cold and dark on her. “Never disobey me again or I’ll leave you where you stand. Is that clear?”
“Aye, ’tis clear. Forgive me for upsetting you, Tristan.” And just as easily as that, she asked, and he granted.
They thought it best not to stay in any inns since the plague seemed to be moving so swiftly. They rode through a thick stand of oak trees and stopped at a small clearing where shafts of moonlight broke through the canopy and glimmered off the intricate web of a golden orb weaver spider.
Tristan built a fire and they shared some bread and dried meat. He brewed his tea and they took turns sipping it and talking softly over the flames.
“When did you begin doing what you do for a living?” she asked him, picking off a piece of bread.
He dipped his gaze to the fire. He didn’t really wish to speak of it. “When I left the army.”
“Do you think you might ever stop fighting?”
He looked at her and saw love and affection staring back at him. She understood why he continued to kill. And she wanted him to stop.
Was she the reward for going home and settling into a life of fathering sons and daughters, as many as his body could stand making with her?
“I canna stop, Rose,” he told her, watching her affection turn to anger. “I have one more man to bring to justice.”
“There will always be one more, Tristan, because people can be quite evil. God’s punishment will be far worse than anything you could do to them.”
“Father Timothy would love ye,” he said, gazing into the flames again.
“Who is Father Timothy?”
“My father’s closest friend,” he told her, remembering the priest’s dark, lambent eyes and gentle smile. “And mine as well. He speaks of God often. He has a sayin’. I remember him sayin’ it all the time, any chance he could.”
“What is it?” she asked, finishing her tea.
“God is good.”
“Aye,” she nodded. Her affection for Tristan shone in her eyes once again. “He is.” She stretched and yawned, and Tristan rose to spread out their blankets in the grass.
They cleared up the site and lay down together by the fire.
“Tristan?”
When had his own name become a weapon against him?
“Aye, lass?”
“Will you tell me more about Father Timothy?”
He told her that Father Timothy baptized every MacPherson baby since Tristan’s birth. He married every couple since Tristan’s parents had wed and saw to every death in the MacPherson stronghold. He cared for everyone’s troubles, but he stayed close to Tristan’s father. Caring for his soul first and foremost.
Soon, Rose’s breath become steady and shallow, indicating she was asleep.
Tristan stared up at the stars and thought about what would happen when they reached Dumfries. Would he just let her go? Bid her farewell and then forget that she existed?
While he was pondering these things, she drew closer to him, so close, in fact, that the warmth of her body seeped into his bones. She woke up again to fling a measure of her blanket over him and let her arm remain where it landed on his belly.
“Good dreams, Tristan.”
He put his arm around her, holding her close, and closed his eyes. “Good dreams, lass.”
The sun had just risen over the horizon when Tristan was awakened by someone in the camp—more than one. He reached for his blade, but something hit him in the back of the head and turned the world dark. He clung to consciousness long enough to hear Rose scream as they tore her from his arms. He fought to rise up. Then he heard nothing else.
Rose couldn’t fight the beast who held her still on his lap in his saddle despite her strongest efforts. He secured her with one long, beefy arm, and kept her quiet with the other hand over her mouth. She grew exhausted quickly and slumped over. When her captor eased his grip over her mouth, she tried to bite his fingers off.
“Dinna make me kill ye, wench,” the beast whispered deeply into her ear. His breath was hot and sour and made Rose gag.
When he cupped one of her breasts in his palm, she began screaming again. No one had ever touched her so. She wished she had a knife—
“Save some fight fer later,” he growled against her lobe.
She begged and prayed to God to send Tristan to her. Did they kill him? No! This couldn’t be how it all ended. She hadn’t been spared from the pestilence just to die at the