“She’ll be your savior,” Sorcha predicted as she dug her heels into the little bay’s flanks and tugged on the reins. The mare whirled and broke into an easy gallop, heading north, away from the village and toward the meadow where Keane had promised to meet her.
“God be with you,” Henry shouted over the cold wind that rushed at Sorcha’s face and chilled her bones. It screamed past her ears and shoved the hood off her head to tangle in the long waves of her hair. Sorcha felt free, her spirit riding with her on the wind. She urged Leah’s jennet ever faster, but the bay was not as swift as her own mare, and the little horse labored up the forested hill until the road broke free to a frost-covered meadow of dry weeds and bent, bleached grass.
Keane, as promised, was waiting, standing beside his gray destrier as the big horse tried to graze. Sorcha’s heart still soared at the sight of the tall knight. No more than twenty, he was broad-shouldered and trim, his skill in tournaments already established. His blond hair ruffled in the breeze, and his eyes, deep brown, flickered in recognition as she pulled on the reins and hopped to the ground.
“So you did come,” he said, his breath making clouds in the crisp winter air.
“Did you doubt me?”
“Doubt you? Nay, but trust you …” His teasing smile stretched wide. “That is a different matter.”
“ ’Tis I who shouldn’t trust you,” she quipped, wondering why she could not agree to marry him.
“Come here.”
She threw herself into his waiting arms and felt the warmth of his mouth close over hers. Her heart, already racing, beat even a little more quickly, but she knew that she’d made the right choice to tell him that she could no longer meet him this way. Lying to Tadd, trading chores with Leah, deceiving everyone in the castle, and putting Sir Henry’s pride on the line were worth a few stolen moments with Keane to tell him how she felt.
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His arms clasped more firmly around her, and she pulled away. “Keane, there is something I must tell you.”
“I’ve missed you, Sorcha,” he said quickly, as if he knew her thoughts, gently shoving the hair off her neck and kissing her behind the ear. He traced her birthmark with his finger.
“No, Keane, please listen to me. I cannot—”
“Hush, little one. Each night I dream of you and—”
THWACK!
Keane’s body flexed in her arms. “Holy Christ!” He sucked in his breath. “Sorcha, run!”
HISS! THUNK! Again his body jolted, and this time Sorcha saw the arrow buried deep in his shoulder. Another had hit his thigh, and blood stained his breeches.
“No!” she screamed, trying to hold him upright.
“RUN!” He fell to the ground, his fingers scrabbling for the hilt of his sword, but Sorcha stood as if rooted to the spot. Her head swung around and she stared into the trees, the dark undergrowth where their attacker lay hidden somewhere to the south, cutting off the road back to Prydd. As if he’d been following her.
“Come with me,” she pleaded, pulling Keane to his feet and helping him to his destrier.
“I’ll stand and fight.”
“And die!” she half screamed. Her heart was thudding with fear that they would both be killed. “ ’Twill serve no purpose. Come! Now!”
“But—”
Desperate, she clung to him. “There is no honor in giving up your life like this. Come! I need you!”
Keane, his face white, took her lead. With a scream of agony, he yanked the shaft of the arrow from his thigh and threw it onto the ground. “Take the other one.”
Swallowing hard, she stared at the arrow buried in his shoulder. “ ’Tis not safe to—”
“Do it!”
He leaned down, and Sorcha placed her fingers over the shaft. She tugged, but the arrowhead caught on flesh and wouldn’t budge.
“Hurry!”
Fingers slick with blood, she pulled again, and the shaft of the arrow splintered in her hands. Blood smeared on the red folds of Leah’s mantle.