shoved it in the space between the pallet and the side of the tent. With a speed her maid would laugh over, Arabella pulled the breeches and stockings into place. The fabric outlined her legs in a way she’d never seen before.
With a length of linen, she bound her breasts and put on the tunic. Gathering up her braided hair, she shoved it down the back of the shirt and hoped the cloak would hide all manner of mistakes. With the hood in place, she lifted the flap of canvas and looked around the immediate area before stepping out.
With a deep breath to calm herself, Arabella walked away from the tent. Remembering the cocky strides of her brother and other young men, she lengthened her steps as she tried to imitate it and mask her feminine sway. She quickened her pace and tried to follow the path she’d laid out in her mind.
Left. Left. Right. Straight on to the area where they kept the horses. Although the night was clear, there was no moon and she would have little time to get down the mountain or away if she did not hurry.
She looked neither left nor right and never raised her head to meet the gazes of others. Soon, she heard the sound of horses and saw her black there in the pen. Climbing over the hastily made fencing was much easier in the garb she wore and soon she stood before her horse as he nuzzled her face and neck. Then he sought out the treats she usually brought him.
‘Next time, laddie,’ she whispered as she found a bridle hanging on the fence and quickly fixed it in position. Leading him out through a gate, she tried to avoid scaring the other horses there. She did not, could not, be discovered yet.
With no time for a saddle, she used the fence once more as a step and swung herself over the horse’s back. This would not be the first time she rode without one, nor the last. With fast, familiar motions, she wrapped the reins around her hands and grabbed on to his mane. Then, with a touch of her heels to his sides, she guided the black out of the camp.
Or she would have if not for the obstruction in their path.
Brodie stood in their way, hands on hips and a dark expression in his eyes. She was still far enough from him that she could get the black into a running start that would force Brodie to move or be trampled. Before she could, he strode quickly at her, his long legs eating up the space between them.
The horse reared up and whinnied loudly, blowing and huffing his displeasure at being threatened so. And it was a threat. Arabella thought Brodie would keep running at them and grab for the reins, but he stopped a few yards away and waited for her to control the horse. She did, with some whispered words and caresses.
‘Are you willing to take the risk, lady?’ he asked in a quiet voice and not in the loud, angry shout she expected.
‘Risk? He is mine. He knows me. He can take me out of here,’ she said.
‘The dark of the moon is upon us. The fog rises quickly in the mountains. And you would take that horse on to a hillside path that you do not know and have never seen? If you have not a care for your own life, I thought he was more valued to you than that, Arabella.’ He crossed his arms over his massive chest and glared at her.
Accusation mixed with disappointment. That was what she heard in his voice. And, worse, it bothered her though she did not wish to admit that. She wanted to run. She wanted to knock him out of their way and escape. But, damn the man, he was right.
He walked the final few paces and reached up to take the reins from her. The horse shuffled his hooves in the dirt and nuzzled him just as he had her. The traitor!
‘Give me the reins,’ he ordered.
‘I want to go home, Brodie. Just let me pass.’ She hated that her voice trembled and sounded, even to her, as though she begged this of him.
‘Give me the reins, Bella,’ he said.
So shocked to hear that name, she let the reins slip from her hands. No one called her that except...except...Malcolm. And this was the man
With a length of linen, she bound her breasts and put on the tunic. Gathering up her braided hair, she shoved it down the back of the shirt and hoped the cloak would hide all manner of mistakes. With the hood in place, she lifted the flap of canvas and looked around the immediate area before stepping out.
With a deep breath to calm herself, Arabella walked away from the tent. Remembering the cocky strides of her brother and other young men, she lengthened her steps as she tried to imitate it and mask her feminine sway. She quickened her pace and tried to follow the path she’d laid out in her mind.
Left. Left. Right. Straight on to the area where they kept the horses. Although the night was clear, there was no moon and she would have little time to get down the mountain or away if she did not hurry.
She looked neither left nor right and never raised her head to meet the gazes of others. Soon, she heard the sound of horses and saw her black there in the pen. Climbing over the hastily made fencing was much easier in the garb she wore and soon she stood before her horse as he nuzzled her face and neck. Then he sought out the treats she usually brought him.
‘Next time, laddie,’ she whispered as she found a bridle hanging on the fence and quickly fixed it in position. Leading him out through a gate, she tried to avoid scaring the other horses there. She did not, could not, be discovered yet.
With no time for a saddle, she used the fence once more as a step and swung herself over the horse’s back. This would not be the first time she rode without one, nor the last. With fast, familiar motions, she wrapped the reins around her hands and grabbed on to his mane. Then, with a touch of her heels to his sides, she guided the black out of the camp.
Or she would have if not for the obstruction in their path.
Brodie stood in their way, hands on hips and a dark expression in his eyes. She was still far enough from him that she could get the black into a running start that would force Brodie to move or be trampled. Before she could, he strode quickly at her, his long legs eating up the space between them.
The horse reared up and whinnied loudly, blowing and huffing his displeasure at being threatened so. And it was a threat. Arabella thought Brodie would keep running at them and grab for the reins, but he stopped a few yards away and waited for her to control the horse. She did, with some whispered words and caresses.
‘Are you willing to take the risk, lady?’ he asked in a quiet voice and not in the loud, angry shout she expected.
‘Risk? He is mine. He knows me. He can take me out of here,’ she said.
‘The dark of the moon is upon us. The fog rises quickly in the mountains. And you would take that horse on to a hillside path that you do not know and have never seen? If you have not a care for your own life, I thought he was more valued to you than that, Arabella.’ He crossed his arms over his massive chest and glared at her.
Accusation mixed with disappointment. That was what she heard in his voice. And, worse, it bothered her though she did not wish to admit that. She wanted to run. She wanted to knock him out of their way and escape. But, damn the man, he was right.
He walked the final few paces and reached up to take the reins from her. The horse shuffled his hooves in the dirt and nuzzled him just as he had her. The traitor!
‘Give me the reins,’ he ordered.
‘I want to go home, Brodie. Just let me pass.’ She hated that her voice trembled and sounded, even to her, as though she begged this of him.
‘Give me the reins, Bella,’ he said.
So shocked to hear that name, she let the reins slip from her hands. No one called her that except...except...Malcolm. And this was the man
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