with his own body. Distantly, he registered a loud crack and the sound of splintering wood.
After what felt like ages of endless tumbling, they finally skidded to a halt. Elisead felt so small and limp in his arms, but he could feel her chest rapidly rising and falling against his.
Slowly, Alaric eased himself up to sitting. Never loosening his hold on Elisead, he brought her up with him.
“Are you hurt?”
She lifted her head and blinked up at him. Her amber eyes were clouded with lingering fear and confusion.
“Nay, I do not think so.”
Just then, a trickle of blood slipped from her hairline and down her forehead.
Alaric cursed and wiped the blood away with the sleeve of his tunic. Careful not to hurt her, he probed her scalp and found the cut, small but flowing freely. He pressed his sleeve against the wound, drawing a wince from Elisead.
“What happened?” she asked.
Just then, Rúnin sprinted into Alaric’s line of sight. Alaric waved, though he kept one arm firmly wrapped around Elisead.
Rúnin dragged the donkey, who was calm now but panting heavily, behind him by the harness.
“Are you well?”
“Ja. Though we would have ended up like the cart if I’d been a breath slower.” Alaric motioned with his chin behind Rúnin, where the cart lay in splinters. It had slammed full force into an enormous oak tree.
“There is foul play afoot,” Rúnin said darkly as he came to a halt where Alaric and Elisead sat.
“Speak in our tongue,” Alaric said sharply in his and Rúnin’s language. “There is no need to frighten her further.”
Rúnin nodded. “When I caught up to this beast, it was obvious that his harness had been cut.”
Alaric stood slowly at last. His body ached from taking the worst of the impact and protecting Elisead, but naught felt broken or seriously damaged. He stepped stiffly to Rúnin’s side, blocking Elisead’s view of the donkey with his back.
Sure enough, the leather harness had cleanly snapped—too cleanly. Only a sharp knife taken with purpose to the harness would cause it to break in such a way.
“Who?” Rúnin said quietly.
It had been Feitr who’d brought the cart and donkey from the stables. The slave had glared daggers at Alaric. And his ominous words from the night before—either a warning or a threat, Alaric knew not which—still rang in Alaric’s ears.
But Feitr was a slave, meaning that he followed orders—Maelcon’s orders. Would Maelcon dare to harm his own daughter? He’d dragged his feet at every moment during their negotiations. Was the chieftain looking for a way out of their talks?
If only Alaric had been able to see who’d thrown the rock at the donkey, spooking him and causing the already-cut harness to snap.
“We have enemies at every turn in this new land,” Alaric muttered.
“Ja, but this was aimed at the girl. Who would want to hurt her?”
Alaric rolled his neck, aware of the ache that was forming from his tumble. “Our negotiations with the Picts ride on Elisead’s wellbeing. If she were to come to harm…”
“Then the negotiations would be destroyed,” Rúnin finished.
“Ja. Who would benefit most from ending our talks and setting our peoples against each other?”
Rúnin lifted a dark eyebrow. “As you say, enemies are everywhere.”
Alaric cursed and rubbed his neck. Someone—or several someones—worked against him. And whoever it was didn’t mind risking Elisead’s life in the process. She was now not simply his hostage. She needed his protection.
“Alaric, what is happening?”
Elisead sat on the forest floor, a fresh trickle of blood sliding down her forehead. Her brows were knitted as she gazed up at him. Gods, but there was a look of trust behind the confusion in her honey-colored eyes.
He turned away from Rúnin and extended a hand toward her.
“Naught,” he lied flatly.
“But…but he said foul play was afoot,” she said, her gaze flicking to Rúnin.
“Do not concern yourself. He merely
After what felt like ages of endless tumbling, they finally skidded to a halt. Elisead felt so small and limp in his arms, but he could feel her chest rapidly rising and falling against his.
Slowly, Alaric eased himself up to sitting. Never loosening his hold on Elisead, he brought her up with him.
“Are you hurt?”
She lifted her head and blinked up at him. Her amber eyes were clouded with lingering fear and confusion.
“Nay, I do not think so.”
Just then, a trickle of blood slipped from her hairline and down her forehead.
Alaric cursed and wiped the blood away with the sleeve of his tunic. Careful not to hurt her, he probed her scalp and found the cut, small but flowing freely. He pressed his sleeve against the wound, drawing a wince from Elisead.
“What happened?” she asked.
Just then, Rúnin sprinted into Alaric’s line of sight. Alaric waved, though he kept one arm firmly wrapped around Elisead.
Rúnin dragged the donkey, who was calm now but panting heavily, behind him by the harness.
“Are you well?”
“Ja. Though we would have ended up like the cart if I’d been a breath slower.” Alaric motioned with his chin behind Rúnin, where the cart lay in splinters. It had slammed full force into an enormous oak tree.
“There is foul play afoot,” Rúnin said darkly as he came to a halt where Alaric and Elisead sat.
“Speak in our tongue,” Alaric said sharply in his and Rúnin’s language. “There is no need to frighten her further.”
Rúnin nodded. “When I caught up to this beast, it was obvious that his harness had been cut.”
Alaric stood slowly at last. His body ached from taking the worst of the impact and protecting Elisead, but naught felt broken or seriously damaged. He stepped stiffly to Rúnin’s side, blocking Elisead’s view of the donkey with his back.
Sure enough, the leather harness had cleanly snapped—too cleanly. Only a sharp knife taken with purpose to the harness would cause it to break in such a way.
“Who?” Rúnin said quietly.
It had been Feitr who’d brought the cart and donkey from the stables. The slave had glared daggers at Alaric. And his ominous words from the night before—either a warning or a threat, Alaric knew not which—still rang in Alaric’s ears.
But Feitr was a slave, meaning that he followed orders—Maelcon’s orders. Would Maelcon dare to harm his own daughter? He’d dragged his feet at every moment during their negotiations. Was the chieftain looking for a way out of their talks?
If only Alaric had been able to see who’d thrown the rock at the donkey, spooking him and causing the already-cut harness to snap.
“We have enemies at every turn in this new land,” Alaric muttered.
“Ja, but this was aimed at the girl. Who would want to hurt her?”
Alaric rolled his neck, aware of the ache that was forming from his tumble. “Our negotiations with the Picts ride on Elisead’s wellbeing. If she were to come to harm…”
“Then the negotiations would be destroyed,” Rúnin finished.
“Ja. Who would benefit most from ending our talks and setting our peoples against each other?”
Rúnin lifted a dark eyebrow. “As you say, enemies are everywhere.”
Alaric cursed and rubbed his neck. Someone—or several someones—worked against him. And whoever it was didn’t mind risking Elisead’s life in the process. She was now not simply his hostage. She needed his protection.
“Alaric, what is happening?”
Elisead sat on the forest floor, a fresh trickle of blood sliding down her forehead. Her brows were knitted as she gazed up at him. Gods, but there was a look of trust behind the confusion in her honey-colored eyes.
He turned away from Rúnin and extended a hand toward her.
“Naught,” he lied flatly.
“But…but he said foul play was afoot,” she said, her gaze flicking to Rúnin.
“Do not concern yourself. He merely
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