Chapter Three

Some say that the age of chivalry is past, that the

Spirit of romance is dead. The age of chivalry is never past,

So long as there is a wrong left unredressed on earth

-Kingsley

Kit woke to the sound of Ares’ whickering. She unwillingly crawled out from the warmth and comfort of her bedroll. Her sweatpants and cutoff sweatshirt offered little protection against the coolness of the morning. Ares had placed himself in front of her, his whole body quivering with tension.

Crap, what’s going on out there? Something must have him spooked if he’s being this way. Peering underneath his belly through the fading mist, she made out the form of a man sitting on an animal that could easily pass as a warhorse. Just like the ones from days long past. The horse was huge and looked like he had a nasty attitude. Not that the man seated there looks all that different. He wasn’t small, by any stretch of the imagination. And appeared just as mean.

She shook her head in denial of the sight before her; no one in these mountains had anything close to a horse like that, only some draft horses used for farm work. It didn’t appear that the man had even seen her, as Ares claimed all his attention.

Watching the man turn a rope spurred her into action. Regardless of her hesitation to show herself to this man, she wasn’t about to lose Ares. Kit rolled quickly to her feet, looking for some sort of weapon to defend both herself and Ares with since she didn’t want to shoot him. She found a rock the size of her fist and picked it up.

I could just call out to him. Let him know that Ares is mine.

A battle cry erupted from him, startling her. Deafening and bone chilling, it pushed away all thoughts of talk. The menacing sound rose up from the giant’s throat, pierced the air, and momentarily froze her as still as a block of ice. His horse, obviously used to the cry, lunged forward at the sound.

She shouted at Ares, “Run!” Then, placed her body in front of his. By his hesitation, she recognized Ares was torn between protecting her and listening to her order. The newcomers thundered closer, and when she saw the man ready to throw his rope, she acted.

She whipped the rock at him, and with amazing alacrity, it found its mark. She hit him dead on the wrist of the hand that twirled the rope. He dropped the rope, a curse flowing from his mouth. Then, he focused on her and cursed, again, simultaneously drawing his sword. More men rode into view, appearing from the fog as if by magic—nothing, one moment, then there, the next.

The lead rider yelled for his men to get her horse, and she got scared. Not just for herself, but for Ares, also. She yelled her command, again. Her stallion obviously didn’t want to go. However, the men in armor definitely made him nervous—her, as well. She screamed it one more time, praying he would listen. This time, he did, allowing the fog to swallow him up.

The lead man’s mount cried out. Ares screamed a retaliatory challenge, from one stallion to another. The noise from hers blared through the mist like a foghorn from a lighthouse, yet Ares was no longer visible.

Kit searched for him with desperate eyes. Suddenly, the fog retreated, like someone had turned on a vacuum, sucking it away in an instant, and she caught a glimpse of him as he ran off the edge of the cliff. Her heart caught in her throat, and her knees wobbled. Tears blinded her as Kit prayed he would be fine, unsure if or when she would see him, again. Hell, I’m not even sure I’ll survive what I’m about to about to face.

With Ares gone, she looked to the man thundering toward her, wondering if this wasn’t just a dream. This man, a giant of a man with a sword, was coming straight at her. Oh, this is just too much. The valley she’d fallen asleep in had disappeared, and she was in an area she didn’t recognize, at all. Having grown up in these mountains, she knew them well. Hell, even the mountains were gone.

Her limbs weren’t cooperating. The man was in front of her, sword drawn, blade aimed directly at her throat. If a blade could talk, this one wanted to taste her blood.

The horse he was on was even bigger up close, mean, too. His eyes rolled, and he stomped his feet. His large head snaked forward to bite her, and she jumped back.

Damn horse. That animal is fast.