Free The Bride Hunt by Margo Maguire Page B

dropped into the water. Then she used the moment of distraction to retrace her path through the trees. Roger was much smaller than Anvrai—in every way. And he was definitely not as robust as the other knight. Isabel wondered how their escape would have gone if she’d had to rely upon Roger instead of Anvrai to get them away.
    Afraid she knew the answer to that question, Isabel walked directly to the place where Anvrai had dragged their stolen currach and knelt at the water’s edge. She did not want to think anymore.
    She slipped her hands into the water and rinsed them, cooling all her scrapes and blisters and cleaning away the last traces of the chieftain’s blood.

Chapter 8
    A nvrai felt almost human again. Since he’d used the hermit’s blade on his face and washed the filth of captivity from every pore, he could go and check the snares he’d set.
    He returned to the cave and found only Roger. Isabel was gone.
    Telling himself ’twas impossible for her to become lost on their small shelf of land, he headed toward the tunnel that would lead him to the south side of the cave. He stepped outside and saw that the wind had picked up, and heavy clouds were moving in their direction. It would soon become colder.
    He wondered if Isabel had noticed the change in weather, or if he should leave hissnares and go searching for her. Would she feel the cold edge of the wind and know that she should return to the cave?
    Anvrai turned to go back, but stopped himself. Isabel was a grown woman who could look after herself. By the sky’s appearance, they were going to be trapped inside the cave for at least one day, and he could only hope his snares had already trapped something they could eat.
    He stood above the dale and looked out, searching for the paths that would lead them south, to England. The route did not appear difficult, but if Roger survived, he would be weak, and Isabel’s foot was injured. Neither was a good prospect for moving rapidly.
    Mayhap the hermit had a wain or cart stored somewhere nearby. The man must have used something to carry his firewood and crops back to his retreat. If Anvrai could find it, Isabel and Roger would be able to sit in it while he pulled them to Kettwyck.
    He looked for it as he scrambled down the path to the dale, but saw no signs of a wain nor any wheel tracks. His luck changed when he came upon his snares. Two birds had been trapped, fat partridges. Anvrai collected them and a few more eggs, then replaced his traps and returned to the cave where Roger lay groaning. “Isabel?” the lad called weakly.
    Anvrai could do naught for him. If the boy was strong enough, he would survive. He set the partridges on the floor near the fire and went to the cave entrance.
    From the water a light mist had come up to cover the ground. Isabel should have already returned. She’d had ample time to take care of her needs. The lady might be a grown woman, but ’twas sure she hadn’t sense enough to come inside when the weather threatened.
    He headed for the area where he’d landed the boat and found Isabel bending over the water, washing her hands.
    She’d removed his tunic, and the thin cloth of her chemise molded to her buttocks, showing such detail that he could see a small mole on one side.
    She sat up abruptly when he cleared his throat. “You startled me!” Her face flooded with color, but she did not look away, as she usually did.
    “It’s about to rain,” he said.
    She looked like a goddess of old, rising out of the mist with her fair skin, golden eyes, and that dark, curling hair swirling down her back. “Your beard…”
    “’Twas itchy. The hermit had a razor, so I made use of it.”
    “Must you shave it every day?” A smallcrease formed between her delicate brows, and Anvrai realized she must know naught of men if she had to ask that.
    He nodded, suddenly uncomfortable as she studied his neck.
    “You cut yourself,” she said. She stood and moved close, then touched a finger