The Open Channel by Jill Morrow

Author:Jill Morrow [Morrow, Jill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781416516583
Publisher: Paraview Pocket Books
Published: 2005-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

21

“A H, I SOBEL.” H UGH ’S VOICE FLOATED BACK TO ISOBEL AS SHE struggled to keep up with his long strides. “You heard me call to you even though I never spoke a word. Perhaps my hope in you is not misplaced.”

Of course his hope was not misplaced, though Isobel could not convince him of this unless he slowed his steps. She drew in a ragged breath and increased her own speed to a trot.

Hugh’s pace did not flag. “You knew to pass through the gate and follow me,” he said with smug satisfaction. “Perhaps you cannot speak, but there is nothing amiss with your ability to understand. Believe me, my dear, the gift of comprehension is of far greater value to me than the gift of idle chatter.”

She finally pulled alongside him, gasping for breath as she did so. Must he travel so quickly? Perhaps he feared that Aunt Alys and Father Gregory would dispatch the priory wagon behind them. He needn’t worry. The wagon, pulled as it was by two ancient oxen, was no match in speed for anyone with two strong legs. Besides, if he so feared capture and retribution, why not travel hidden through the woods instead of on this dusty, open road?

She sent him a sidelong glance. He was lost in his own thoughts. They obviously pleased him well. A broad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His shoulders were straight and square, his back erect. He looked as if he’d stumbled upon a secret cache of riches.

Well, he might be pleased, but she could not continue. She plucked at his sleeve, demanding his attention. His face contorted into a glare as he yanked his arm away.

If she could have made a sound, she would have screamed. Perhaps the look on her face reflected this, for Hugh halted in the middle of the road. Grateful, she stopped beside him, hand fanned across her chest to calm the pounding of her heart.

“I see,” Hugh said. Once again, Isobel felt as if she was a creature he had never before encountered and couldn’t quite understand. “You’re tired, of course. I forget that your vigor can never match mine.”

She wanted to pass him a saucy smile, one that promised great future vigor in certain endeavors, but she was indeed tired. It had all been too much—a daring escape right under her aunt’s upturned nose, a romantic dash down the road with the one who robbed her of breath even under ordinary circumstances, the delightful possibility that their shared future might begin right at this very moment. Such headiness required a pause. She managed a wobbly smile, then glanced about for a comfortable place to sit. There wasn’t one. She limped over to the side of the road and slumped against a broad tree.

“We mustn’t linger,” Hugh said.

She nodded her agreement. Slow oxen or no, somebody from Saint Etheldreda would surely come searching soon.

“Come,” Hugh continued, a statue firmly set in the middle of the road. “Something has changed.

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