“Is that a cow he’s riding?” Conran asked with amazement as they drew closer.
“A bull,” Dougall corrected as the rider shifted and he spotted a horn poking up into view. “And if I’m no’ mistaken, he is a she. That looks like a gown to me.”
“Hmmm,” Alick murmured behind them. “A rose gown. Lady Danvries was wearing a rose gown.”
“Aye, she was,” Dougall agreed, and urged his horse to move more quickly.
“Damn,” Murine breathed when she heard the approaching horse. She’d spotted the men on horseback behind her just moments ago and had recognized them as the Scots Montrose had been trying to buy horses from. It could have been worse. Montrose could have discovered that she’d fled and come after her, but this was bad enough. These were the men her brother had tried to sell her to and the embarrassment and shame of what he’d done was overwhelming. She’d really rather not have to face them again.
“M’lady.”
Murine kept her gaze straight ahead, hoping that if she pretended not to hear him, the man might just leave her be and travel on.
“Lady Danvries,” he said, a little more loudly and when she again didn’t respond, commented, “Yer brother did no’ bother to mention ye were deaf when he offered ye to me. I should ha’e guessed as much, though. He’s obviously a cheat and a louse, so o’ course he’d try to pass off a defective lass in exchange fer me high quality beasts.”
Gasping in outrage, Murine gave up her pretense and turned to glare at the man as she snapped, “I’m no’ defective! And ye’d ha’e been lucky to ha’e me, I’m worth a hundred o’ yer horses.”
When his mouth quirked up on one side and one eyebrow rose high on his forehead, she realized what she’d said and quickly added, “Not that I’d ha’e agreed to such a shameful bargain.” Turning forward again, she muttered, “Me brother has obviously lost his mind to sink so low.”
“And so ye’re running away before he offers ye to someone who is no’ as honorable as meself and might accept?”
Murine’s mouth flattened with displeasure. That was exactly what she was doing . . . or trying to do. But now she was fretting over the possibility that this man might somehow interfere and prevent her escape.
“Dougall.”
Murine glanced around at that shout, her eyes widening when she saw that his men, who had been keeping back apace, were suddenly urging their mounts to catch them up.
“What is it, Conran?” Dougall asked with a frown.
“Riders,” the man explained, glancing worriedly toward Murine. “And I’m thinking it’s Danvries’ men after the lady here, to take her back.”
Cursing under her breath, Murine started to turn her bull toward the trees intent on hiding, but found her way blocked by horses as the other men caught up and surrounded them.
“No time fer that, m’lady,” Conran said sympathetically. “They’re moving fast, ye would no’ make cover.”
“Then we shall have to be her cover,” Dougall said grimly. “Surround her, and cover her hair and dress. I’ll meet the riders.”
Murine opened her mouth to protest, but then let out a startled gasp when a cap landed on her head.
“Tuck yer hair up, lass,” someone said.
“And here, put this round ye to hide yer pretty gown,” someone else said, dropping a plaid around her shoulders.
Murine didn’t argue, but clumsily shoved her hair up in the cap, then clutched the plaid around herself and glanced about at the Scots and their horses. Her bull sat perhaps a hand lower than their mounts, which helped hide what the plaid didn’t cover of her skirts, but there were only three of them now and the two riderless horses they’d hoped to sell to her brother.
“Mayhap we should . . .” Rather than finish the suggestion, someone suddenly tossed another plaid over her, this one covering her head as well. She then felt pressure on the back of her neck as someone silently urged her to press herself flat to the bull’s back. Hoping it was enough, Murine ignored the fact that she found it difficult to breathe in this position with the heavy cloth over her, closed her eyes and began to pray.
Dougall managed to get about twenty feet back up the path before the oncoming English riders reached him. He hoped it was far enough away from the woman his men were trying to provide cover for, but there was little he could do if it wasn’t. The choice then would be whether to fight for the lass or not and he wasn’t quite sure yet whether he would. It wasn’t the fact that there were twenty of them. He and his brothers were skilled fighters. They could easily beat twenty lazy, poorly trained English soldiers. But he wasn’t sure if Lady Danvries was worth fighting, and killing, over. If she was anything like her brother, she definitely wasn’t . . . and really, this was none of his business. He supposed he’d have to play it by ear.