Surrender to Me (The Derrings #4)(45)

Her breath puffed ahead of her in frothy gusts. She struggled to keep up, pumping her legs as hard as she could. The cold wind rushed her, smelling of snow, clawing at her hair and whipping her cloak back from her shoulders as they plunged ahead. The ties of her cloak chafed her throat. Her heart hammered in her breast, whether from exertion or fear or delight she could not say.

The dark line of trees loomed ahead, and they dove within. Griffin released her hand and dropped their bags at his feet. Gasping, she leaned against a trunk for support.

“Wait here,” he instructed, disappearing deeper into the trees.

Silence hung thick around her, punctuated only with the howl of wind and heavy pants of her breath. Clouds moved overhead again, parting. The glow of the moon washed the earth again, limning the craggy snow-capped mountains in the horizon. Hugging herself, she waited for Griffin, studying the chill-encircled castle, a thing of beauty in the night.

A smile curved her lips. In that moment, if she never returned to Town, she could not summon a scrap of regret.

A horse neighed softly and she looked over her shoulder as Griffin emerged leading their horses. In the soft spray of moonlight, his features looked carved of stone, every angle and line cut from a sculptor’s blade, his bruises mere shadows.

“Didn’t think we were going to walk out of here, did you?” Anger still hummed in his voice, evident in the curl of his lip as he added, “I said I’d get us out of here.”

She didn’t reply, merely moved to her mount, accepting his assistance as he boosted her up.

Looking over her shoulder as they rode away, she snuck one last glance at the dark outline of the castle, more mythical than real in the shimmering moonlight—the place where she had surrendered to desire, where she had released her long-suppressed emotions…her heart. Where, as a prisoner, she had tasted freedom for the first time in her life.

She stared behind them until the castle was swallowed up by the thick growth of trees.

And then she turned. Facing forward, her back to what was now the past.

Chapter 17
“Why are we stopping?” she asked, looking down at Griffin as he dismounted, the first words she had spoken to him since their escape from Cragmuir.

She slid from her mount unassisted, clinging to the saddle until the feeling returned to her feet. The fear of pursuit still nagged at her. “Don’t stop on my account. I would not be the reason we’re caught.”

“You need to rest.” This he uttered without once looking her way, his blue eyes intent on the task of unsaddling his mount, dark brows drawn tightly as though in concentration.

“I’m fine,” she protested. “We’ve traveled only a few hours.”

“We rest,” he declared, firm lips barely moving around the inflexible words. “A little sleep will do us both some good.”

Sighing, she gave a brief nod and glanced up, squinting at the thick canopy of branches high above them, an impenetrable ceiling of foliage, so dense they obscured the sky from her gaze and made it impossible to tell how close they were to daybreak. She wondered if they had even been missed back at Cragmuir yet.

“They’ll expect us to ride south. In the area they first encountered us,” he offered after some moments. He lifted one shoulder. “So we’ll head west and then circle around. It will take a bit longer to get you to Edinburgh, but it’s the wisest course.”

She stared at him for a long moment, something she could do at her leisure since he continued to avoid looking at her.

Suddenly he looked up, snaring her with his chilly blue gaze. “I’ll get you there. As I promised. The good news is that the authorities in Dubhlagan won’t likely look for you in Edinburgh so many days after your husband’s death. They’ve likely quit any search they put forth.”

She released a shuddery breath. “Good,” she managed to say, wondering at the sudden burn in her eyes. With unsteady hands, she hastily turned and began to uncinch her saddle.

The prospect of reaching Edinburgh, of taking the train home, filled her with a decided lack of cheer. Home. The word echoed dully in her heart. Soon this would all be over. And she’d be home. Out of each other’s lives for good.

He was soon at her side, brushing her hands aside as if they were insignificant gnats. She stood back, wrapping her arms around herself and feeling useless as she watched him tend to her mount.

Turning, she moved to a large ash tree. Leaning against its broad trunk, she slid to the ground, indifferent to the rough scrape of bark through her cloak—the stinging burn welcome for the feeling it brought, penetrating the numbness that tingled up her backside to her lower back from long hours in the saddle.

Her gaze followed Griffin moving about the clearing. Propping her chin on her knees, she swallowed against the tightness in her throat. She had not thought his coldness capable of wounding her. Not her—she, who lived in a state of self-imposed emotional exile. From the start, she had wished for distance from this man, had fought to maintain it, to shy from the fire that drew her, threatening to thaw her.

Now she found the cold unbearable.

He dropped their saddles near her and tossed her the bedroll. “Here.”

Without another word, he disappeared, leading the horses from the clearing, no doubt to a nearby pond or brook. He always made a point of camping near a water source.

She made quick work of unrolling the bedding, her hands smoothing out the edges of the tarp, trembling in the most vexing way.