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Josephine simply wanted to end the struggle. She knew Ridge would eventually come away the victor, but she was tired and her head was aching. Almost as an afterthought, she dropped the sword and drew forth the bejeweled dirk at her waist with the serrated blade.

Marching upon the two struggling men, she lifted the dagger high and plunged it into the back of the robber’s neck. She stood back as he collapsed, and Ridge pushed him away. Ridge looked at the man for a moment while he twitched and convulsed, and then turned an amazed face to Josephine.

She stood a few feet away, clad in a linen tunic and her heavy leather breeches. Her long hair hung wildly about her and her scratched face was like stone as she stared back at him. In her hand, he noticed the knife. Without a word, she turned and walked back to the horse.

Ridge watched her go as he rose a bit unsteadily to his feet.

She could have just as easily killed him to gain her freedom, but she didn’t.

He hadn’t seen her fight the boy, but he noted as he came upon the thief how neatly he was gutted.

She had every opportunity to escape but, instead, she chose to help him. He shook his head in wonder; why?

Josephine stood silently by his horse, staring up the road. Ridge packed his spare sword, the one she had used, and then sheathed his primary weapon. The entire time, he stole glances at her, but she never acknowledged him.

Josephine’s mind was a million miles away.

She knew, in the end, there would be no escaping from the king.

If she had killed Ridge, Alexander would have simply sent someone else to retrieve her, and it would only delay the inevitable.

Like it or not, she was going to Edinburgh, and eventually to Haldane, and she decided that it would be better to have an ally on the inside, someone who owed her a debt.

It had been a smart move on her part to kill Ridge’s opponent.

Ridge would be of more use to her alive than dead.

But what of Andrew? Did he even realize she was missing?

If the fighting was heavy, probably not.

If he was de… nay, she couldn’t even finish the thought.

She could not comprehend the thought of him dying.

But she knew deep down he was not dead and that he would come for her and take her away, forever.

Already, she missed him, and her arms ached to hold him.

They had had so little time together. Josephine was not particularly religious, but she found herself praying honestly to the God she’d heard stories told about.

If He would only allow her to see Andrew once more, then she would become devoutly religious.

If not, then she would be dead.

Ridge paused before mounting his destrier; his eyes riveted to Josephine. She had yet to say a word.

“You disposed of that thief quite handily,” he commented.

She nodded. He searched for something more to say, but could think of nothing. After a moment, he spoke.

“My thanks,” he said simply.

Then she looked at him. “For what?”

Ridge wasn’t used to thanking anyone. He cocked a black eyebrow at her for forcing him to say more than he wanted to.

“For killing my fat opponent,” he said. “I thank you for your help. You are a brave young woman.”

She clenched her teeth and squared off with him.

“Allow me to make myself perfectly clear,” she said bluntly.

“I did not kill that man to save you. I did it because I want something from you. You are taking me to a dark realm where nothing is familiar, including the man the king would have me marry. I do not know what lies ahead for me, de Reyne, and I may have need of a strong knight to assist me. I will not ask you again to return me to Torridon, for I know you will not. But in the future, should I call upon you to return the favor that I have bestowed, then you had better come running.”

He looked at her, somewhat impressed at the delicate blackmail she had woven. She had killed his opponent to extract a favor from him. Fair enough; but what type of favor? Despite any misgivings, he nodded chivalrously and mounted the destrier.

He settled himself and extended a hand to help her.

Begrudgingly, she placed her hand in his and he pulled her up as effortlessly as one would lift a pillow.

It was impossible to sit on the same saddle with him and not be intimately pressed against him.

He wouldn’t put her on behind him for fear she’d slide off and perhaps run again, so he put her on his lap.

She stiffened indignantly as her bottom rubbed against his crotch.

But Ridge wasn’t paying attention to the fact that her bottom was against his groin.

He liked women, of course, but he wasn’t thinking of the lady in that way.

He held the reins with one hand while his other went around her waist instinctively to lend support.

She hated it at first but, eventually, she became used to it as the horse pranced down the road that was quickly darkening with sunset.

With each step, Josephine moved further and further away from Torridon, and hot tears sprang to her eyes again. The motion of the horse was hypnotic, and her head soon fell gently back against his broad shoulder. She was very tired from the day’s events and, soon enough, sleep claimed her.

Ridge knew she had been lulled into an exhausted sleep when she went limp in his grasp and started to snore.

He pulled her closer to him so she would not topple over.

He found himself feeling a good deal of pity for her situation.

She was a beautiful and intelligent woman, and she did not deserve the fate that awaited her.

The bodyguard for the king, a man efficient and emotionless, had a deep, softer side that no one saw.

He wasn’t as emotionless as he pretended to be.

His hate for his king grew in that dark night as he traveled the road to Edinburgh.