Excerpt: Across the Wide River

Cherokee Territory, September 1782

The horse picked its way across the ford, its lathered sides heaving. It blew out a long breath, stopped and thrust its muzzle into the cold water. It guzzled the icy liquid until its rider struggled to forcibly pull its head up. He leaned over, patted the foam-flecked neck and whispered, “Enough. You’re too hot to drink so much.”

Niall MacLachlan urged his mount through the shallow creek and up the low bank. But he allowed the animal to walk at a more leisurely pace while he cast wary glances at his surroundings and listened for sounds of pursuit, the creak of leather, the thump of a hoof.

All he heard was the ordinary sighing of the wind in the trees and the occasional cry of a bird. The pursuit could have been his imagination. But no. He glanced down at the torn shoulder of his shirt. It was stark testimony of the musket ball that had zinged past and embedded in a tree with a dull thunk. A half-inch lower and he’d not be sitting astride his horse, headed home. He would likely have been captured, because wounded men don’t ride as well as those who are whole and healthy.

But he had escaped, and the long-legged brown horse had run until it could barely walk, carrying him far from those who wanted to kill him. Niall took a deep breath and released it slowly. He would be home before dark. He would say an extra prayer of thanksgiving to Creator when he went to water the next morning. And he would give Meli an extra kiss tonight when he held her in his arms.

The horse stopped, its head hanging, muscles trembling. It could go no further.

And Niall heard the snap of a twig.