Becca St.John Read Online Free PDF Page B

anticipation.
    “Oh, aye, it’s delicious.” She hunkered down to his level. “Did you cook it?”
    “Padraig helped me.”
    “Of course.” She sighed and stood up. “Are you certain the fires are safe?” she asked her son’s favorite person.
    “We fared well enough through the night, and we’ll have it out and be gone before it draws any attention.”
    With a curt nod, she put her fish down, went over to pack up the horses.
    “Aren’ you goin’ to eat your fish, Mama?” Deian called out.
    “I’ll eat while we ride.” Unbidden sharpness edged her words. She shot a look at Padraig who lifted his hands, dismissing himself from blame for whatever irked her.
    She turned back to her task.
     
    The ride was quiet, somber. Deian sensed what Padraig knew. Seonaid’s temper neared the surface. Not a good thing, if you wanted your ears to survive along with your masculinity.
    All three rode. Deian insisted on riding and both adults knew to be prepared for him to take off. Which he had, twice, not helping Seonaid’s tenuous hold on her ire.
    The boy certainly learned quickly. He handled the horse well. And a big brute it was, too. Peregrine would be the better ride, but the boy understood the tie between a captured horse and power. Winnings gleaned from battle. Aye, he learned quickly.
    “Seonaid,” Padraig dared to speak. “Are you certain you don’t want to go back?”
    She skewered him with a glance.
    “For the lad?”
    She rolled her eyes.
    “You trust living with the English more than you’d trust your own clan with your boy?”
    She pulled up on her reins, looking over another valley below. They’d seen too many hillocks, mountain sides, valleys. Skirted a share of bogs.
    “Will we ever reach the Kyle of Minth?” she asked.
    “Aye, but it’s a long way.”
    She lifted her chin in acknowledgement and moved on. “You’re just trying to stop me.”
    Oh, aye, he was, but he wouldn’t lie to do it. “It’s a long ride. Boat would have been better.”
    She stopped again. “And who would have put me on their boat? And if they had, the whole of the clan would know my business.”
    “Aye, and what’s wrong with that, if you’re not doin’ anything wrong?”
    Another skewering look and she jerked her horse around, urged him forward. “I’m not wrong.”
    She was, and she knew it. Giving up on her people and for what? Did she expect to arrive in England, dressed as a man and with a son—no husband or brother or father or uncle to protect her? Did she expect to be accepted by them?
    It would never work.
    And she wasn’t a healer.
    “Jaysus!” he snapped, and heeled Tarvos. Deian had ridden further than he thought. He moved to catch-up with him.
    “I’ve never belonged to the clan, to a family,” Seonaid shouted after him.
    He turned, but didn’t stop. Deian was too far ahead of them.
    “Even among my friends, I was separate,” she called, as she spurred Peregrine to catch up as well. “The healers are neither English nor French nor Scottish, nor anything but women who heal.”
    “You aren’t a healer,” he shouted back.
    Peregrine caught up to him, “They need someone to keep them safe. I will do that.”
    He snorted.
    Riding Peregrine, Seonaid cut Deian off, forcing him to stop, speaking to Padraig as she dismounted, lifted the boy from the saddle. “What? Do you think they don’t need a guard?” She smoothed Deian’s hair. The boy pulled away.
    “There’s been talk of the Women of the Woods since I was a boy.” Padraig dismounted, clapped Deian on the back. “Good riding, lad, you knew your mount needed water—” he’d gotten them to a river bank, “—but you mustn’t go beyond us.”
    Approvals done, he faced Seonaid. “Those women have survived lifetimes; no doubt they will continue to survive.”
    Seonaid put her hands on her hips. “And kingships last lifetimes, too, but not without a guard.” She reached over and pulled Deian to stand in front of her.
    Padraig