Pride Of Lions

“They have gone.” She sat up, flinging off the cloak with which she’d covered them.

“Well, at least I am not blind,” Hunter grumbled, blinking against the moonlight filtering through the leaves.

“I am sorry, but I feared they’d spot that shiny armor of yours.” She slung the cloak around her shoulders and shifted to her knees beside him. “They will be back. We must leave as—”

“I cannot move.”

“What?” She leaned over him, frowning as she poked and prodded. “Small wonder, I’d say. You’re wedged in between a rock and the tree that broke your fall.”

“My back?”

“I do not think it’s broken.” She smiled faintly. “Your armor’s caught fast in the rocks. Here, let’s get this out of the way for a start.” She tugged off his helmet.

He swore as his head thumped on the stony ground. “Have a care what you are—”

“Sorry. I’ve never done this before.” She attacked the leather buckles holding the breastplate and back of his armor together. When they were loose, she cocked her head, grinning down at him. “You look a bit like a turtle I once trapped.”

“This is not amusing.”

“The turtle didna think so, either. He ended up in a soup.”

“Just get on with it, will you?”

“Aye, since you asked so nicely.” She approached the task with far more zeal than skill. It was no easy task for a small, inexperienced woman to extricate a prone man from a set of full battle plate. After much sweating and swearing on both their parts, she wrested the armor from his torso.

Freed of the encumbering weight, which had indeed been jammed between two rocks by the force of his fall, Hunter managed to sit up. “Damn.” He gingerly flexed first his shoulders, then his back. “Argh.” His hand went straight to the spot just above his waist where he’d met the tree.

“Hurt?” She circled around and lifted the hem of the padded gambeson he wore to protect against the chafing metal. “The skin’s not cut, but you’ll have a dandy bruise.”

“You say that so cheerily because it’s mine, not yours.”

She chuckled and came around to sit beside him. “It could have been much worse. Worthless as I find your armor, it did save you from greater injury.”

“Worthless?” Hunter bristled. “It will stop an arrow and even a slashing blow from a sword or lance.”

“Aye, but it weighs down a man and his mount and makes him far less agile in battle.”

Hunter grunted. He’d heard that argument from more than one Scot who preferred the traditional armaments to the armor popular in England and Europe. “This time, I’d say my plate was both blessing and potential curse. My thanks, for hiding me earlier and for getting me free.” Bracing his hand on a huge boulder, he stood. Pain stabbed through his left ankle, sending him back down.

“What is it?”

“My ankle.”

“Can you move it?”

Hunter warily rotated the foot, then nodded.

“Mayhap it is not broken, then.” She tugged off his boot.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Hunter endured her poking and prodding.

“A bad twist, I’d say.”

“Bloody hell!” Hunter gazed angrily around at the stark, wild land. Then a new worry intruded. “The stallion?”

“I—I do not know. I think he slid on past us, but I have not heard a sound, from below.”

They both turned to look at the wall of trees and rocks that hid the rest of the descending slope, then at each other. The same thought was in both their faces. The horse was dead.

“I am sorry,” she whispered.

“So am I. My sire raised him from a colt.”

Tears glinted in her eyes. “I could go down and search.”

“Nay.” The tightness in Hunter’s chest expanded to fill his throat. “He must be dead. An injured horse is not quiet.”

“We cannot stay here.”

“I know.” Hunter glared balefully at his swollen ankle. If worse came to worst, he’d walk on it and damn the agony.

“It may not hold you.”

“It will,” he snapped. “But there is no sense blundering about in the dark. Mayhap a few hours’ rest will improve it.”

“Hmm.” Allisun doubted that but saw no reason to argue. A poultice might aid the healing, but the herbs she’d brought with her in case anyone was injured were lost with her horse. “I could walk up to the trailhead and—”

“Return with your kin.” His face and voice were as fierce as they’d been when he’d rescued heir.

“Nay, that is not what I meant.” But she knew he didn’t believe her. Why should he? Though they’d worked together to escape the stampede and the Bells, they were enemies.

“They will come looking for you?” he asked.

“Aye. Of a certainty they will.” Providing they were alive and free. Sweet Mary, what if they weren’t? What if—?

“Just as my men will search for me.”

“Providing the Bells did not get them all.”

He snorted. “My men are more than a match for that rabble.”

“That rabble is the most ruthless fighting force about.”

“My men will best them.”

Arrogant ass. Allisun glared at him. “The Bells may be more interested in cattle stealing than fighting.”

“Let’s hope so, for all our sakes. But it may be some time before my men find us.” He gazed up the mountain, then back at her. “We should get what rest we can.”