Elizabeth tried not to show her disbelief. “I am sure he will. I hear a stream in that direction. Shall we find it?”
They had some trouble breaking through the underbrush but they made it to the stream. It was a wild, rushing body of water, cascading angrily over rocks, tearing at the rocky shore.
“It’s cold,” Kit said, stepping back. “Do you think there are any fish in it?”
“Salmon, most likely,” said Miles from behind Elizabeth, and she jumped. Miles put his arm about her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
She stepped away from him. “What about your men?”
He gave a look to Kit who was throwing forest debris into the water and watching it being swept away. He took her hands in his. “My men are gone. There’s no sign of them. Elizabeth, you won’t panic, will you?”
She looked into his eyes. She was frightened to be in a strange land with a child and this man she didn’t trust. “No,” she said firmly. “I don’t want to frighten Kit.”
“Good.” He smiled, squeezing her hands. “We are on the southern boundaries of MacArran land now and if we walk due north we should reach some of the crofters’ cottages by evening tomorrow.”
“But if someone has spirited away your men—”
“My concern now is for you and Kit. If we stay in the forest perhaps we can escape notice. I don’t mind a fight, but I don’t want you or Kit harmed. Will you help me?”
She didn’t pull away from his hands. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’ll help you.”
He released one of her hands. “These mountains are cold even in the summer. Put this around you.” He held up a large piece of woolen fabric woven in a deep blue and green tartan.
“Where did you get this?”
“This was all that was left of the meal my cook left. The food was gone but the cloth he spread it on, one of the plaids Bronwyn gave me, was left behind. We’ll need this tonight.” He kept her hand clasped tightly as she tossed the plaid over her arm and they walked toward Kit.
“Would you like to walk to Uncle Stephen’s house?” Miles asked his son.
Kit gave his father a shrewd look. “Where is Sir Guy? A knight doesn’t walk.”
“A knight does what is necessary to protect his women.”
Between the two males passed a long look. Kit might be only four years old but he’d known since birth that he was to be a knight. He’d been given a wooden sword at two and all the stories he’d heard were of chivalry and knighthood. Kit took Elizabeth’s hand. “We will protect you, my lady,” he said formally and kissed her hand.
Miles touched his son’s shoulder in pride. “Now, Kit, run ahead and see what game you can find us. Even a rabbit or two will do.”
“Yes, Papa.” He grinned and scurried away along the side of the stream.
“Should you let him out of our sight?”
“He won’t be. Kit has more sense than to stray too far.”
“You seem little concerned about the loss of your men. Were there signs of a battle?”
“None.” He seemed to dismiss the subject as he stooped, plucked a delicate yellow wildflower and slipped it behind her ear. “You look as if you belong in this wild place with your hair down, your torn dress held together with diamonds. I wouldn’t mind giving you many diamonds, Elizabeth.”
“I would prefer freedom.”
He stepped away f
rom her. “You are no longer my prisoner, Elizabeth Chatworth,” he declared. “You may leave my presence forever.”
She looked about the wild, rough forest. “You are very clever, Montgomery,” she said with disgust.
“I take it that means you’ll stay with me,” he said, eyes twinkling, and before she could answer he lifted her, swirled her about in his arms, planting a kiss on her cheek.
“Release me,” she said but there was a hint of a smile about her lips.