6
If I die from falling off a horse, it willnae be for the temperament of the animal but the exhaustion of the rider.
Every fiber of Willow’s being screamed at her to sleep. She had managed to doze briefly, lulled by the rock of the horse’s steps, but it was when she realized that she’d leaned into Keegan’s chest that she was forced abruptly awake again.
Still, he was so wonderfully warm, and the frigid air licked at her ankles and calves as she sat astride the horse. Scottish evenings were rarely forgiving at the best of times, and spring was a fickle season in the highlands. Willow was desperate for the comfort of warmth, and as much as she wanted to fight it, leaning into her captor provided at least a semblance of it.
How can the man still be driving this bloody creature across the land? Sleep is necessary for all humans, dammit.
As if hearing her thoughts, Keegan adjusted in the saddle, and she looked up to see him fighting back a yawn. He shook himself afterward, securing his grip on the reins once more and directing the steed off toward a hill that sat a few yards away from them.
“What are we?—”
“There’s a shepherd’s hut just up there. We can rest for the remainder of the evenin' out of sight.”
She didn’t bother commenting on their situation after that, knowing that Keegan would keep his answer short and curt if provided at all. It took them only a few minutes to reach the hut, and her captor dropped down from the horse with a thud. He turned back toward her, offering a hand to get down, but Willow was in no mood to accept his help.
Swinging her leg over the rear of the animal, Willow clumsily slid from the saddle, catching herself on Keegan when she nearly fell to the ground.
“Are ye quite all right there, lass?”
Willow yanked herself away from him, pulling down on the arsaid that was the only scrap of fabric keeping her warm. She glared, maintaining a straight spine. She would not answer him.
With a scoff, Keegan disregarded her and faced the hut which lay behind him. Willow, too, was curious what they would be using for coverage, and as she took in the state of the small hovel, itwas clear that no one had used it in some time. The straw and bags of feed were musty and nearly picked clean, and the hard ground was packed down at the entrance but showing signs of returning vegetation.
We shall certainly nae be found here.
She kept the thought to herself as Keegan stepped forward into the low opening of the hut. He reached in his sporran, and Willow was surprised to see him produce a few coins, leaving them just outside the right side of the structure.
“What are ye doin'?” she asked, unable to stop herself from being curious.
“Leavin' a thank ye to the shepherd who tends this area. He shall find it when he returns.”
The notion was ridiculous. The place around them was nearly entirely deserted. Still, it struck her that the idea of the shepherd returning seemed possible to Keegan, and he wished to repay the mysterious figure for his unknown act of kindness. The gesture didn’t line up with what she’d seen of Keegan so far. Though nothing seemed predictable about the man, which was infuriating.
Willow sniffled, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Perhaps the man-at-arms was merely heeding his Laird’s orders. She had seen her own clansmen do things that they had a difficult time stomaching to keep her brother happy. It could very well be the same for the Brahanne clan.
As cynical as it may have sounded to even her, Willow could imagine that many a laird was a brute in fancy clothing.
In any event, she would be remaining with Keegan for the foreseeable future—at least until this exchange took place, and it was better to have an understanding with the man than to be constantly at odds.
“I appreciate that ye dinnae kill Finley. Though I imagine that ye could’ve been a hair gentler.”
Flicking her eyes up from the ground to her captor, she was surprised to see him glaring at her, his jaw muscles working like he was fighting back the urge to say something. With his stare still narrowed, Keegan reached for the clasp containing his plaid and began to pull the thing loose so that it dropped over his shoulder.
It was a strange choice, to be certain. It was quite cold, and Willow couldn’t imagine that he was taking it down because he was warm. The wind howled at her back, and Willow stifled a shiver, sure that the man was daft for availing more of himself to chill.
And then his fingers went to the hem of his shirt, and Keegan swiftly pulled it over his head.
Willow spun around so that she didn’t face him, gasping as her eyes first flared wide and then squeezed shut.
“What in God’s name are ye doin'?!”
There was no answer from him but a guttural grunt that forced Willow to turn back over her shoulder, eyeing him. Keegan’s eyes searched the ground, Lord knew what for, and that’s when she noticed it. On his side was a slash of red, the smeared blood covering a bit of his ribs.
“Ye’re hurt!” Her stomach dropped as she recalled the dirk clutched in Finley’s hand. “God, he managed to cut ye.”
“I’ll hand it to yer guard. He’s quicker than he looks. Ugh,” Keegan hissed as he bent, digging through the saddle bag.