Free His Captive by Diana J. Cosby

misstep.
    The freedom she’d sought lay before her, except now, her path was laden with naught but regret.
    With the back of her hand, she swiped away the tears and pushed herself to her feet. However much it went against her every belief, she must leave him here.
    A large tear wobbled on her chin. He may not receive a burial fitting of his status, but she’d not leave him without his dignity. She would cover his body.
    At least he’d have that.
    On shaky legs, she retrieved one of the two blankets from the saddle roll and knelt by Alexander’s side. Instead of covering him, she pressed her hand upon his cheek, needing to touch him one more time.
    “I—I am so sorry.”
    Her hand shook as she traced the cool lines of his warrior’s face, seeing only compassion in the hard angles; wanting to remember him as a man who could touch her heart.
    What was it about him that’d made her care? He’d abducted her. Thrown her entire life in chaos. Yet, his passing incited grief; a depth the like of which she’d not experienced since her parents’ death.
    Nichola leaned over and gently kissed his brow. “Good-bye, Alexander.” Her hands shook as she draped the blanket over his battle-honed body.
    She pushed to her feet, ran to his horse and picked up the reins. And looked back toward him. Please God, let a kind soul find and properly tend to Alexander’s body.
    Nichola set her foot in the stirrup and pulled herself up onto the saddle, the worn leather empty without Alexander’s formidable presence.
    Wood snapped nearby.
    Her pulse rammed in her throat. She scanned the dense thicket, expecting an enraged Scot to emerge and accuse her of murder.
    A roebuck’s flag flashed in the distance, then disappeared.
    Look at her falling apart at the breaking of a stick. Her fingers tightened on the reins. And why wouldn’t she? She’d just killed a man. Now, she was stealing his horse. If anyone spotted her with Alexander’s body nearby, however unintentional her act, she would be hung.
    A cold shudder swept through her. Her breath hitched as she stole one final glance toward Alexander. “Good-bye,” she whispered. On a sob, she urged his steed south.
    The horse didn’t move.
    On a shaky breath, Nichola nudged her knees against his sides. “On with you.”
    The horse swung its massive head toward her with an indignant snort. A wide brown eye stared at her with interest. Then he flattened his ears back, his expression as stubborn as his master’s.
    The reason why he refused to move dawned on her with dismay. Often knights trained their horses to remain by their side. The bay recognized her as a stranger and was waiting for Alexander. He refused to leave him.
    Nichola nudged the horse’s sides harder.
    He sidestepped.
    She yanked at the reins.
    He whinnied and tossed his head, nearly jerking her from the saddle.
    Would this nightmare never end? Without the use of Alexander’s horse, she would have to travel on foot. Without another option, Nichola tossed the reins to the ground and dismounted; the task difficult as her gown caught on the saddle several times before she was able to dismount.
    On the ground, she loosened the second blanket and food stores Alexander had secured from the tavern. She paused. Where was the water pouch? Then she remembered. Alexander had it in his hands when she’d hit him.
    As much as she wanted to avoid going near Alexander’s body, she would need water as she traveled. Her breath hitched as she ran back. At the stream, she stared for a long moment at Alexander’s prone, blanket covered form. Grief swelled in her throat until she struggled for each breath. On a cry, she snatched the full water pouch, turned and started walking south.
    Away from Alexander.
    Forever.
    As she traveled throughout the morning, Nichola scanned the dense forest, broken only by swaths of heather strewn fields. Until she reached English soil, she needed to stay as hidden as possible. She dared not trust anyone.
    She had