Page 6 of A Lover for Lady Jane (The Welsh Rebels #5)

Chapter Four

N o !

The word exploded in Griffin’s mind. He’d seen the frightful scene as if it had happened twice as slow as normal.

Taran, flying over the clearing like a bird with the dark-haired Jane perfectly balanced on his back.

The horse, stepping into a hole, and falling, sending his rider rolling at his feet like a dislocated rag doll.

Damn Geraint’s eyes! This could have been predicted all too easily.

Griffin had warned him only the day before that he thought the horse needed re-shoeing.

The man had waved the comment away, snarling that they had lost enough time already.

They would shoe him once they’d reached their destination, not a moment before.

There was no need, as they were only walking or trotting anyway.

Well, look at the result!

The poor horse might be injured beyond repair—and Jane might be dead.

He was the first to reach her, since he’d not been far behind. Because he’d been busy checking Eryr for an injury that wasn’t there, he’d been the only one next to his horse, and therefore able to mount and gallop after her in a heartbeat when the stallion had bolted off.

When he’d heard Taran scarper away, he’d not imagined for a moment that Jane had been the one kicking him into action.

His first thought had been that the animal had taken fright, surprised by a flock of birds bursting out of the branches or a sudden smell no one else had detected.

It had quickly become obvious, however, that the woman sitting on top of the galloping stallion was an expert rider.

Had she been as inexperienced and nervous as she had led them to believe, she would have been unseated immediately.

No. He now knew the truth. Jane had been the one kicking Taran into action.

She had been trying to flee. And why not?

She was a captive after all. It was what clever, determined captives did.

How had he not guessed that was what she was about to do? Just before Taran had vanished in a thunder of hooves, she’d thrown him a piercing look. Something like an apology had gleamed in her amazing eyes. Now he understood. She was saying goodbye before disappearing.

Damn it all, she would have made it, if the horse had been properly shod!

Heart in his throat, he jumped off the saddle. Panic had caused his lungs to seize in his chest, and he wasn’t sure how he would react if he saw that she was dead.

“My lady!” He fell on his knees by her side. She was not moving. Why was she not moving? He could not shake her, not when he didn’t know what, if anything, was wrong with her. “My lady, please, say something. It’s me. Griffin.”

“It’s over,” he heard her say after a while.

Relief swept through him, stronger than any emotion he’d felt in his life.

If she was speaking, even if she sounded dejected, it meant she wasn’t dead.

That was the most important thing. Now he had to know if she, or her babe, were injured.

He placed a hand over her shoulder, when he wanted to put it on her stomach.

“Don’t move. You might have a broken bone. How do you feel?”

“It’s over,” she repeated, sounding on the verge of tears.

So he’d been right. This hadn’t been an unfortunate mishap. She had meant to escape, and she was crushed not to have succeeded. “Are you injured?” he asked again.

That was all he worried about at the moment, and he needed to know.

She shook her head, a tear rolling down her cheek.

He desperately wanted to wipe that tear away, because he understood her disappointment all too well.

He would have done the same in her place, tried to flee.

When he had launched himself in pursuit, it had not been to stop her.

He’d intended to pace Eryr, so as not to catch up with her up until they’d reached the cover of the trees.

Once hidden from view, he would have asked her how best he could help in her attempt.

Let him face Geraint’s fury later for not being able to stop her, he cared not.

He’d wanted her gone, he’d wanted her safe, even if seeing her go was tearing at his heart.

But now, as she’d said, it was all over.

“I know you tried to escape,” he whispered in her ear, though no one could have heard, least of all understand him.

Her green eyes pierced him, but she did not deny it. “Please, don’t tell the men I?—”

“What the devil happened here?” Geraint boomed, bringing his horse to a skidding halt behind him.

Griffin nodded imperceptivity at Jane. She would not be able to understand what he was saying in Welsh, of course, so he was asking her to trust him. Her secret was safe. No one would know she had attempted to flee; she would not face retribution for the failed attempt.

“What do you think happened? As could have been predicted, Taran spooked and then tripped when he couldn’t control himself in his panic.

He’s now likely lost a shoe, if not injured himself, by stepping into a hole.

I told you he needed to see a farrier.” He stood back up, bristling with intent.

This time, he wouldn’t be denied, not when Jane’s safety was at stake.

Let the man do what he wanted to him, but he would not allow her to get injured in any way.

“It is not safe for the lady to continue riding him. A rider as inexperienced as she is should not be allowed to ride such a young, unstable stallion. I thought you wanted her to reach Castell Esgyrn intact?”

He hated using that word, which made her sound like a possession, but the argument seemed to convince Geraint.

“Very well,” he agreed. “We’ll have to find a solution. Get her up. We’ve lost enough time already.”

He didn’t get down from the saddle, never once asked if she was hurt from the fall. Griffin’s blood was galloping in his veins as fast as the horses’ had done a moment ago. How much longer he would be able to hide his irritation was anyone’s guess. His patience was quickly running out.

He bent down to lift Jane up, but she pushed him away and wobbled back on to her feet unaided. Far from being offended, he was relieved to see that she was determined and able to stand on her own. It showed that her spirit and her body were both intact.

“Go get Taran back,” Geraint told him next. “You’ll lead him back to the men and ride with him in hand. I will take the wench on Tywysog with me.”

There was no choice but to obey. Griffin turned to Jane to explain that she was to go with the man and sit on the horse with him.

She swallowed and nodded, visibly bracing herself at the idea of being in such proximity to her enemy.

The idea of Geraint wrapping his arms around her upset him as well.

It felt wrong, and his fault. Perhaps he should not have suggested she stop riding Taran, but he’d panicked and thought only of her safety.

He could not have her on a restless, injured horse.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered, before hastening over to where Taran was waiting, munching on some lush grass in the distance.

Jane watched Griffin head to the edge of the woods to retrieve the stallion, leaving her alone with Geraint.

What would the man do once she was in his arms?

To her relief, he seemed angry at yet another delay rather than suspicious about a possible escape attempt on her part.

She knew she had Griffin to thank for that.

Reliable to the last, he’d done exactly what she would have asked him to do if she’d had time to talk.

He’d pretended the flight had been an accident caused by Taran’s nervousness and kept her real intentions secret even though he’d guessed she was attempting to flee.

She would have to find a way to thank him once all this madness was over.

Geraint guided his mount to a piece of rock that would act as a mounting block and gestured at her to come closer.

“Come, sit in front of me,” he instructed, pointing at the pommel of his saddle.

Determined to be contrary, and knowing she was not supposed to understand the instructions anyway, Jane stood on the rock and hoisted herself up as best she could on the stallion’s rump.

This, unsurprisingly, did not go down well.

“I told you to go in front!” he snapped before muttering to himself. “Bloody hell. Will there be no end to this torment? Why couldn’t we have abducted the other sister, the one who actually speaks Welsh? It would have been fitting she served a second time to get to Sheridan.”

A second time . In that moment Jane understood who Hywel was, and what he wanted with her father.

Revenge for his dead father.

The man had to be none other than the son of the rebel who had forced her mother to hand over her English husband to his group of men all those years ago.

Gruffydd ap Hywel, his name had been. Evidently, he had named his son after his own father, as was common practice.

That was why the name had niggled at Jane’s mind.

The whole family had heard about how the old rebel, who’d been a friend of her father’s, had blackmailed Esyllt into opening the castle to him shortly after her wedding.

By using Sian, who’d only been seven at the time, he’d forced her to hand over her husband to men intent on killing an English lord.

Only her uncle’s timely intervention had prevented the murder.

Connor Hunter had been saved and, after months of searching, the two brothers had finally located the rebel who’d gone in hiding.

Together they had put an end to the monster’s life.

Everyone had thought it had been the end of it.

They had been wrong. Now she was being used to get to the mighty Lord Sheridan.

Despair made her choke. Why had she failed in her escape attempt? There would not be another, not if she was to ride pillion with Geraint.