and pawed the ground as she opened the stall and slipped inside. He seemed to be eager for a bit of freedom because he took the bit like a hungry hound. Mayhap he didn’t care much for the abbey as compared to the Cunningham keep.
She led him to a mounting block, but when he blew out a snort, she walked him in a circle to calm him. The last thing she needed was a wily horse to take off like he was being chased by the devil. “’Tis dark out there. We’ll both break our necks if you set out at a gallop.”
With a nod of his head, the gelding sidled to the block. “Very well, then. We ride. But we must not make a sound. We shall pick our way like fairy folk in the forest,” she cooed, keeping her voice soothing.
After she mounted, she used the bit to keep the gelding’s head low, demanding they slowly walk to the road. By the time they reached the milepost, the horse had settled into a gentle gait, easily carrying his head, his hoofbeats silenced by the grass at the side of the road.
Ailish may have managed a stealthy escape, but she knew exactly how perilous her circumstances were now. One wrong turn could very well mean her death. Worse, there was no option to turn back.
Chapter Eleven
James held out his arm while Seumas buckled his gauntlets. “Are the men ready to ride?” he asked Davy, his friend leading his horse out of the pen.
“Aye, sir.”
“Torquil,” James bellowed. “I expect to see marked improvement in your men by the time I return. In swordsmanship as well as archery.”
The Cunningham lad looked up from where he was making arrows with Caelan. “You will, sir.”
“And do not allow idleness. If we worked without stopping for a year, we would not have all we need. Repair the fences, dig deeper privies, sweep the spiders and vermin from the cave.”
“Sir James,” called a guard, leading a horse and rider into the camp. “You have a visitor.”
James pulled his arm away. New men were arriving at the camp every day, but they were never announced as visitors. As he craned his neck, a burst of fluttering wings erupted in his stomach—not exactly the reaction suited to a warrior about to ride to defend his king.
His gaze homed in on the rider wearing a black nun’s habit. And though her eyes were covered by a blindfold, he knew in his bones it was none other than Lady Ailish Maxwell. Every fiber in his body yearned to race across the camp and wrap her in his arms, but the worry tightening the corners of her mouth stopped him—that and the dozens of men looking on.
The guard tugged her horse along and as she tottered in the saddle, James realized the man had not only made Her Ladyship wear a blindfold, he’d also bound her hands.
James marched across the sparring paddock. “What the blazes is this? Untie this woman at once!”
The guard glanced back. “Thought she was a spy.”
“I am no spy and I’ve told this man the same a hundred times, yet he has refused to pay heed to a word I say.”
“A spy she is definitely not.” If he had any doubts, her sauciness in the face of doom made James smile. He grabbed the lead line, unsheathed his dagger, and cut the bindings himself. “Good day, Lady Ailish.”
She pulled down her blindfold and gave the guard a heated glare. “I told him you accompanied me from the coronation, but he chose to call me a liar.”
“Beg your pardon, sir. But my orders are—”
“I ken your orders. I’m the one who gave them.” James helped Her Ladyship dismount. “Did he harm you?”
“Nay.” She held out her palm to the guard. “But I’ll have my dagger back, thank you.”
The man first looked to James and, receiving a nod, he returned the weapon. “Women have no place here.”
“Agreed. However, Her Ladyship is here now, and I’ll have it known she is under my protection.” James ushered Ailish down the path to the river where they could talk. When they were out of sight, he stopped, took her hand, bowed respectfully, and kissed it. “Forgive me. I did not greet you as I should have done.”
“Not to worry,” she said, blushing and giving him a grateful smile. Och, he’d missed the bonny lass ever so much. “I imagine my arrival comes as quite a surprise.”
“Aye, you were the last person