Page 92 of Blood & Claw

Ailsa’s fingers tightened into fists. “We do have a plan.” She shot Dale a quick look, daring him to contradict her.

Fern inclined her head.

“We strike at night.” Dale bit out the words. “When they’re camped. We’ll take them off guard.”

“What if they’re expecting you?”

Ailsa scowled. Gods. She hoped they weren’t. However, she couldn’t deny the possibility. After all, they’d already sent one of their group back to deal with her and Dale. Fern didn’t need to know about that though.

Dale’s brows drew together. He clearly didn’t like being second-guessed, least of all by a stranger.

For once, Ailsa was completely in agreement with him. Folding her arms, she fixed Fern with a hard stare.

The huntress merely shrugged. “All I’m saying is you clearly haven’t thought this through.”

The glower Dale gave her then could have melted iron.

However, Fern stared back, unbothered. “You’re driven … I’ll give you that. And”—her gaze narrowed a little—“desperate.” A warning rumbled in Dale’s throat, but she wasn’t finished. “Both of which will get you killed.”

Silence followed these words.

The fire crackled between them. After a while, Fern sighed and leaned back on her hands. “You’re going the right way, at least. They’re following this burn northeast. It bends toward a narrow pass. If they keep that course, they’ll make for higher ground by tomorrow.”

Dale nodded, his jaw tight now. “They’re heading into The Goatfells, then?”

“Aye.”

Ailsa awoke early. Somehow, she’d rolled onto a hard root that now jabbed her in the ribs, bruising her. Wrapped up in blankets and her cloak, she’d been warm enough, although the tips of her ears were numb, reminding her that the bitter season was upon them.

Wincing, she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

Enough rest. They had a quarry to catch.

She climbed to her feet and started deftly rolling up her blanket. As she did so, her gaze traveled across the smoking embers of the fire to find Fern watching her. She looked as if she had been awake for a while, for her grey eyes were bright, her long, silken black hair braided into a neat plait. She sat cross-legged, her posture relaxed yet ready.

Ailsa pursed her lips. “What are you looking at?” Her breath clouded the sharp air.

Fern smirked. She then pulled out a knife from the sheath on her thigh and began to sharpen it.

Ailsa glanced around. “Where’s Dale? We should already be moving.”

“Just went off into the trees … to take a piss, I imagine.” Fern paused then, still focused on sharpening her blade. “How well do you know the man who travels with you?”

Ailsa moved across to Dale’s abandoned blanket and started rolling that one up too. She didn’t have time for games. “We’ve been traveling together for a few days,” she hedged.

“There’s something off with him.”

Ailsa cut her a sharp look. So, Fern had noticed too, had she?

“He smells wrong.”

Ailsa turned away and scooped up their water skins. “Does he?” She hadn’t noticed. To her, Dale smelled of horse, leather, and virile male—unsettling for a different reason. One she wouldn’t be admitting to Fern.

“Aye … his scent carries the undertone of something … animal.”

Ailsa stiffened. Those golden eyes still haunted her.

“You don’t smell right either,” Fern added.