Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(78)

I aim for another hound—

An arrow impales my upper arm. A scream, mixed shock and pain, bursts out of me. The bow tumbles out of my grasp, hitting the forest floor.

“Britta? Britta, what happened?” Aodren is pure panic.

“Got hit. Arrow to my arm,” I manage, despite the fire radiating through my right arm. My shooting arm.

The hardened dirt trail winds to the left, climbing the mountain, but Aodren yanks the reins in the opposite direction, sending us on a sudden course downhill. Gale runs and stumbles, crashing through a small riverbed.

I fight to hang on to Aodren with my left arm, my face pressed against his back as we jolt and bounce in the saddle. Stabs of pain come from each movement. For a moment, hounds and riders disappear from sight.

“To throw off their scent,” Aodren yells over his shoulder at me. “Stay with me.”

Shards of icy water flick our feet and ankles.

In the distance, the bark of the dogs and shouts of men sound again.

The arrow has gone through my dress sleeve and the fleshy part of my arm, sticking out the other side. Though it hasn’t hit bone, the jostling of the horse is killing me. It’s causing more damage every time my arm bangs against my body or Aodren’s.

Regardless of where Cohen and Omar may have gone, our goal at this point is survival. I need to get the arrow out while Gale’s gait is relatively smooth.

Clenching my jaw and holding my breath, I bite one side of the arrow, then wrap my fingers around the other side of the shaft. On the count of three, I bear down and snap the wood in half.

Seeds!

I throw the fletching half on the ground and feel under my arm for the point side. My fingers are shaky. Breath saws through my lungs. I pluck the tip out, and my ears go fuzzy from the burst of agony. I hold tight to the edge of the saddle with my good arm, trying to fight the haziness filling my head. Blood oozes from the wound, seeping down the sleeve of my blue gown.

The stream curves, cutting farther south. Gale’s front legs dip deep. He founders, and we’re jolted forward. I manage to hang on to the back of the saddle, but Aodren flips over Gale’s head and falls into the water with a great splash. He rises, short breaths punctuating his body’s tremors from the icy plunge. I guide Gale to the side of the stream, looking back over my shoulder to make sure the remaining guard and dogs haven’t caught up.

My brain races as I look over Aodren, sopping wet and shivering. He needs to get out of the wet clothes, but he doesn’t have another change of clothes. All we have is a tarp and two bedrolls.

I reach back along Gale’s flank, to where we secured our supplies. One of the blue rolls is gone, lost in our flight or in the stream.

I try not to show my panic as I tell Aodren to climb up behind me. He can lean into my back for warmth while I get us farther away from the pursuers. Maybe the clouds will clear and the sun will dry his clothes.

“But your arm,” he protests, pointing to the streaks of red coming down both sides of my sleeve.

I hold up my good hand. “I can manage.”

Knowing we have little to no time, he scrambles up behind me and we set off.

I stay alert, putting as much distance between the remaining guard and us as I can. We cut across the main road to the southern woods and wind our way through the Evers to the most likely path Cohen might’ve taken.

Aodren said he heard the guards talking about a traitor in Cohen’s midst and mention of the southeast cliffs. I keep all my thoughts at bay until we’ve gone two hours without any sign of our pursuers. We’re near the path that leads to the cliffs.

Aodren hasn’t stopped shivering. His cold has seeped into my ribs, where there is less fabric to my dress. While I’d hoped for sun, the clouds haven’t cleared. I doubt his clothes will dry without a fire. I cannot stop thinking of all the warnings that Papa gave about keeping dry and warm during winter travel. It’s been hours and I’m certain he’s still wet. We need to find somewhere safe to set up camp. At the very least, I need to get him moving to keep his body temperature up.

“We should get down, look for tracks, perhaps find somewhere we can camp.” I dismount and gesture for him to do the same. The adrenaline of the chase has worn off. The exhaustion from two nights spent in the dungeon without food is edging back in.

Aodren slides off Gale. “We cannot do anything until your arm is wrapped. You’ve lost so much blood.” Aodren points to my dress’s hem. “I could cut some off and use it for your wound.”

Knowing it must be done, I hold my dress out for him, watching the way his hands shiver as he wraps one around his dagger and slices off part of my dress. He cuts the fabric in two pieces, one longer than the other. One piece wraps around my arm, and the other is constructed into a sling.

“Thank you.” I cradle my arm even though it’s held by the fabric. “But I’m worried about you. We need to find somewhere to make a fire.”

Aodren pushes hair from my face. His fingers are ice. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll let you know if I get too cold. Anyway, you scared me today. I thought I might lose you.”

I go to tell him that’s not the case, but my words are stolen from me when he leans in and presses his chilled lips to my forehead. I understand why he kissed me in the castle. He wasn’t thinking straight and it was reactionary. But this kiss? I don’t know what to think. It settles in me, another layer of guilt.