The Reiver Read Online Free Page B

their smaller numbers. Lord John had died in the ambush mere seconds after crossing the river. Duncan’s father, along with a sizable portion of the Maxwell, Armstrong, and Douglas clan had followed him to the grave minutes later. Duncan himself had managed to escape with the routed army, but not before receiving the sharp tip of a Johnstone sword to the cheek.
    He had sworn on that day never again to enter a battle on territory he didn’t know as well as his own newly-altered face. And never to forgive the Johnstones for their perfidy.
    But he did not want the hostility those old memories inspired to interrupt the peaceful contentment of the moment, and so he placed his hand over hers and held it against his cheek. “But at least I know now never to trust a Johnstone.”
    “Aye, that you do,” she said softly, resting her head back on the curve of his shoulder. For the time being, he decided to let the issue of her name rest. After a few moments of silence, she stirred in his arms.
    “What is the trouble now, runag ?”
    “I need to…that is…” she stuttered, her cheeks pinkening. “I must go outside and relieve myself,” she finished in an embarrassed rush.
    Being a gentleman, of course he allowed her to get up and put on her shirt and breeches before heading out into the windy chill of the afternoon. And after what had just passed between them, it didn’t occur to him to follow her outside to keep an eye on her. After all, he trusted her.
    It was only when he heard the sound of horse’s hooves that he realized the truth.
    She hadn’t needed to relieve herself at all. All along, she had planned to escape.

    The border between Maxwell and Johnstone land was in sight. Jamie Johnstone, great-niece of Sir James Johnstone and one of his many namesakes—albeit, as far as she knew, the only female one—was nearly home.
    Duncan Maxwell’s big black stallion bore her over the rough, rocky terrain with breathtaking speed and ease. Saddled now with the roan mare he’d given her to ride, the laird of Lochmorton would never overtake them before she reached safety. Likely, he would not even try.
    Free. She was almost free.
    Why, then, did she feel as though her heart was being torn to shreds and pounded into the ground with every beat of the horse’s hooves? Her throat was raw and her eyes burned, but still she rode toward the border.
    This was for the best. If Duncan discovered the truth of who she was, he would hate her. He had said himself he had learned never to trust a Johnstone. Until that moment, she had held out the smallest sliver of hope that they could be happy, that perhaps he did not share in his family’s ingrained hatred toward hers. But that had always been a slim and dangerous hope, for she had known from the beginning that he had been at Dryfe Sands, that he had lost his father there. The Lockerbie lick on his cheek told the tale of his participation in the battle, even his tongue did not. And how could a man fail to despise the people who had killed his own father?
    Her people.
    She slowed the horse to a walk after the crossing the border. There was no indication that she was being followed, and although the animal showed no signs of tiring, even a horse as magnificent as Curaidh could not maintain such a breakneck pace indefinitely. It would be difficult to convince her brothers to return a horse as fine as he to the Maxwell stable, but she could not in good conscience keep him.
    That alone told her a great deal had changed. Once upon a time, she’d had no conscience at all.
    Jamie Johnstone’s days as a reiver were over.

    Squinting in the darkness, Jamie closed the stall door behind Curaidh, wincing at the loud creak of the hinges. She paused for a moment, listening for any hint of a human presence, but heard only the annoyed snorts and curious whickers of horses whose nightly rest had been disturbed.
    She took a deep, cleansing breath. It was ridiculous for her to be so on edge. No one would