Page 10 of Ensnaring the Dove
Halting on the western bank, Aedan took a few moments to recover his breath. He finally released his companion’s hand, allowing her to sink down onto a wide, flat rock. “Rest a little,” he panted. “While I make us a raft.”
She nodded, her wide grey eyes—the same color as the surrounding river stones—surveying him warily. Sweat trickled down her flushed face.
He flashed her a tight smile. “I’m Aedan, by the way.”
Her throat bobbed before the tip of a pink tongue darted out, wetting her lips. The gesture was unconsciously sensual, and Aedan found himself staring at her mouth—which was both small and lush. “My name’s Colombia,” she replied huskily.
“Dove,” he murmured, his smile widening. “That’s a pretty name.”
Alarm ignited in those smoky eyes, and she took a smart step back, nostrils flaring, ready to bolt.
“Whoa.” Aedan lifted his hands in a placating gesture before lowering his voice. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She stared back at him. Her slight frame trembled now as the shock of what she’d just narrowly escaped hit her. “Do you swear it?”
“I do.” He reached up and placed a hand over his heart. “On my mother’s memory.”
Moments passed before Colombia slowly nodded. However, when she spoke, her voice held a quaver. “Who were those men?”
“Outlaws.”
The flush upon her cheeks deepened, her jaw tightening. “Were you with them?”
“I was.” He held her gaze steadily. “But not any longer.”
They stared at each other for a long moment before Colombia asked, “How is it you speak my tongue?”
“I was a Roman slave for a time.” Satisfied she wasn’t going to flee back down the hill toward their pursuers, Aedan turned away and hurriedly started collecting long, thin pieces of driftwood from along the riverbank. “My former owner taught me your language.”
“You speak it well.”
Aedan gave a soft snort. “I had plenty of practice.”
He turned his attention from her then, continuing his collection. Luckily, there was plenty of driftwood strewn by the river. He had to work fast; when he had enough branches, he would weave them together in a lattice to form a raft. It wouldn’t be a sturdy craft, but it just needed to get them out of the woods and far enough away from Maccus and his band.
They’d outdistanced them for a short while, but the outlaws would be gaining on them again now they’d stopped.
They weren’t safe yet.
V. AN UNLIKELY SAVIOR
COLOMBIA CONCENTRATED ON taking deep, even breaths as her pulse gradually slowed and the terror that had given her feet wings subsided to a fluttering anxiety in her belly.
Seated upon a sun-warmed rock, she noted the light was fading. The sky above was the color of old bone, the air cool, and a wind, laced with the scent of moss and damp earth, whispered through the trees surrounding the river. It was a lonely, wild spot. Sharp rocks peeked up through the foaming water, and branches and twigs littered the stony riverbanks.
However, Colombia’s attention didn’t remain on her environs for long.
Her gaze returned to her unlikely savior.
Aedan.
The warrior had collected a pile of branches and now knelt before them, deftly weaving the wood in a crisscross pattern. The sculpted muscles of his bare, lightly freckled arms flexed as he worked—and Colombia noted the blue swirls that had been etched into the skin of his upper arms. Tribal markings.
Aedan’s bright-blue eyes narrowed in concentration as he worked with impressive speed. A couple of years her elder, he had shaggy light-auburn hair that kept falling in his eyes. Unlike the men he’d saved her from—who’d all sported thick, drooping mustaches—he was clean-shaven. His hands, which worked the branches into a raft, were long-fingered and nimble.
Colombia continued to survey him, her pulse quickening once more. Fear tightened her throat.
Could she trust him?