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CHAPTER TWO

T he world outside the carriage blurred into shades of wet grey and brittle pine as the wheels creaked and jostled over uneven stone and mud.

A low mist had settled over the moors by late evening, clinging to the edges of tree trunks like cobwebs reluctant to let go.

Agnes watched it move through the open window of the carriage, her hand curled loosely around the frame as though tethering herself to something solid.

It had been a day and a half since they had left home.

She was still felt suspended in the space between departure and destination, as if time itself had lost its footing.

The hours bled together with little mercy.

She was the kind of tired that seeped into the bones and made them ache from memory alone, not the kind that sleep cured.

A soft clop of hooves drew her attention.

One of the guards, a younger man with fair lashes and a crooked smile, had been riding beside her window for the better part of the last hour.

She had not spoken to him at first, but there was something disarming about his presence.

He couldn’t have been more than eighteen.

He had offered her a piece of honeyed oatcake, clearly pilfered from their breakfast supply, and she’d accepted it with a smile that surprised even her at that moment.

“I dinnae think I’ve ever seen fog settle this thick in this part o’ the road,” he said lightly, adjusting his grip on the reins. “Must be the moors tryin’ tae warn us off.”

Agnes tilted her head slightly, lips curving. “Warn us off what?”

He grinned, boyish and easy. “Whatever it is that waits on the road, me lady.”

She laughed genuinely this time. The sound surprised her again, lifting from her chest like a leaf caught on the wind. “Och, ye sound like me old nursemaid. She used tae say moors like this were cursed.”

“Perhaps they are.”

“Perhaps we are,” she countered with a laugh, before she could stop herself.

The guard’s expression faltered, but only for a breath. “Well then, we’ll be cursed together, aye?”

The words settled something restless inside her. She did not know his name, but she knew kindness when she heard it, and there had been precious little of that in the last months. Perhaps even years.

“Guard yer tongue.”

The voice cut through the air like the crack of a whip.

Agnes turned, heart skipping as Tav rode up beside them on his, his dark cloak catching in the wind like a shadow with a mind of its own.

Agnes turned, her heart stumbling as Tav rode up beside them, his steed’s powerful strides eating up the distance.

His dark cloak snapped behind him like a living shadow, the wind carving its shape against the broad planes of his shoulders.

Gods, he was a vision—all controlled strength and lethal grace.

His jaw was clenched tight, the muscle flickering with restrained fury, but his eyes were what stole her breath, storm-dark and locked onto the young guard with a focus that could’ve cut steel. A shiver raced down her spine.

“Ye’ll ride ahead, from now on,” Tav said, voice quiet but sharp enough to bleed. “Dinnae let me hear ye speak tae her again.”

The young guard hesitated, clearly stunned. His eyes darted to Agnes and back to Tav.

Who daes he think he is?

“Now.”

The boy urged his horse forward with a muttered apology, his smile gone. Agnes watched him disappear into the mist ahead, a bitter taste blooming on her tongue, as a pang of shame pierced her chest.

“That was entirely unnecessary,” she said, turning her eyes sharply toward Tav. “He was simply being kind tae me. Nay one has spoken tae me fer the past two days.”

Tav did not meet her gaze. “It isnae his place tae be kind tae ye.”

Her temper sparked. “And whose place is it, then? Yers? Because if so, ye’ve a strange way o’ showing it.”

Tav’s expression did not flicker. He simply strode forward, his hands tightening on the horse's reins. The movement caused the serpent tattoo coiled across his right hand to flex like a living creature.

“It’s me duty tae keep the guards in line. Tae remind them o’ their rank. And yers.”

She leaned out the window farther, brows drawn tight. “Ye shamed him. And fer what? Bein’ nice tae me?”

“He forgot himself. I reminded him.”

“Ye humiliated him.”

He finally met her eyes then, and the electric intensity there made her breath catch.

“I protected ye.”

The silence between them stretched until it frayed.

Agnes sat back, her heart pounding for reasons she couldn’t untangle. She wanted to tell him he was wrong. That she had survived worse than a stranger’s kindness. That he didn’t know her.

But the words died in her throat when she caught the way the pale light gilded his profile. The sharp angle of his jaw shadowed with stubble, the stubborn set of his mouth that softened just slightly when he thought no one was looking, took her breath away.

Instead, she folded her hands in her lap and turned her face back toward the mist-covered path, pretending she did not care that the silence between them had teeth and was sinking them into her skin.

She didn’t see the arrow until it struck.

It embedded itself with a vicious thwack into the side of the carriage, just inches from where her head had been moments before. Splinters exploded into the air like shrapnel, and the horses whinnied loud—unearthly sounds that cut straight through the marrow of her bones.

A second arrow flew. Then a third. Screams erupted, soldiers barking orders, steel being drawn. The carriage rocked violently as the horses reared, panicked and bucking.

“AMBUSH!” Tav’s voice thundered above the chaos, sharp and commanding.

Agnes froze.

A cold clarity spread through her paralyzing her brain but sharpening her senses.

She ducked instinctively, her fingers gripping the edge of the bench as the carriage tilted with the motion of the frenzied horses. Through the narrow slats of the window, she caught sight of shadows moving in the fog, blades glinting, bodies lunging.

Tav was off his horse in an instant, sword drawn, barking commands to the guards with terrifying efficiency.

“Protect Lady Kerr!” he shouted. “She is our priority!”

Two guards flanked the carriage, forming a line with their bodies and shields.

Agnes’s hands trembled, but she didn’t cry out. Her heart was hammering, her breaths ragged—but she did not scream. She would not scream.

The door flew open. Tav’s face was wild, his dark hair damp with sweat and mist, his tunic streaked with mud.

“Hide!” he commanded. “Under the bench—now.”

“I—” she began.

“Nay arguments. Now! ”

There was something in his voice that she had never heard before, powerful and in control, despite the chaos erupting around him.

She dropped to the floor of the carriage, skirts bunching beneath her knees, and crawled beneath the wooden bench as more arrows thudded into the carriage walls.

“I’ll come back fer ye. Stay down. Stay silent.”

Then he was gone.

Darkness folded over her like a shroud. The underside of the bench pressed against her back, and the floor vibrated with the force of bodies clashing outside.

Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms.

This is nae happening. This is nae happening.

But it was. And she knew it.

She’d been raised on stories of battle. She knew what an ambush was, and what it meant to be targeted.

The world had narrowed to the dark space beneath the bench, the splintered wood pressing against her back, the metallic taste of fear coating her tongue. Every crash against the carriage, every shout from outside, sent fresh tremors through her body.

A thought circled her mind like a vulture. If she died there, what would be of them? Her father, already worn thin from years of struggle. Constance, who'd sacrificed so much already. The entire clan vulnerable, exposed.

No money meant no mercenaries. No armies meant no protection. Her death wouldn't just be an ending. It would be a noose around every throat she loved.

A scream outside yanked her back into the present. Her whole body tensed.

One of their guards.

Agnes squeezed her eyes shut, but then forced them open again, daring to peek through the carriage window.

Chaos. Steel flashing, Tav at the center of it all, moving like a storm given flesh. He pivoted, his sword arcing in a lethal silver streak. A bandit fell, throat gaping. Blood sprayed the ground, bright as poppies. Gods, he was terrifying. Beautiful. A man who killed like it was breathing.

If Tav fell, she'd be next. Her father had always kept the man at arm's length from her, assigning him border patrols and distant missions. Nae fit company fer a laird’s daughter , he'd grumble. Now she understood why. Tav Graham was a walking weapon and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.

Rough hands grabbed the edge of the carriage, then the door. Agnes held her breath.

“Someone's in here.”

Panic sliced through her body like a knife.

The door burst open again. She bit back a sob, curling tighter beneath the bench. It was sudden, jarring. A man’s weathered, cruel face appeared in the narrow opening.

“There ye are,” he rasped.

Agnes reacted without thinking. Her body moved before her mind could catch up, scrambling across the carriage floor, fingers clawing for the opposite door.

The man lunged, but she slammed her shoulder into the door and scrambled out of the carriage into the daylight. The air was thick with the stench of blood and mud and horses, the sky above blurred and dim, as if clouds themselves were afraid to witness what had unfolded below.

She ran.

The ground was soft with rot, branches cracking underfoot as she tore into the woods, skirts gathered in trembling hands.

Her breath came sharp and wild. Panic clawed up her throat with every step.

She could hear them—heavy footfalls behind her, the crash of boots on undergrowth, the cruel laughter that followed like a shadow.