Mrs. Wallis bustled in, concern on her face. “I heard about the lassie.”
Triona nodded, and Mam said, “MacLean has gone to look fer her.”
“He’ll find her, dinna fash. Come. I’ve biscuits and tea in the sitting room. Might as well fortify yourselves whilst we wait fer his lordship to bring her home.”
“Tea is just the thing,” Mam agreed. “Come, dearies. We canna help, standin’ about the hallway.”
Christina sniffed and pulled out of Triona’s embrace. “Some tea would be nice.”
Triona forced herself to smile. “Come, let’s eat all of the biscuits so we can tease Devon when your father brings her back.”
Aggie managed to smile in return. “I’ll eat two extra ones.”
Soon they were seated in the sitting room, uneaten biscuits and untouched tea before them. Outside, the rain slashed down even more heavily.
The minutes passed. Then an hour. Triona tried not to look too often out the window, but it was difficult. Christina kept glancing out, too, wincing at the thunder. Triona had to grit her teeth not to jump up and order the carriage. But what good would that do? She didn’t know where Devon had gone, and a carriage couldn’t always follow the path a horse might take.
Aggie poked at her uneaten biscuit. “I wish we could look for Devon ourselves.”
“Me, too.” Christina rubbed her hands together nervously. “She’s not likely to go far in this weather,” she said for the hundredth time.
“She’d take shelter,” Triona responded yet again. “She’d find a rock ledge where it’s dry, maybe even a little cave somewhere.” She hoped that was true.
Christina stood and walked to the window, staring out as if willing Devon to appear. “The road can be hazardous in rains like this. Papa should have taken one of us with him. We know all of her hiding places.”
Triona turned toward Christina. “You have others besides the copse of trees behind the garden?”
“How did you know about that?”
“I followed you last night after you moved the furnishings.”
Christina’s cheeks colored. “We have some places at Uncle Dougal’s house. One is behind the barn, and another is an old gazebo by the lake.” Christina said thoughtfully, “You can’t see the gazebo from the house, and it’s fairly large. It would be a good place to wait out this weather, and it’s large enough to provide shelter for her horse.”
Christina made sense. Devon wasn’t foolish; she would sit out this weather for her horse, if not for herself.
Triona crossed to the window to stand beside Christina. Hugh needed to know this information, but how to get it to him? He’d taken all of the stable hands and the footmen with him in his search.
She bit her lip. She knew the path to Dougal’s house, for she’d seen the girls take it. She’d have Mrs. Wallis help her saddle a horse and go herself. Once he knew where to look, he’d find Devon.
Decided, Triona announced, “I’m going to change into my habit.”
“But…you can’t leave!”
“I must. Your father needs to know about the barn and the gazebo.”
“But Papa said—”
“He didn’t know about your hiding places. I do.”
Mam nodded. “He needs to know.”
Christina’s eyes filled with tears. “I am worried.”
“So am I,” Triona admitted. “But we’ll find her.” She kissed Christina’s forehead, her heart warming as the girl leaned against her. “I promise,” she whispered.
Half an hour later, Triona bent her head against the rain, her hat brim barely shielding her eyes. The heavy rain seeped into her clothing until her riding skirt felt several stone heavier. Solid old Bluebell plowed on, head down.
The going was much slower than Triona had anticipated, and the afternoon light was fading fast. She’d taken the trail between Gilmerton and Dougal’s house, but she hadn’t been prepared for it to be so narrow. The rain made things worse, making it difficult to see the edge that disappeared in places down a steep ravine.
The thought of Devon slipping and falling down that steep slope made Triona’s heart thud sickly. She continued grimly. When this was over and Devon was safe, she’d make certain they were never allowed on this trail again. What was Hugh thinking, anyway?
Something caught Triona’s eye. In the center of the path lay Devon’s riding hat, the sapphire blue scarf sodden and muddy. Bluebell saw it, too, for she skittered on the narrow path, her eyes rolling wildly. Triona gripped her knees tighter as Ferguson had taught her, and the horse settled down.
As soon as she had her horse under control, Triona cupped her hand to her mouth. “Devon!”
There was no answer. The wind whipped and the rain thrummed, but no other sound broke through.
Triona held the reins firmly and yelled again, louder. “Devon!”
Still there was no answer. Just as Triona called out a third time, lightning cracked overhead. Bluebell jerked forward, but Triona was ready and calmed her yet again.
Triona stared at the hat, noting that the trail’s edge seemed crumbled. Had Devon fallen? Had her horse bolted at a flash of lightning? Or had she just lost her hat and ridden on? There was only one way to find out.
Heart pounding, Triona dismounted and brushed water from her face. It was a useless motion, for the rain just replaced every drop she wiped away. She went to Bluebell’s head and patted her nose. “We have to find Devon.” She looped the reins through some brush, tied them tightly, and went to examine the edge of the path.
Through the sluicing rain, she could see down a rough ravine covered with jagged stones and thick brush. To one side, a flat rock projected from the hillside, jagged and broken. Rain gushed down, making streams that disappeared into the mist at the bottom. The wind ripped over the hill above, blowing rain into Triona’s face and lifting her hat. She barely caught it before it could fly off.
Was Devon down there? Triona called again and again, but there was no answer. Dear God, don’t let her be injured.
An ear-splintering crack of thunder blasted through the air. Bluebell shied violently, yanking the reins from the shrub. Triona made a desperate grab for them but Bluebell was mad with terror, her hooves pawing at the air near Triona’s head.
Triona ducked and stepped back toward the edge of the trail. It gave way beneath her boots and, with a gasp of terror, she went tumbling down the side of the ravine, landing on the flat rock.
All was silent, except for the sound of Bluebell’s hooves as she ran back to her stable.
And the rain beat down on Triona’s unconscious form, a rivulet of blood washing silently into the stream below.
“Home at last.” Hugh swung down from his horse and reached for Devon. She slipped into his arms, quaking with cold and exhaustion. “You’re lucky Uncle Dougal thought to search every outbuilding.”
“I-I-I know,” she chattered back.
Dougal tossed his reins to Ferguson and dismounted from his horse. “What a day! I’m famished. I hope Mrs. Wallis has something hot prepared.”
“Me, too.” Hugh hugged Devon tighter. “After you take the horses to the stables, Ferguson, come and eat.”
Dripping water, Hugh carried Devon into the house, then set her down in the foyer and removed his wet cloak from her shoulders.
Nora was the first to arrive. “Ye found her!”
Mrs. Wallis ran into the foyer. “Praise be!”
“She needs a hot bath and some food,” Hugh said.
“Especially some food,” Dougal added.
“Right away!” Mrs. Wallis turned to Angus. “I’ve hot soup ready. Fetch some towels and bring a hot bath to the nursery right away.”
Angus ran off and she turned back to Hugh. “Where was the lass?”
“Waiting out the storm in my brother’s barn.”
“I’m glad she had the sense to get out of the rain.”
Devon’s face crumpled. “I-I didn’t m-m-mean to be so m-m-much tr-trouble.
I-I-I am just sorry ab-bout—”
“Shh.” Hugh kissed her cheek. “I’m just glad we found you. If something had happened to you—” His voice broke and he hugged her fiercely.
“Devon!” Christina and Aggie ran down the stairs, and Hugh released her so she could hug her sisters. They threw themselves at her, jumping up and down. “We were so worried!” Christina said, hugging her sister hard. “Where was she?” she asked Hugh.
“At your uncle’s house.”
“That’s where I thought she’d be! I’m so glad Caitriona found you.”
“Caitriona?”
Christina’s smile faltered. “Didn’t she…”
Nora stepped forward. “Caitriona went to find ye at MacFarlane Manor, to tell ye about the girls’ hiding places there.”
For the second time that day, Hugh’s heart stopped.
The front door flew open and Ferguson ran in. “M’lord! Bluebell just returned without a rider!”
The floor tilted below Hugh’s feet.
Dougal frowned. “Caitriona couldn’t have gone to my house; we would have seen her.”
“She wouldn’t have taken the main road,” Christina said.
Everyone turned to look at her.
“She saw Devon and me take the old trail—the one through the valley.”
“I told you two never to take that trail! It’s treacherous,” Hugh said.
“We only use it when we’re late or”—she glanced at Dougal—“in trouble.”
“Damn it, if Caitriona took that trail—” Hugh turned toward the door.
“Wait!” Dougal grabbed his arm. “Eat first. It’s already been a long day and we can’t—“
Hugh jerked his arm free. “I have to find her.”
After a moment, Dougal nodded. “We will find her. I only hope the storm lets up a little.”
Nora glanced out the window. “It’s a big one, I can feel it in me bones.” Then her gaze narrowed. “It’s no’ of yer makin’, is it?”
“No,” Hugh said shortly. “Though I wish it were.”
“Why?”
“When I fight the storms made by my brothers, I know they’ve stopped developing them. This one”—he glanced out at the swirling black clouds overhead, the lightning that was cracking ever closer—“is getting worse.”
Dougal frowned. “What do you mean ‘fight the storms’?”
Nora snorted. “’Tis wha’ he did when yer brother Callum died.”
“When we found Hugh collapsed upon the parapets?”
“Aye. He’d given his all to stop the storms. “Her whizzened face puckered. “We almost lost him tha’ night, we did. There’s a cost fer such power.”
Dougal turned to his brother, but Hugh was already gone, head bent against the storm.
Muttering a curse, Dougal pulled his coat closer about his throat, bent his head, and went after his brother.
The rain was falling harder now, lightning crashing overhead, a fierce wind blowing rain directly into their eyes. The horses were forced to walk slowly, picking their way along the treacherous trail, stepping over fallen rocks and slick muddy gullies. In two places the rain had freshly washed away the entire path, and they’d been forced to jump the horses.
Hugh’s heart thudded sickly in his chest. Caitriona, where are you? I have to find you. Not to do so was a pain he couldn’t describe, a thought he couldn’t complete. He loved her.
And I never told her. I never told her how she’s made my life better. Never told her that there’s no better way to wake up than to have her beside me.
“There!” Dougal pointed ahead.
To one side of the trail was Devon’s hat. Had Caitriona seen it, too? Had she stopped here and—
“Let’s look down there!” Dougal pointed into the ravine below.
Hugh jumped off his horse, his boots sinking into the mud as he stepped to the edge and peered down.
At first he didn’t see anything; then something caught his gaze. Squinting through the hard rain, he finally saw Caitriona on a flat outcropping, her skirts twisted around her, her hair streaming over the rock as the water washed through it.
His chest threatened to explode. He tossed the reins to Dougal.
“Hugh, let me get a rope. You can’t just—”
But he was already scrambling down the steep hill. It was a miracle that the wet plants he grabbed didn’t pull out by their roots, and the mud-soft hill didn’t give way, but soon he was on the outcropping beside her.
She lay cheek down, muddy water giving her a brownish halo. The rain had filled an indentation of the rock, the puddle threatening to overtake her. He bent over her, shielding her from the rain. “Caitriona!”
She didn’t move.
He touched her, searching for wounds. She seemed intact, but one arm was pinned beneath her in a crevice. Try as he would, he couldn’t free her. The rain was pounding, the puddle growing deeper every moment. She could drown!
“How is she?” Dougal called.
“She’s trapped! The rain is filling the indentation and—” He stared at his gloved hand, where he’d brushed her hair from her forehead. It wasn’t mud that encircled her head, but blood. Oh, God, no. He ripped off his gloves and searched, finding a deep gash over her ear.
So much blood—and so much water. She is going to drown while I watch! Oh, God, help me!
The world seemed to stop. Though the wind roared about him and the rain poured down, he could neither hear nor see. All he could do was feel the wild, painful beating of his own heart. And somewhere, deep inside, he could feel hers, too.
In that moment, calm reigned and he knew what he had to do. He could not free her from this ledge with the rain beating so fiercely. To save her, he had to force the weather to his will.
He stood over her, arms outstretched as he lifted his face to the skies and fought the storm with every fiber of his being.
“Hugh, no!” Dougal took a step forward, halting as a huge chunk of the path crumbled and fell heavily below, skittering down the ravine and narrowly missing the rock where Hugh and Caitriona were.
Dimly aware of his brother, Hugh focused on the blackness above, on the torrents of water, on the crackling heat of the lightning. He pushed. He pushed with every ounce of his soul. With every drop of his blood. With every beat of his heart. He pushed and pushed, and the storm fought back with all its strength. It was young and angry, and wanted to expend itself now. But he could not allow that. Would not allow it.
Pain lanced through Hugh’s shoulders but he forced his arms to stay lifted toward the skies, taking in the power of the storm and fighting back, wrestling with the black, swirling mass with everything he had.
Lightning struck nearby, but he didn’t waver. Die! he screamed at the storm. Die and leave us alone!
From the ledge above, heart pounding against his throat, Dougal watched as his brother fought the storm. Rain pounded on Hugh’s upturned face, and lightning cracked so close that it made the hair on Dougal’s neck rise.
Yet slowly, ever so slowly, the wind shifted. Then the rain began to abate. The lightning flashed less frequently, and the thunder rumbled farther away.
Hugh was winning. As soon as the rain had lightened enough for Dougal to get down the slope he did so, slipping and sliding, bruising his legs and hands.
He reached the ledge just as Hugh’s arms dropped to his sides and, like a limp rag, he sank to his knees. His face was paler than Dougal had ever seen it, the white streak over his brow glowing silver and wider now than before, but he managed to smile. “Help me free Caitriona,” he rasped. “Her arm is trapped.”
Dougal bent to her side, seeing the mounting water around her head for the first time. “She almost—” He couldn’t say it.
“She almost drowned.” Hugh came to kneel beside her. “But she didn’t.” He lifted her shoulder. “Smear some mud on her arm. Maybe that will help it slide out.”
Working gently, it took them quite a while, but they finally freed Cai
triona. Dougal offered to carry her, but Hugh silenced him with a blazing look. As if she were made of the finest china, Hugh carefully lifted her and began the long, arduous climb to the road.
Epilogue
“Love doesna always mean burning flashes o’ passion. Sometimes, it’s jus’ the warmth o’ yer hearts as they beat yer day together.”
OLD WOMAN NORA TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ON A COLD WINTER’S NIGHT
Ye can see him now,” Mam told Triona.
“It’s about time!” She started to rise from the settee where she’d been ensconced, then winced and pressed a hand to her bandaged head. “I know, I know. You warned me.”
“And as usual, ye dinna pay me the least heed.”
“It’s just that it’s been days—”
“Two.”
“—since I’ve seen Hugh.”
“He was no’ awake. Besides, ye needed the rest yerself. Now ye’re both on the mend.” Mam gave Triona her arm and they made their way out of the sitting room. Weak-kneed, her head aching, she walked slowly.
“Caitriona?”
Christina, Devon, and Aggie were coming down the stairs.
Triona smiled. “Have you seen your father?”
They nodded.
“He’s pale,” Christina said. “But other than that, he looks well.”
“He’s fine,” Devon said, smiling shyly at Triona. “Papa asked for you, too.”
Christina chuckled. “Actually, he threatened to burn down the house if Grandmama didn’t bring you right away.”
Triona sent Mam a startled look. When had she become “Grandmama”?
Mam beamed at the girls. “Ye were good sickroom visitors, ye were. Ye didna hang upon him nor wear him down wit’ nonsense.”
“We took him presents,” Aggie said. “Christina embroidered his old slippers so they look new, and Devon sewed him a sachet for the wardrobe, and I drew him a picture.”
“I’m sure he loved all of them,” Triona said.
Mam told the girls, “I know ye’ve lots to say to Triona, but she canna stand fer long yet. Let me get her settled wit’ yer da’ and then ye can come see them both.”
The MacLeans: Sleepless in Scotland Page 26