Laiden's Daughter
Page 35
Wee William stood beside him, shaking his head. Patrick and Richard were looking through what remained of the tattered tents. Richard lifted up the corner of one and found the body of an auld woman, too far gone to tell who she may have been.
“I’d say it happened at least two days ago. Maybe three,” Wee William said in a hushed, reverent tone.
Findley could only nod his head. His heart was pounding ferociously and his hands shook as he looked for more dead bodies. He prayed that Maggy and her boys wouldn’t be among them.
Patrick and Richard walked toward the river and found two more lying dead along the bank. Findley and Wee William soon joined them.
While he got his bearings, his men continued to search. The final death toll was put at seven of the auld and two of the men. There was no sign of Maggy or her boys anywhere.
It was Richard who finally asked the question that Findley couldn’t. “Where are Maggy and the lads?”
Findley couldn’t respond, his heart wouldn’t allow him to go there, to think of the possibilities of where Maggy and the lads could be. He bent and studied the tracks left behind and judged there had been at least ten on horseback. The tracks led in from the east. It appeared they had left the same way they’d come in.
“Who ya think coulda done this?” Wee William asked to no one in particular.
Just then, a gust of wind swept down from the hills, scattering dust and leaves as it went along. A small scrap of cloth landed on Wee William’s foot. It was as if God himself had answered his question. Wee William picked up the cloth and studied it closely for a moment. His jaw set as anger filled it eyes for he’d recognize that bit of plaid anywhere. He handed it to Findley for his inspection. It took only a moment for him to come to the same conclusion.
“Buchannans.” A chill slid down his spine at saying the name.
About the Author
Suzan lives in the Midwest with her verra handsome husband and the last of their four children. They are currently seeking monetary donations to help feed their 14 year old, 6’2” built-like-a-linebacker son.
When she isn't working, taking care of her family or spoiling her grandchildren, she writes. Some say it borders on the obsessive. Suzan prefers to think of it as passion.
"There is great joy in writing, but an even greater joy in sharing what you've written." Suzan Tisdale, 2011
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