Page 14 of Bride of Mist
After the slaughter at Kirkoswald, he’d been too full of grief to think of food. In his haste to ride after the murderous mac Girics, he’d had only one thought on his mind. Driving the bloodthirsty clan out of Scotland.
And now, the fact that he had killed a woman left the bitter taste of sin on his tongue. A taste that no food or drink would ever wash from his mouth.
Still, time had dulled his grief and sharpened the hunger in his belly. If he had any hope of returning home, he needed to eat. He was past waiting for a coney to wander into a snare.
He’d brought no coin with him. But he could be resourceful.
Lightheaded, he made his way back to the main road. It was a risk. In broad daylight, he’d be much easier to spot. But perhaps, without his horse and armor, he’d be unrecognizable to the mac Girics tracking him.
Pulling his hood forward and staying in the shadows of the trees that arched over the road, he walked for nigh an hour, until he heard a cart approaching behind him.
The mac Giric knights wouldn’t be traveling by cart. It was safe enough to step into the sunlight to give the driver a friendly wave.
A man and a lad, probably his son, were driving a cart loaded with peat.
For one ugly moment, Dougal consdered overpowering the pair, stealing the cart, and making his escape. No one knew him here. No one knew he was the brother of the mac Darragh laird. Here he was only a common outlaw. A woman-killer and a fugitive. What did one more crime matter?
As the cart neared, the man pulled back on the reins.
“Ho there, fine sir!” the driver called out with a tug at his hat, no doubt taking note of Dougal’s well-made boots and gambeson, his fine woolen plaid, and the jeweled dagger tucked into his sheath.
“Good day,” Dougal replied.
“May I ask where you’re headed, sir?”
It was best not to be specific. “Just travelin’ through.”
“I see. Then you might be grateful for a word of warning.”
“Aye? What’s that?”
“This forest is thick with outlaws. A man of your…standing…could prove a temptation to their sort.”
“Is that so?”
The young lad pointed at Dougal’s dagger. “Someone might want to take that. Look at the jewels, Da.”
“Aye,” the man agreed. Suddenly his eyes gleamed with something more than admiration.
“This?” Dougal’s voice was light, but he drew the blade, flipping it in his hand in an unspoken warning, just in case the driver had any unsavory motives. “Hmm. I suppose ye’re right.”
The man’s eyes glittered with enterprise as he eyed the jewels. “For a shilling,” he offered, thoughtfully stroking his chin, “I could take you to the next town.”
“A shillin’,” he pretended to muse.
It was an outrageous price, bordering on robbery. And it occurred to him again that he could probably take the cart by force. Abscond with the horse and peat and leave these two in the dust.
But the idea soured his stomach. Despite his recent failures, chivalry still burned inside his heart, preventing him from doing what was expedient. Forcing him to do what was right.
“I don’t need a ride,” he decided.
“Half a shilling,” the man revised.
Even if he’d had the coin, Dougal would never give it to a man who would take such clear and callous advantage of a stranger.
He sauntered toward the horse and patted its cheek, casually looping his hand around the bridle so the horse couldn’t bolt.
The guileless lad stood up and moved to the edge of the cart seat. “You could sit here, sir, between—”
