Quinn was not alone.
He was crouched beside the stag, ensuring it was dead, when he first heard the other horse. He thought perhaps it was Niall or one of the boys, but could not imagine why they would remain hidden in the underbrush. Anyone within earshot would have heard him pursue the stag, never mind his cry of triumph when the bolt struck home.
He moved with purpose, as if unaware, and listened. He gutted the stag, leaving the offal for other creatures in the forest, then slung it over the back of his saddle. Fortitude flared his nostrils and stamped a foot, but Quinn took his time ensuring that the deer was securely bound. He went all around Fortitude, scanning the forest as he moved.
He spied the rider’s silhouette, then a flick of cloth.
A cloak?
Caparisons?
The hair prickled
