Page 44 of An Outlaw’s Desire

Clarine bounced up and down. “Can we get extra breadcrumbs today?”

“I am sure we can.”

Squealing, the girl rose from the table. “Hurry.”

Blythe laughed. “We need to dress for the outdoors first.”

With an impatient sigh, the child rushed over to a nearby table and returned with their garments. She squirmed while Blythe fastened her cloak and helped her don her leather gloves.

After stopping at the kitchens, they headed to the walled-in garden. Blythe unlatched open the iron gate, and Clarine raced ahead across the snow.

Up on the nearby battlements, three guards, who had been talking, glanced down into the garden. One of them—likely a father himself—motioned to Clarine and chuckled. Another nodded and laughed.

Blythe squinted against the glare of sunlight on snow and wandered along, keeping Clarine in her sight. When the girl, chatting to herself, crouched to brush the layer of snow from a large stone, Blythe stopped, closed her eyes, and tilted her head up to the sunshine.

“…in the field,” a man on the battlement said, his voice carrying to her on the breeze. “They followed the footprints but lost the trail in the woods.”

Unease flickered within Blythe. She hoped they weren’t talking about Pitt.

“The night watch has been alerted.”

What might they do if they caught Pitt? If only she could warn him, but she had no idea how to contact him. She could not go looking for him; ’twould arouse suspicion.

The guards moved on. Their voices still reached her, but their words were no longer distinct.

“Blythe.” Near Clarine, chirping and twittering birds had gathered in the bushes and on the wooden cages the gardeners used to train the beans and peas. The girl tossed a handful of the breadcrumbs onto the stone. Wings flapping, the birds converged on the feast.

Blythe hugged herself and watched as the child emptied the bag. Clarine found a great deal of joy in such a simple pleasure. Long ago, with Pitt, Blythe had savored every moment she’d been with him. She’d have gone anywhere with him; done anything for him—and last night had proven she still felt that way about him.

If Pitt was in danger of being captured, she had to help him.

Somehow.

Pitt crouched in the undergrowth at the forest’s edge. Twilight had yielded to darkness a short while ago, and ’twould be another freezing night.

Tormented by Sherborne’s visit last eve, Pitt had left the inn early and ridden to Wallensford Keep, only to be told his boy was busy with chores and Pitt couldn’t see him. Pitt had begged, to no avail.

Ordered by the men-at-arms to leave, he’d ridden his horse away, his spine rigid. Once out of sight, he’d dismounted, doubled over, and retched. Worry for his son had tempted him to pound his fists against the ground, but he couldn’t wield weapons if he was injured. He’d dried his mouth and gotten back on his mount. Every moment of his journey back to the inn had deepened the resolve that had planted like a seed from the instant he’d seen Blythe: He had to get her out of the fortress. Not just her; all the other women and children.

Tonight, ’twas his sole purpose.

He’d sent a missive to Galven, reminding him how they’d known each other years ago and asking to meet with him. Pitt had hoped to persuade the guard to go to his superiors at the castle; to forge a plan to get the women and children to safety and even to thwart Sherborne’s attack. Yet, Pitt had received no reply.

Pitt had thought to go the castle gates and deliver his warning. However, being the son of a traitor, his word wouldn’t be trusted. He’d likely be arrested. He’d be locked in a dungeon cell, and he couldn’t do a damn thing to save lives then.

Ah, God, he’d been a fool. He’d waited too long. Now, he must find Blythe as quickly as possible and tell her the truth—all of it. He’d need her by his side to convince Harlow, Galven, and the other guards of the genuine threat Sherborne posed.

Keeping low to the ground, he hurried across the field toward the long barrow. He’d almost reached the entrance when someone whistled.

Close by.

He lurched to a halt and reached for his dagger. As he drew the blade, his breaths rasping in his throat, armed men emerged from the darkness.

Pitt spun, but men moved in from behind him as well.

“Lower your sword,” said a burly warrior. “Try to run, and we will subdue you.”

Chapter Twelve