling.

“Why are ye still following me?” he asked upon securing the gelding near the mare. The two of them touched noses as though sharing a secret they did not wish their riders to overhear.

“I never said I was following you.” Elspeth rolled up her sleeves. “I merely happened to be waiting in the tree for game to approach. And you lumbered along and nearly destroyed the chance of a deer venturing near enough to shoot.”

“I do not lumber.”

She snorted. “You are not exactly light of foot, unless you are in the act of trying to frighten a lonely, young woman.”

He thought he saw her smirking as she bent to the task of skinning the doe.

“You might build a fire,” she murmured, not looking up.

He wondered yet again how she had managed any of this.

And yet he did as he was told.