A SUDDEN RESCUE
They reached the stables. Heath became brisk now, his manner curt.
“Mount up first, Chrissie. I'll ride behind. We take Duncan's Firedrake.”
The horse was, Chrissie thought, aptly named. She stared at the pale brown charger, a vast animal with a back like a table, mounded shoulders, and gleaming sides. She bit her lip and put her foot in the stirrup, wincing as she swung into the saddle. She sat sideways on the saddle, but it had not been designed for that. Wincing at the unladylike gesture she had to make, Chrissie stood on the stirrup and got down again, remounting so that she sat astride. Her skirt spread out, covering her legs. Heath was looking into the distance through the doorway, letting her rearrange her skirts. Blaine had no such aversion and watched her.
She narrowed her eyes at him but he did nothing. He didn't seem to have any concept of manners, for he shrugged, as if watching her was forgivable. Then he walked off.
“I'll take my horse, Heath,” he called quietly. “I'm faster with a horse I have ridden before.”
“I imagine,” Heath said lightly. Blaine tensed, and it seemed as if he might strike Heath. Chrissie could only see his back, but she saw the muscle harden. She also saw him clench his fists. She bit her lip, waiting for something horrible to happen.
“I'll fetch him,” Blaine said woodenly. He walked down the rows of stabling towards the end where he had stabled his horse, a dapple-gray Clydesdale with a baleful expression called Bert.
“We need to go quickly,” Heath explained, slipping into the saddle and cautiously reaching past her body to the reins. “So I apologize for any lack of propriety observed. But I must hold you in place, lest you fall off.”
“Oh, Heath.”
Chrissie held her breath as his arms wrapped her. His one hand held the reins, his other hand splayed on her front, somewhere between chest and belly, holding her close to him. She felt her heart thump as he pulled her closer, sheltering her against his chest. How grateful she felt that it was he, careful and grave, who rode here! What would Blaine, rude and dishonorable, have done, holding her like this?
What would he have done? She could not help biting her lip at the thought. As she imagined Blaine's great hand spread on her chest, his fingers tracing her breast, she felt her heart pound and slow warmth spreading up from her womb to her chest and into her throat. He would be so different, she thought. He would not keep his hand so rigid there, taking care to avoid all contact with her breasts or abdomen, but he would certainly let it stroke her, fondle her breasts as she had seen men do, draw her to him...
She shook her head, feeling acute embarrassment. If someone could read her thoughts...
“Whoa!”
They were thundering through the gates now, Blaine close behind them. They crossed the courtyard in seconds, it seemed, and the gate was raised to let them out.
“Godspeed!” Duncan shouted, hailing them over the heads of his men. They had drawn up at the gate, and some were massed on the wall. They were ready to defend their castle against all attackers, it was clear. Duncan looked so brave and gallant there, like the hero of an untold story. Chrissie felt a lump rise in her throat. She prayed Duncan would be safe, so that he could return, safe and well, to Alina. To their unborn babe as well. Let them be safe.
It was too late to think anything else, though, for they were cannoned through the gates and onto the cobbled road beyond. Heath rode eye-wateringly fast, but even so, Chrissie noticed torches on the left and almost screamed, knowing that the forces from the attack were already coming round, already planning to attack the gate.
She clung to the pommel and wrapped claw-like fingers around Heath's knee, praying she would not fall off.
They were riding so fast she could barely breathe. So fast, her hair was streaming back with a whistle from her ears. So fast, her eyes watered. Still, when a hand reached for her, it did not seem to be quite fast enough.
Chrissie did scream, then. She also kicked out at the man who launched himself at them. He seemed to know no fear, though, for he was clawing his way onto the horse's neck, hanging there across her knee. He wore green tartan, she thought, though in the darkness she could barely see it, and he grabbed for her. Wrapping arms around her waist, he seemed to be trying to drag her down.
If any of them get their hands on any of our kind...
Alina's warning, paraphrased, played through her head. The McDonnell were deadly enemy of her kin. If they found out who she was, or anything about her or their destination, she was as good as dead.
The man was hanging sideways, determined, it seemed, to topple her. She could feel herself slipping, dragging Heath with her, who had his arms still fastened. He was fighting to stab the man, trying to control their still-running horse – though how he ran with such weight on his back, Chrissie did not like to think about – and to fight at once.
“Ha!” Heath roared, stabbing at the man's head with his dagger. His aim was hopelessly marred by Chrissie's being in the way and his need to avoid stabbing her, however, and the blow fell slightly short. The man laughed and heaved sideways.
“Off you go!” he roared. Chrissie screamed wildly. She gripped the pommel desperately, praying that she would not drag Heath off with her. If she did, all was lost.
“Heath!” she screamed.
At that minute, something broadsided them. Chrissie screamed. A horse screamed with her, and someone howled.
The man fell away, his grip suddenly slack. The change was so sudden that Chrissie almost fell the other way. She would have fallen, but for Heath who held her.
“Thanks!” he shouted. “Thank you, Blaine. You saved her.”
Blaine. Chrissie stared. They had stopped now, out of the range of danger. Their horse was panting, head down. Chrissie held the pommel, sobbing with remembered fear.
Heath had slumped, his strength drained, arm loosely about her waist. At that moment, the propriety of things mattered not to either of them. They were both panting. Chrissie could feel his heart beating on her back and she could feel his ragged breaths as he drew them. It should have been wonderful, she reflected, were she not as frightened.
She looked up at Blaine. He was sitting on the back of steadfast Bert, an odd expression on his face and with a bloodied knife.
“Chrissie,” he said, his voice ragged. “You're finally safe.”
Chrissie stared at him. He had saved her. He had killed their assailant, or at least disabled him so that he could not hurt her. He saved her life.
“Blaine,” she said softly. He looked at her, wiped the knife clean, and stuck it into his scabbard. He wiped hair out of his face and stared into her eyes.
“Chrissie.”
Chrissie said nothing. His voice was hungry and raw, and she felt it thrill through her body. Somehow the touch of his eyes on hers was more moving than the arm which entwined her waist. Somehow, the way he was breathing, slow and steady, matched her own breathing and shuddered through her with a wild excitement. The way he said her name excited her.
They sat like that, all three of them, for quite a time. At length, Blaine shifted on his horse.
“We should go.”
Heath, who had said nothing, cleared his throat.
“We should ride slowly. We have another day ahead.”
“Yes.”
Blaine agreed and, unasked, he fell in beside them. Both seemed grateful for the other, for they rode close together. As they rode, Chrissie's leg scraped Blaine's. She drew in a sharp breath, knowing that even the briefest contact with his body made her feel a deep jolt.
She was held against Heath, who held her carefully, as though she were a small babe. She leaned back against him, feeling safe. He was like a brother.
As they rode, Chrissie felt some of the terror of the ride leaving her. They were safe. They were alive. They were on their way home.
She had just discovered something about her feelings. She did love Heath, it was true. However, he did not fill her with a fierce elation.
That was a task achieved most readily by Blaine. Who rode beside them. Heading back with them towards the safety of the castle, Lochlann and home, for all of them, where she would have time to peruse these facts, and think.