Megan Frampton by Hero of My Heart Page A

off in a cloud of embarrassment.
    He laughed and pulled her closer. “But you’ve seen how I keep my promises.” His voice grew flat. “They’re worthless,” he finished, sounding as though he were remembering another time. “I will do my best to keep my promise, Mary, as long as you keep yours.”
    “I made no promises.”
Except to leave you as soon as I can
. And that was a promise she’d made only to herself.
    “Promise to always tell the truth.” He sounded as sincere as she’d heard him yet. “Even if you think I don’t want to hear what you’re saying. Promise to fight back if you think I’m doing something wrong. And promise that you’ll allow me to buy you some new gowns; I am growing awfully tired of this one, although I do like its fit.”
    “It is altogether too tigh—oh,” Mary said, clamping her lips together. When she spoke again, it was in a subdued tone. “I promise, as best I can, my lord.”
    “That is all we can ever do,” he replied. Mary felt his body relax behind her, and his breathing grow deeper.
    It sounded like he was falling asleep, and Mary reached out and slid the reins between her fingers, just in case he did, and she had to steer. Or herd. Or whatever one did with a horse.
    They rode on for another fifteen minutes, and Mary was wondering if it was safe to turn toward the north when she heard a sound. A thumping, galloping sound increasing in volume behind them.
    She shot her elbow back into Alasdair. “Wake up,” she whispered. “I think someone is behind us.”
    Alasdair pulled on Primrose’s reins and turned her abruptly to the right. A cluster of trees grew behind a low, jagged fence. He guided the horse behind the fence and jumped off, then pulled Mary off as well, and none too gently. He slapped Primrose onthe shanks and she trotted off about a hundred yards, before pausing to nibble on some grass.
    “What now?” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “We wait for whomever it is to come find us?”
    He reached out and took her left hand. “Of course not, love.” He strode toward the trees, dragging her behind him, then stopped short right in front of the largest tree.
    Its leaves were just beginning to unfurl, so Mary could see glimpses of the sky through the branches.
    “We’re going up there,” Alasdair said, leaning down and making a basket of his hands. “Step up.”
    “You’re not serious.” The galloping was getting louder. He glared at her, picked her up around the waist and swung her up onto the lowest branch.
    “Climb,” he ordered, grasping a branch and lifting himself up next to her. When she didn’t move, he shoved her with his hand. “Climb,” he repeated. She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it again when she saw his expression.
    She climbed. Luckily, the tree was sturdy, and there were plenty of branches; actually, she felt less likely to fall here than she had on Primrose.
    “As far as you can,” he commanded when she slowed.
    She sighed and continued, stopping only when it was clear the topmost branches were too thin to support her weight.
    “What now?” she whispered as he came up to sit beside her. “Won’t they see us? They’re aren’t that many leaves yet.”
    “People seldom look up,” Alasdair said.
    “You’ve had a lot of experience escaping by clambering up trees, then, I suppose?” Mary said sarcastically.
    “Yes.” His voice was grim.
    “Oh, well then. So why are we hid—”
    “Shh.” He put his hand over her mouth and nodded toward the road. Three horses came into sight and Mary had little trouble recognizing Alasdair’s cousin. He looked furious. The doctor and Matthias followed behind, and Mary’s heart got lodged somewhere in her throat.
    If there was just one more of them, she could envision them as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse her father had preached about.
    Alasdair’s hand was still pressed against her mouth, and she inhaled his particular scent of musk and leather and a