Faced with the clear proof of attempted murder, fear became a cold, sharp-clawed beast skittering frantic inside of him. Jerin looked up, eyes to the woods again, ears straining.

Chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee, called the little birds, flirting in the brush. Deeper into the woods, something unseen crashed in the bracken and then went still. Jerin bit down on a yelp of fear and levered the soldier over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He scrambled quickly back up the bank.

Heria had tied the mare to a sapling, leaving her hands free to shoot. She crouched in the weeds, scanning the woods as Jerin juggled himself and the soldier up into the saddle.

“Get on behind me,” he ordered Heria.

“I can walk.” She untied the mare and handed him the reins. “It would be easier.”

“Not quicker. Get on.”

She scrambled up. “When we get to the house. I’ll ride out for the Queens Justice,” Heria said as he kicked the mare into a smooth canter for home. “I’ll tell them that Blush and Leia are here alone with you and the boys. That will bring them quick. Then I’ll go out to the Brindles’ for Corelle.”

A slight stirring made him look down at the woman in his arms. She opened her eyes and looked up at him in surprise, apparently confused by her wounds. Memory seeped in, tainting her look with fear, stiffening her in his hold.

“Hush, you’re fine, you’re safe,” he crooned softly in his best fatherly-comfort voice.

Her eyes closed, a smile slipped onto her lips, and she relaxed against his chest.