Page 36 of Blood & Claw

The woman was giving Dale a hard stare. Her lips then thinned, as if he’d failed a test.

He certainly had.

Ailsa placed a hand on her host’s arm. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Talia … I’m sorry for waking you so early.”

Talia turned, her expression softening as their gazes met. “Don’t worry about that … I have to get up well before dawn to start baking anyway.” She paused then. “Go well, Ailsa. May The Five watch over you.”

“Let’s move.” Dale swung up onto his horse’s back, leather creaking. “This is Rùn,” he announced, reaching down a hand. “He’ll carry us both.”

Ailsa ran an eye over the stallion. Rùn. Secret. The beast was truly huge with bucket-sized hooves. It was a long way to fall.

When she hesitated, he made an impatient sound in the back of his throat. “I’m growing old here, Ailsa.” His fingers flexed. “Get up.”

Grinding her teeth, she grabbed his hand and let him haul her up behind him.

The moment she settled against his back, she went rigid. She was pressed against him, thighs bracketing his hips, arms wrapping around his waist. His body was solid muscle, radiating warmth that seeped through her cloak and tunic. And his scent—leather and woodsmoke and something darker, muskier—filled her nose.

She didn’t like sitting so close to this man, nor how her pulse kicked up or the way her skin prickled with awareness. The mercenary’s personality chafed hers like wet leather, but her body didn’t agree.

Oblivious to her reaction, Dale urged Rùn forward.

Grabbing hold of him to steady herself with one hand, Ailsa lifted a hand in farewell to Talia.

The woman waved back, her brow furrowed.

Moments later, they were trotting down the wynd.

The mercenary’s presence was overwhelming, and every shift of his body, every jolt of the horse’s stride, pressed him closer.

However, his words still rang in her ears.

Something scared them.

Ailsa started to sweat. She’d tried to twist things—to blame him, instead—yet the truth was that this mess was her fault.

10: THE ROAD NORTH

THEY RODE DOWN through the sleeping fort, hooves clattering on stone.

Ailsa barely noticed the sound.

All she could focus on was that she was failing Kayla.

Her thoughts were caught in a loop she couldn’t seem to break.

When they reached the gates, Dale called up to the guards. “Open up.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” one protested.

“I know what time it is. Just open the fucking gates.”

“Fuck you, arsehole,” another voice shouted out from above. However, moments later, the heavy oak and iron gates swung wide, and they passed through into the village beyond.

The north road stretched ahead, pale in the moonlight.

Ailsa’s pulse lurched. Somewhere along it, those warriors were traveling with Kayla.

To their left, the vast surface of Loch Lethe gleamed like hammered silver. Above, the full moon sailed through tattered clouds, casting everything in eerie, shifting light. The Whistle had risen again, moaning across the water.