Page 15 of Bride of Mist
The father, realizing he’d misjudged Dougal’s intent, took his son’s arm and pulled him back down onto the cart seat.
“You’re a thief, aren’t you?” the man grumbled. “Lucifer’s luck. I should have known.”
“Me?” Dougal scoffed. “Ye wanted a shillin’ for a ride to town. Who’s a thief?”
The man glared at him. “We’ve got nothing of value, only piles of peat.”
The lad, trying to be helpful, offered, “We do have a wee bit of silver, Da, from the last village.”
The man’s mouth tensed as he eyed Dougal’s dagger.
But Dougal replied, “I don’t want your coin.”
“You can’t take my cart.”
“I won’t.”
The man eased a protective arm around his son. “Then what do you want?”
Dougal nodded to the basket lodged between them. “Just a wee bit o’ whate’er ye have in there.”
“That’s nothin’ but our sup-” The man looked shocked for a moment. Then, making a hasty decision, he snatched up the basket and tossed it at Dougal’s head.
The instant Dougal released the bridle, throwing up his arms to block the basket, the driver slapped the reins down. The horse shot off, and the cart careened down the road so fast that the lad nearly bounced off his seat.
As they bolted away, Dougal scowled and put away his dagger. There was no need for them to panic. He only wanted a bit of food.
He hunkered down to examine the damage.
Aside from a pair of cracked apple coffyns, bruised berries, and a small chunk of bacon that would require rinsing, everything seemed sufficiently edible to his watering mouth. There was a small round of ruayn cheese, a half dozen oatcakes, and even a skin of watered wine. Gathering everything back into the basket, he returned to his less-traveled path and sat down to feast.
A full belly revived him enough to proceed several miles more. But as the afternoon shadows lengthened and the woods grew dim, the cart driver’s words returned to haunt him. Was the forest indeed “thick with outlaws”?
Though his purse was empty, Dougal mac Darragh was obviously a man of means. He had the body of a warrior and the bearing of a noble. Even the cart driver had seen that.
A thief might be tempted to pilfer Dougal’s only weapon for its jewels.
Steal the valuable clothes off his back.
Take him captive with an eye toward ransom.
This time, before he made a mossy bed under a sprawling ash tree, Dougal took extra precautions. It was dangerous enough to be pursued by an angry clan. He wasn’t about to be surprised by a band of outlaws.
Feiyan woke with a start.
“Oh, for shite’s sake,” she muttered.
Her wee nap had turned into an all-day drowse. The sun was long gone. The moon peered through the pines with its pale, round eye, and midnight mist clung to the forest floor.
How much distance had the villain gained while she slumbered on, blissfully unaware? Had he stuck to the path or turned off at some point? She’d wasted the daylight. By night and in the fog, he’d be doubly hard to track.
At least she was fully alert now. If need be, she could pursue him all night.
She hurried along the path. Perhaps she could catch the villain sleeping.
A few hours later, she spotted a scrap of beeswax-coated linen beside the trail, the kind of cloth one wrapped around cheese. Near it were crumbs of pastry. And next to that was a depression in the leafy bank, roughly the size of a knight’s hindquarters.
He had eaten here. How long ago, she couldn’t tell. But this time he’d apparently procured something more palatable than a raw rodent.
