The Pillars Of The World

wanted him, and you wouldn’t give a damn what it might mean to her. You’d even use one of Granny Gwynn’s potions to do it if you couldn’t entice him any other way. But Ari would never do that.
    Never .”
    “How dare you?” Baron Felston said. “How dare you say such things to my daughter? How dare you side with that witch against your family? Have you forgotten who’s fed you, clothed you, given you a roof over your head for all these years?”
    “I’ve forgotten nothing,” Neall snapped. “I haven’t forgotten that you’ve begrudged me every mouthful of food and every castoff piece of clothing.”
    “I’ve made allowances for you because your father was a gentleman in name only, but—”
    “My father was more of a gentleman than you’ll ever be,” Neall said.

    Baron Felston’s face flushed to an ugly red. “Get out of my house. Get out and stay out. You set foot on my land again, I’ll horsewhip you.”
    “It will be a pleasure to leave you,” Neall said. He turned and walked out of the room. When he reached the staircase, he checked to make sure none of them were watching him. Then he raced up the stairs and ran down the corridor to his room. Let the servants think what they would; he needed to get out of here before Felston—or, more likely, Royce—thought about trying to keep the one thing he truly valued: Darcy. He hadn’t paid Ahern anywhere near what the gelding was worth, but he’d paid the asking price out of his own money, from the paltry wage Felston had reluctantly paid him for all his work on the estate.
    Within minutes, he had stuffed his saddlebags with a couple of changes of clothing and his grooming tools. He took his bow and the quiver of arrows, then looked around the room to see if there was anything he’d missed that he would regret leaving behind. He grabbed the threadbare winter coat from its hook on the wall and left the room.
    Down the servants’ staircase and out the kitchen door. Running to the stables as quietly as he could.
    Opening the doors for whatever light the moon would provide, then slipping inside and moving down the wide aisle.
    Darcy’s head appeared over the stall door.
    “Shh,” Neall said quietly before the horse could greet him. There was always one stableboy sleeping in the loft in case he was needed. He listened, heard a muted snore. Good.
    Leaving his things beside Darcy’s stall, he opened the door and motioned the animal to stay. Moving as quietly as he could, he got his saddle and bridle from the tack room.
    Darcy didn’t even shift his feet while Neall saddled him and arranged the saddlebags and the rest of his gear.
    “Let’s go,” Neall whispered. He walked the gelding out of the stables. It was easier to close the doors that way.
    As Neall turned to close the doors, Darcy snorted a warning. Neall spun around, swung into the saddle just as Royce ran toward the stables, shouting, “Thief! Thief! He’s stealing our horse!”
    Before Neall could collect the reins, Darcy charged straight at Royce. In the moonlight, Neall saw Royce
    ’s eyes widen with fear as he skidded to a stop and barely flung himself out of the gelding’s path.
    Darcy raced down the estate drive. When they reached the road, Neall tried to slow the animal, but the gelding had the bit between his teeth and refused to obey. They raced down a road full of moonlight and shadows—and Neall realized that they weren’t running away from Baron Felston’s estate and the village of Ridgeley; they were running toward something. And someone.
    “We can’t go there,” Neall said firmly. Holding Darcy back wasn’t easy, but he’d had enough time to consider what to do before they’d reached this point in the road. “Not tonight.”
    If he showed up at Ari’s cottage tonight, she would let him stay. He couldn’t do that. The choice to come with him had to be her own. It couldn’t be made because he had to leave now. Tomorrow he would ride over to Brightwood.

    “This way,” Neall said, turning the gelding away from Brightwood. “We’ll see Ari tomorrow.” Darcy made one more try at heading where he wanted to go, then set off down the road in a heavy-footed, bone-jarring trot that made Neall grit his teeth to keep from biting his tongue.
    There were still lights on at Ahern’s farm. There was even a small bonfire between the house and stables.
    Yes, Neall thought with grim amusement, Ahern and his men would still be celebrating the Solstice.
    As he