Free Chase the Dawn by Jane Feather

light of the sun; huge, spreading chestnuts whose leaves filtered the light that dappled the mossy carpet at her feet. There were bright animal eyes, too, and rustlings; the knocking of a woodpecker, much less alarming than the funny snaking slithers that brought clammy sweat to the palms of her hands. Every now and again, she would remember that some snakes lived in trees, waiting curled against a gray branch for a movement beneath; and when she remembered that, Bryony thought that death was probably preferable to the terror of anticipation.It seemed that, except when she was with Ben, there was only terror.
    She stubbed her toe on an upthrust root and dropped to the ground with a moan of misery, rubbing the injured foot. A sudden shiver ran down her spine. Abruptly she looked up—into a grinning bronzed face. Bryony screamed, leaping to her feet. She continued to scream, drowning out the words of the Indian, who was joined almost immediately by his two companions. Then a flat palm slapped against her right cheek, and she fell silent with a sobbing breath.
    “Your pardon,” the Indian who had struck her apologized carelessly. “But you weren’t listening. Ben wants you back.” He gestured with a flick of his hand to the right, and Bryony belatedly came to her senses. She had run needlessly from Ben’s friends. The doeskin tunic she was wearing—hadn’t he said it came from a friend? Tears of mortification at her foolishness stabbed, and she blinked hastily. A finger prodded her in the small of the back, and she realized that she was still standing in the same spot. “Not good for a man’s woman to run off,” the owner of the finger declared.
    Bryony’s tears dried miraculously. “I am
not
Ben’s woman!”
    A disbelieving “humph” came from behind her, and the finger jabbed again. She set off in the required direction, thinking with an absurd and slightly hysterical bubble of laughter that her three captors obviously did not realize they were responsible for her flight. And how would Benedict see it? The thought sobered her instantly. She had violated her parole. But surely he would understand.
    She found herself in the clearing in a ludicrouslyshort time—an embarrassingly short time! No more than a quarter of an hour, yet she had been wandering, lost, for an eternity.
    “Sweet Jesus!” Ben strode toward the little group. “You gave me your word!” His hands closed over her shoulders, his eyes charcoal embers as he shook her. Bryony pushed vigorously against his chest with clenched fists.
    “I was frightened!” she protested, instinctively adopting the policy of attack as the best form of defense. “I do not know who your friends are! I know
nothing
about you. You left me here alone—”
    Ben silenced her with his mouth, hard in its enforcement, yet making his own statement of relief. Their audience, appearing to find nothing untoward about the spectacle, returned to squat at the open-air hearth as they had done throughout the afternoon. The trouble with the woman had simply delayed their talk with Ben, but patience was a quality they had in abundance.
    “Where have you been?” Benedict demanded, releasing her lips at last.
    “I do not know,” she said miserably. “To hell and back, I think. There is so much to be frightened of, Ben, when you have neither comprehension nor memory to make sense of things.”
    Slowly, he nodded as he made space in the circuitous turmoil of anger and relief for empathetic understanding. He smoothed the tumbled hair from her brow, his thumbs massaging her temples as a rueful smile played over his lips. “Poor lass. You are having a rough time of it, these days. A little brandy, I think, is called for. Come and be introduced properly to my friends.”
    “I thought I was not supposed to meet your friends.”In spite of a distressing afternoon followed by inordinate relief, Bryony was still capable of challenge.
    “That depends on the friends,” he said in a level