Bride of Mist (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #3) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,13

be killed? Or that they’d leave him alone to die?

Dougal would do neither, of course. He knew about the desperation of poor folk and what drove a youth to a life of robbery. If no one came out of the trees in the next few moments, Dougal would give the lad a dire warning, box his ears, cut him down, and send him on his way.

That was his plan. Unfortunately, the thief had other ideas.

While Dougal swished the curious blade through the air once more, marveling at the way its sharp edge sliced through the fog, the lad took quick action.

Like a great spider reeling itself back up its silky web, the thief seized the rope above his ankle and clambered up into the ash tree.

As Dougal watched with his jaw agape, the outlaw loosened the noose and slipped free. Then, issuing a hiss of frustration, the lad leaped off one branch and onto another. He disappeared into the misty forest, as silent as he’d arrived.

Dougal was mystified. What the hell had just happened?

He glanced again at the sword. He felt like he was in some fantastical tale where he’d thwarted a dark faerie, and this shining talisman was his reward.

Surely the thief wouldn’t just let him keep the thing. It was far too valuable.

He’d probably left to fetch his fellows and return in full force to reclaim his weapon.

Whatever the outlaw and his cohorts intended, Dougal was wide awake now. He might as well travel onward. It made no difference whether the lad and his band of outlaws were following him. What was one more foe when he was being pursued by an entire army?

Feiyan was furious.

Mostly with herself.

Furious for being caught. For surrendering her sword. For not killing the lout as he lay sleeping. No matter how innocent he appeared.

At least she’d escaped. And she’d managed to hold on to the rest of her weapons, which were tightly secured in the folds of her gambeson. But now that the knave had her shoudao, she had all the more reason to stay on his trail.

The conniving villain would assume she was long gone. But she intended to stick close. Keep an eye on him. Watch for an opportunity to reclaim her blade. Reclaim it and stab him with it.

Next time, she wouldn’t hesitate. Meanwhile, her blunder had cost her the element of surprise. Now that he was alerted to her presence, he would be more wary. And she would have to be more cautious.

Fortunately, she was bloody good at concealment. She would shadow him, steal silently through the trees until he grew careless.

Retrieving her sword might not be easy. She’d seen the way he handled the shoudao. Dangling from the rope, she’d caught a glimpse of him testing the blade. He was no inelegant mercenary. He had the bearing of a skilled warrior.

But she was no ordinary outlaw. And she wasn’t about to let him get away with stealing her favorite weapon.

She tracked him for hours, avoiding detection by alternating her strategy. Sometimes she traveled through the underbrush, sometimes through the canopy. For a mile she would trail him at a distance, then surge ahead to lead the way. At some times she’d watch him through a dense thicket of trees. At others, she’d hide behind a boulder so close to the trail that she felt the breeze of his passing.

As for mac Darragh, he strode with confidence and purpose, not at all what she would have expected from a shiftless, mayhem-making vagabond. His forthright manner belied his capacity for irrational violence.

Of course, Feiyan knew better. She might have glimpsed the Westlander’s handsome face. But she’d also seen his dark heart. And she let that memory inform her as she screwed up the courage to do what she knew must ultimately be done.

She saw no need to linger over the deed. She had no stomach for torture. Once she had her shoudao back in her possession, she’d commit his soul to the afterlife swiftly and surely, just as he’d felled Hallie with one blow.

Meanwhile, he continued on, ignorant of her dire intentions. Indeed, he seemed completely oblivious to her presence, a fact reinforced when he stopped on the trail, unceremoniously loosened his trews, and relieved himself behind the very tree in which she was perched.

She averted her eyes—mostly.

Hitching up his trews, he continued on, but it was a long while before she worked up the nerve to follow.

Gradually the fog lifted. The sky, visible between the spires of pines,