Page 20 of An Outlaw’s Desire

A chill ran from her nape down to her toes. Mayhap Harlow and Galven were standing watch on the other side of the ancient site. But, even if they were, they should have heard her.

Get to the castle, her mind screamed.

What if the men needed her help? She could summon other guards once she got to the fortress, but what if that was too late?

’Twas a very cold night. If one or both of the men froze to death, she’d never forgive herself.

She must try to find them. That meant going up to—even into—the stone circle.

She might encounter a ghost. The book she’d borrowed had mentioned spirits. Anticipation and fear tangled up inside her.

Her palms damp inside her gloves, she drew her dagger. Her pulse thumped against her breastbone as she closed the distance to the ancient site. She tried to soften her footfalls, but the icy coating on the snow crunched. She might as well have been munching toasted bread.

She paused just inside the outer ring of stones. Other monoliths loomed within, half of them shrouded by shadow. “Harlow? Galven?” she shouted again. “Are you there?”

No reply.

A tremor rippled through her. What could have dispatched two grown warriors?

As her gaze traveled over the stones, her heart thumped even harder. She sensed someone—or something—watching her.

Blythe drew in a few steadying breaths. Better. She’d not let her imagination send her into a swoon.

Squaring her shoulders, Blythe walked forward, into darkness.

The sole of her right boot touched a slippery surface: ice.

Shrieking, she pitched sideways.

Chapter Four

Crouched beside a monolith, Pitt listened while the older guard spoke with the woman. Had Harlow addressed her as Blythe? Pitt couldn’t be certain.

His right shoulder pressed against stone, Pitt leaned forward slightly and strained to make out the conversation over the wind. The voices reached him as intonations of sound with the occasional distinct word or two. He thought of sneaking closer but didn’t dare take the risk.

Moreover, since the men had just been discussing a lady named Blythe, Pitt’s mind was probably tricking him into thinking she and the woman were one and the same.

As coldness from the ancient stone seeped into flesh, he crossed his arms tighter over the front of his cloak. Had the woman come from the castle, or had she been crossing the field on her way to or from the nearby town? He didn’t hear others speaking, apart from the woman and the two guards. That meant she’d ventured out at night on her own.

If she’d come from the fortress, the night watch should never have allowed such foolishness.

Anger gnawed at him, even as he forced it aside. The woman wasn’t his concern. He must focus on the siege ahead; on protecting Fenton. But, venturing out at night alone was exactly what the Blythe he’d known would have done.

The conversation stopped. His senses on high alert, Pitt waited until the two men resumed talking. Judging by the sound of boots on snow, the guards were moving into the stone circle, to get out of the wind.

Pitt slunk back a couple of paces.

A scuffling sound. “Ice! Hell—!”

Thud.

“Oy. Galven. You all right?”

Pitt reclaimed his steps and peered around the stone. The younger guard lay face down on the snow. Harlow knelt beside him.

“Can you hear me? Answer me.” After several unsuccessful attempts to rouse his colleague, Harlow swore under his breath. Then, he hefted Galven onto his shoulder and, after skidding on the snow, trudged off.

Pitt counted his breaths then eased out into the circle. Harlow, partway across the field, was carrying the unconscious man toward the castle.