Page 83 of Ella’s Desire

“’Tis fine, my beautiful Ella.” Bronson gave her a lopsided smile, weaker than usual. “I’m already feeling much better.”

Despite his brave words, his steps were slow and shuffling as they made their way to the horse. He pulled himself onto Kipper’s back with his good side, needing almost no assistance from her. His valiant effort lifted Ella’s spirits. Mayhap he would be fine.

Once more, they all mounted the horses and were again off, heading in the direction of Werrick Castle. They emerged from the forest and rode through the Scotland border. They were nearly to the English side when a shout pulled her attention to riders behind them. Riders who were traveling at great speed.

Ella’s heart lurched. Armstrongs?

“Faster,” Ella called to Leila, who snapped her reins in response.

Their horses pushed harder, but the riders were getting closer. It was a party of men, easily two dozen of them, all on hobblers, all wearing helms and gambesons.

The wind tore at Ella’s hair and stung her eyes, but she did not slow her pace. She kept her arms tucked snugly against Bronson’s sides, mindful of the wound on his right.

An arrow flew past Ella and landed in the ground in front of Kipper. An overshoot. And a definite confirmation that the men were indeed chasing them.

Ella cried out for them to go even faster. But even as they pushed their horses to the limit, the beasts were growing weary, and the reivers on their sure-footed hobblers gained.

29

The English border was so close Ella could make out the familiar strip of land. Another arrow shot past, going wide as it landed somewhere to the side of them, nowhere near enough to hit.

But near enough to shoot. If they could shoot, they could easily cover the distance between them.

Kipper glided over the countryside, going as fast as he could. The thundering of hoofbeats prickled in Ella’s ears and dread streaked through her.

If she could hear the riders, surely, they were far too close.

A frantic glance over her shoulder confirmed the reivers were going even faster than Ella had initially feared. There would be no escaping the Armstrongs at this rate. They cared not about borders and laws. They would follow Ella and the others into England and exact their revenge for their fallen brethren.

Ella passed over the border into England. Into her country. Where they should have been safe. But true to her suspicions, the Armstrongs paid no mind to the shift in countries as they continued their pursuit.

Bronson began to slip to the right. Ella tightened her grasp, but the galloping was too much. Tears burned in her eyes. They couldn’t give up. Not when they were so close. She grasped the collar of his gambeson and tugged him upright. It was an awkward move, but she managed to seat him better on the saddle and get a stronger grip on him.

“Ye canna outrun us,” an Armstrong called in Gaelic.

The taunt slid down her spine and sent fear plummeting to her stomach. He was right. They couldn’t outrun them. And soon their time would be up; the distance between them closed.

They couldn’t make it. Ella glanced back once more, only this time she didn’t check how far away they were. This time, she counted. Going from the idea of fleeing to the idea of battle.

She lost count somewhere around ten, unable to keep her head turned for longer than a second, with the jarring of Kipper’s gallop, and while holding Bronson. It didn’t matter. There were far too many of them to fight. She would, of course, as would Leila, but it would be an impossible battle to win.

Her heart slid low into her stomach. They would not survive this day.

Movement showed on the horizon. A lot of movement. Ella straightened in her saddle. Men. A whole army’s worth coming toward them. No doubt English.

Hope flickered to life within her once more. Mayhap all was not lost. There could be a chance to survive. Ella cried out to them. Lark and Leila did the same, waving their hands as best they could while remaining on their horse.

All at once, as though spurred by an unseen hand, the army raced toward them on a wave of horses. Tears blurred Ella’s vision for only a moment as relief crashed over her in the most visceral, overwhelming, wonderful way.

“I’ll get ye first.” A voice said, practically behind her.

Ella didn’t turn to look at the man. She simply rode and prayed the English could make it to them first. An Armstrong appeared to her right, large and with a face that looked like he’d had a fall or two in his life. He held his horse’s reins with one hand and swirled a mace with the other.

Ella edged Kipper away. He followed.

She couldn’t lift a blade to defend herself. Not when she had to hold Bronson upright. She would take the hit and hope she lived. Better that than to drop Bronson and leave him for certain death.

An arrow punched through the man’s chest. He jerked at the impact and fell behind. The arrow had a white fletching.