on the boy when Teresa came to. After all, the sun was already high in the sky. She’d lost the entire morning, the long hours that she had intended to use, checking on Maddock’s progress.
The very lateness of the hour, though, made Alana realize that she must exploit the small reprieve she had been given. She must check on Maddock’s progress, as she had not been allowed to do for the past several days.
Besides, whatever Alana learned from Maddock’s bavin, it couldn’t be worse than watching Reade’s confusion, watching the child bounce back and forth between terror and bravery, between calling for his mum and challenging Duke Coren.
Alana did not want to linger in the boy’s thoughts. She did not want to lose herself in the mind of a child who had lost all the things he held dear.
She especially did not want to think about how desperately Reade sought a man to be his father. The boy’s sorrow on that count was too close to Alana’s own. The five-year-old might be more vocal about his loss, but he could not miss his father more than Alana did hers. She knew Reade’s ache; she knew his rage. She knew how it felt to mourn a father who had been safety and security, gentleness and wisdom, all spun into one good man.
Setting aside her sorrow, Alana took a deep breath. The spring days were still short; darkness fell early, especially on the inland roads, where no ocean reflected the sun’s dying glints. She had wasted far too much time, dealing with Teresa, worrying about which bavin she should watch.
Alana exhaled slowly and drew on the tricky powers of the Guardians of Earth and Air, reaching for Maddock’s bavin across the landlocked leagues.
“Bogs and breakers!” Maddock swore loudly as his horse stumbled in the dim twilight. Fourteen days since they’d ridden from home. Fourteen cursed days of rising before dawn and riding hard until dusk, but still the kidnappers were well ahead of them. Maddock had more ability in his left thumb than that damned tracker Glenna had chosen to accompany him.
Of course, Maddock would have been forced to admit in a moment of sane contemplation, Landon wasn’t a bad man, and his skills had been useful until their prey had reached the cursed hard-packed earth of the Great Road. It was just that the tracker was so blasted negative. Every decision Maddock made was questioned minutely, held up to scrutiny as if Landon were the Men’s Council, Women’s Council, and Spirit Council all rolled into one.
Bracing himself for the challenge he was certain to receive, Maddock reined in his horse and waited for Jobina and Landon to come up on either side. “I think we’d better leave the road for tonight.” He gestured toward the carefully laid out fields to either side. “We’re obviously getting near a village, and I’d rather not have some farmer armed with an overactive imagination and a pitchfork decide that we look like highwaymen.”
Jobina nodded, arching her back as she stretched for a more comfortable position in her saddle. The movement strained the fabric across the front of her riding dress, and Maddock let himself be distracted for a moment. Landon, of course, did not spare the healer a glance as he busily scanned the horizon. “Over there.” The tracker gestured toward a smudge in the distance. “It’s a line of trees. There must be a stream running through there.”
“What I wouldn’t give for fresh water to wash in.” Jobina made the wish sound like a promise. Rather than trust himself to answer steadily, Maddock dug his heels into his gelding’s flanks. The horse took off like an arrow, hurtling across the unplowed field.
They reached the line of trees as the last bruise of sunlight faded behind them. As always, the cursed tracker was right—there was a stream, and a convenient clearing between the trees and the riverbank. The rivulet, though, proved too shallow for bathing, and Maddock smothered his disappointment by ordering Landon to build
The very lateness of the hour, though, made Alana realize that she must exploit the small reprieve she had been given. She must check on Maddock’s progress, as she had not been allowed to do for the past several days.
Besides, whatever Alana learned from Maddock’s bavin, it couldn’t be worse than watching Reade’s confusion, watching the child bounce back and forth between terror and bravery, between calling for his mum and challenging Duke Coren.
Alana did not want to linger in the boy’s thoughts. She did not want to lose herself in the mind of a child who had lost all the things he held dear.
She especially did not want to think about how desperately Reade sought a man to be his father. The boy’s sorrow on that count was too close to Alana’s own. The five-year-old might be more vocal about his loss, but he could not miss his father more than Alana did hers. She knew Reade’s ache; she knew his rage. She knew how it felt to mourn a father who had been safety and security, gentleness and wisdom, all spun into one good man.
Setting aside her sorrow, Alana took a deep breath. The spring days were still short; darkness fell early, especially on the inland roads, where no ocean reflected the sun’s dying glints. She had wasted far too much time, dealing with Teresa, worrying about which bavin she should watch.
Alana exhaled slowly and drew on the tricky powers of the Guardians of Earth and Air, reaching for Maddock’s bavin across the landlocked leagues.
“Bogs and breakers!” Maddock swore loudly as his horse stumbled in the dim twilight. Fourteen days since they’d ridden from home. Fourteen cursed days of rising before dawn and riding hard until dusk, but still the kidnappers were well ahead of them. Maddock had more ability in his left thumb than that damned tracker Glenna had chosen to accompany him.
Of course, Maddock would have been forced to admit in a moment of sane contemplation, Landon wasn’t a bad man, and his skills had been useful until their prey had reached the cursed hard-packed earth of the Great Road. It was just that the tracker was so blasted negative. Every decision Maddock made was questioned minutely, held up to scrutiny as if Landon were the Men’s Council, Women’s Council, and Spirit Council all rolled into one.
Bracing himself for the challenge he was certain to receive, Maddock reined in his horse and waited for Jobina and Landon to come up on either side. “I think we’d better leave the road for tonight.” He gestured toward the carefully laid out fields to either side. “We’re obviously getting near a village, and I’d rather not have some farmer armed with an overactive imagination and a pitchfork decide that we look like highwaymen.”
Jobina nodded, arching her back as she stretched for a more comfortable position in her saddle. The movement strained the fabric across the front of her riding dress, and Maddock let himself be distracted for a moment. Landon, of course, did not spare the healer a glance as he busily scanned the horizon. “Over there.” The tracker gestured toward a smudge in the distance. “It’s a line of trees. There must be a stream running through there.”
“What I wouldn’t give for fresh water to wash in.” Jobina made the wish sound like a promise. Rather than trust himself to answer steadily, Maddock dug his heels into his gelding’s flanks. The horse took off like an arrow, hurtling across the unplowed field.
They reached the line of trees as the last bruise of sunlight faded behind them. As always, the cursed tracker was right—there was a stream, and a convenient clearing between the trees and the riverbank. The rivulet, though, proved too shallow for bathing, and Maddock smothered his disappointment by ordering Landon to build
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