When the prayer ended, Colin opened his eyes, finding himself once again faced with the most tragic moment of his life. His father was gone and he was never coming back. Colin had no choice but to accept the finality of it, and he had to be strong for his clan.
Never had Colin imagined he would lose his father so young. He had expected Da to one day, twenty or thirty years from now, be an ancient elder with a long white beard.
'Tis as it should be, my son.
It was almost as if Da whispered the words into his ear.
Nay, it never should've happened like this—not an ambush. Murder. The dreadful and heartrending tragedy of it struck him yet again, constricting his lungs.
The clansmen carried his father's casket outside into the whipping wind where a grave was being dug on the spot they had chosen earlier, next to Colin's grandfather's grave.
A short distance away, a lone piper played a lamenting ballad as mourners gathered around the open grave. Colin had never endured anything so painful and final as watching his father's body being lowered into the earth while his mother clung to his arm, sobbing. He prayed this loss would not be too taxing on her. Although his mother and father's marriage had been arranged by their parents, they had been loving toward one another since his earliest memories. He only hoped he could have a marriage as happy as theirs had been, but 'twas looking doubtful.
***
Using his sword, Red Holme hacked at the large, thorny gorse bushes, bramble briars and dried thistles guarding the secret passage exit gate. Dobson helped him, along with one of the new men, Robertson. Scroggie was back with the horses and the additional man he'd hired recently.
Hell, he would have to sharpen his sword again after this. What they needed was an axe for wood chopping. But they didn't even have a Lochaber axe at the moment.
This gate was about a quarter mile from the castle walls and, by the looks of it, no one had been out through the gate in over a decade. He doubted the daft Camerons even knew of its existence. This prickly vegetation had hidden it for many years, and he was glad. If he could get the iron gate open, he could easily slip up the secret passage and into the castle without anyone knowing of it until it was too late. He grinned.
One of the wicked gorse thorns stabbed into his finger. He swore profusely and stared down at his bloody finger.
"Bastard Camerons," he hissed, clenching his teeth against the pain, hating them more and more each day. "Cut the bushes out of there," he ordered Dobson and Robertson.
Holme smirked when he remembered where the clan was now, in the kirk at the chief's funeral. He'd watched the funeral procession from a distance and determined this was the best time to find the secret passage among the thick, thorny vegetation and vines.
They had already stolen a small boat and concealed it beneath a heap of dried bracken ferns near the river. That way, they could hide their horses farther away, but still escape quickly.
A half hour later, most of the prickly bushes lay aside, exposing large stones. He remembered when he and his few remaining clansmen had slipped back and concealed this gate many years ago, hoping to prevent the Camerons from using it as escape route if they ever decided to lay siege to the place. Now he could use it in reverse to attack from the inside, if the gate and lock had rusted into oblivion in the last decade.
"Move the stones," Holme commanded, annoyed this was taking so long. They had to finish before the funeral was over or risk being seen.
Fortunately for the two men, removing the rocks was fairly easy, as most of them rolled or slid away with minimal effort. Once the rusty, three-foot-tall gate was exposed, Holme grabbed the iron bars and shook them, yanked at them, but the gate didn't budge. He growled a curse and looked at the latch through the bars. It held firm, and he saw no way to open it from the outside. Designed as it was, as an escape route for the chief if the castle was under siege, the gate's latch only opened from the inside.
Holme stood. "We'll come out this way, but we must get into the castle another way."
"But how?" Dobson asked. "'Twould be suicide to approach the portcullis if Colin Cameron sees you."
His canny mind spinning, Holme grinned. "I have an idea."
***
During the second day of their journey, Kristina had been chilled for many hours. The weather had turned colder, and the wind blew harder. She had even seen a few snowflakes, but they melted once they reached the ground.
They were fortunate in that Cyrus MacKenzie and his brothers, Fraser and Shamus, along with all of their guards and clansmen had wanted to accompany them. Ralston also journeyed with them, but Neacal continued to keep their half-brother at a distance and guarded at all times. Ralston had caused no trouble, and Kristina wondered when Neacal would begin to trust him.
Maili rode beside Kristina and Anna, in the midst of all the men. Tavia, her helper, and three maids also accompanied them, for they knew not how long they would stay at Rhodie. In the event anyone was hurt in an ambush or battle with Holme, Tavia would help them to the best of her ability. The length of their stay would largely depend upon the weather and how quickly Holme was captured. She did not imagine Colin or Neacal would give up before the murderer was behind bars or dead. The MacKenzies seemed equally determined to nab him and his band of outlaws, as did Ralston.
After the ferry had taken them to Glenfinnan, they stayed the night at the inn, then rode out the next morn. Neacal predicted they could make it to Rhodie before dark despite the snow flurries. In truth, she did not mind the journey. She simply relished every moment of observing things she hadn't in a long time. She had not seen sunlight or snow in over two years. She was thankful for being able to view every single thing, even though all was blurry at any distance.
When they stopped in a shady wood, she marveled at the lush green moss covering the gray rocks and tree trunks. 'Twas like an enchanted fairy wood.
When next they halted to rest and water the horses, they were in a glen by a loch. She noticed purple flecks among the tan grasses. She stepped closer and crouched to see what they were.
"Look, Anna. 'Tis heather!" Kristina pointed at the few sprigs of the late-blooming flowers. She had not thought to see them at this time of year.
"Your favorite. How lovely. I'm so glad you can see them now."
"Aye." Kristina knew she was probably acting like a wee bairn, but she could hardly contain her joy over being able to see. The wee pinkish-violet blooms were so dainty and delicate. If only she could see this whole hillside of heather in full bloom, she would probably weep with joy. She would never take her vision for granted again.
After riding for a while longer, she noticed something large, shadowed and blurry looming up beside them. She squinted. "Good heavens. Is that a mountain?"
Riding in front of them, Neacal turned back and said, "Aye. 'Tis Ben Nevis. The top is already white with snow."
She'd heard of it—the tallest mountain in Scotland.
Despite being glad about the return of her vision and seeing things she had never seen before, she knew Colin was living in the pits of despair. She wanted to embrace him and give him comfort so badly. She hoped he would be pleased to see her and to learn her vision was coming back.
What if he was angry instead? What if he could never forgive her?
***
Colin drew up near the wood and dismounted, following the wee terrier again. The rest of the men in his party halted, too. His breath fogged in the falling temperatures. Frustration quickening his steps, Colin strode forward, searching the light trace of snow on the ground. His boots crunching on the half-frozen leaves, he slipped into the wood, looking for any sign Red Holme had been here recently. But he saw naught, and the terrier kept moving quickly, nose to the ground.
Damnation. Where was Holme hiding? He was sure the bastard must be thrilled if he'd learned Colin's father had succumbed to his injuries and died. Had Holme slipped around to the grave and danced upon it? Did he still want Colin dead, or was killing the chi
ef enough revenge to satisfy him?
Colin shook his head, doubting Holme would stop his quest of vengeance until Colin and maybe even his brother were dead. How could the whoreson be so elusive of a sudden? He must have one hell of a hiding place. Didn't matter. Colin would be damned if he was giving up finding the murderer. He owed it to his father. 'Twas the final thing he could do for him—bring his killer to justice.
Footsteps approached upon the crusty, snow-covered leaves. He glanced around to find Bryce moving toward him.
"We must go back to Rhodie." His brother wore a disgruntled frown, snowflakes clinging in his dark hair. "We've been out here for over two days in the cold, searching. The men need to rest."
"Go back, then," Colin growled. "But I'll not give up on finding Holme."
"We're not giving up," Bryce snapped. "We've seen no sign of him the whole time we've been out here. He's probably long gone by now."
Colin shook his head, eyes narrowing. "You do not ken him. He craves revenge more than his next breath. He wants me dead… and probably you, too. I'm sure he'd like naught more than to see all us Camerons dead."
Bryce drew in a deep breath and blew it out as if annoyed and exhausted at the same time. "I ken you're right, but mayhap there's another way."
"Tell me then. I need good ideas for catching a murderer."
Bryce glanced skyward. "'Twill be near gloaming by the time we reach Rhodie. I say we return now, get some rest so we can think clearly, then have a meeting. We can come up with a strategy to keep all of us safe inside the walls. If Holme truly does want to exact more revenge, he will come to us. We can double the number of guards posted upon the ramparts and other places."
Colin turned and glanced back at the rest of the Camerons, waiting nearby with the horses. They did look tired and discouraged. He nodded. "Very well. We'll go back for now. But tomorrow we must come up with a canny strategy, for Holme will not give up."
***
Wearing a black cloak and carrying chimney sweep tools—canes and whalebone brushes—Holme approached Rhodie Castle. No one would miss the real chimney sweep he'd put out of his misery and stolen these trappings from. Scroggie followed along behind him, affecting a limp and carrying the rest of the tools—a ball, sacks and ropes. Both their shaven faces were covered in black soot, helping to ensure no one would recognize them.
As they passed the chapel and cemetery with its freshly filled-in grave, Holme smirked. He'd finally given Maitland Cameron what he deserved, but Holme wasn't finished yet—not until he'd eliminated a few dozen more Camerons.
This was the closest Holme had been to the castle in over a decade. His heart pounded in a fast, excited rhythm. Could he get inside the walls with no one the wiser? He almost smiled, relishing the challenge.
He already knew that Colin and more than twenty Camerons were out searching the wood and various other places. Holme and his men had found a canny hiding place in the village a few miles away, a place Colin and his men had searched the day before. But they hadn't found the hidden cellar of the byre used by Holme's former clansman.
Now, one of the tall, brawny Cameron guards approached the portcullis. "What do you want?"
"Need yer chimneys cleaned?" Holme affected a dialect like a peasant from the east. "We'll give ye a good price. Winter coming. Naught worse than a chimney clogged with soot and resin. Could catch the castle on fire."
"Wait here. I'll ask the steward." The guard strode away.
"What do you think, Red? Think they'll let us in?" Scroggie whispered, then let out a snicker.
"Aye. I believe they will. No one wants a chimney fire. Colin has been gone for a couple of days, but we'll be inside when he returns."
A well-dressed man wearing a plaid approached with the guard. Holme assumed he was the steward.
"Are you two chimney sweeps?" He eyed them critically.
"Aye. Can ye nay tell by our spotless clothes?" Holme held out an arm and chuckled good-naturedly. They were covered head to toe in soot. Did the daft man not see their tools as well? Surely they looked the part.
Holme had watched chimneys being cleaned, and he knew how it was done. Didn't mean he would be any good at it, but he could pretend long enough to get his revenge.
"Where are you from?" the steward questioned.
"Inverness. Too much competition there."
"What's your fee?"
"Room and board for a sennight, plus twenty shillings."
The man scratched his bearded chin for a long moment, still considering them. "Wait here." He strode away, then returned a quarter hour later. "You're in luck. We do indeed need our chimneys swept. I'll show you where you can bed down at night."
Red Holme felt like cackling with glee as he strode through the portcullis. 'Twas far easier than he'd ever imagined being welcomed into Rhodie Castle. It wouldn't be long before Colin and his brethren were dead.
Chapter Seventeen
At gloaming, snow flurries still flittered through the air as Colin stood in the burial ground, by his father's grave. They had ridden three hours and arrived back moments ago. Bryce and most of the other men had gone inside the castle walls. Four guards, including Warton and Rusty, stood around Colin at a distance of twenty paces, giving him the privacy he needed. The other two had been his father's bodyguards, but now, since Colin would soon be inaugurated as the new chief, they were assigned to guard him.
He stared at the simple wooden cross with his father's name cut into it. Soon it would be replaced with a carved sandstone grave slab befitting a chief. He stared at the black sod and the dried heather and greenery his mother had placed there. He knew his da lay beneath, but was still unable to fully comprehend it.
"I'm sorry, Da," he whispered. "I let you down. I allowed our enemy to come back here and massacre you." Regret speared him. "If only I'd been thinking… If only I'd realized…" But, nay, Kristina had snagged all of his attention at Bearach. He had been so taken with her, he'd been able to think of little else. He felt like such a daft fool.
No more. He would dedicate his life to bringing his da's murderer to justice.
"Riders approaching!" Warton announced.
The four guards closed ranks around him. "Mayhap we should escort you back to the castle," Rusty said.
Colin glanced down the hill, seeing a party of three dozen or more people arriving, most on horseback. They appeared in no hurry, or maybe their horses were tired from a long trek.
Colin shook his head. "'Tis not Holme. He wouldn't have that many men."
As the party increased its pace and moved closer, he saw Neacal and his men, along with the MacKenzies. And several women?
"What the devil?" Narrowing his eyes, Colin glared. Aye, some of the riders wore long skirts. Surely Neacal hadn't brought Anna and… "Kristina," Colin whispered. Indeed, she was on the horse beside Anna's. Why had she come? He muttered a curse, feeling gutted once again. Why did she wish to rub salt in his wound? Dangle before him the very thing he wanted most in the world but could not have?
Mayhap she has changed her mind.
The ridiculous thought teased and taunted him, near making him lightheaded. She had already ripped out his heart. Putting it back into his chest was not going to be such an easy task.
***
As Kristina and the others in their party approached Rhodie Castle, she barely discerned the blurry forms of men on a hill in the distance, near a small stone kirk with a steeple. She squinted, trying to see better. They stood in the burial ground, surrounded by many grave slabs and tombstones.
Her heart drummed hard with the tumultuous combination of nervousness and excitement, because she might see Colin for the first time within a few moments—but also with sadness because of his loss.
With the snowflakes flickering in the twilight, 'twas too dim and indistinct for her to see clearly. And even if she could see the men, she wouldn't know Colin on sight. Still, she had a gut feeling one of the men was him, visiting his father's grave. She had so want
ed to be here to support him during the funeral and burial, but that had been impossible. They'd traveled as quickly as they could after hearing the tragic news.
Minutes later, as they approached the kirk-yard, the five men strode away from the new grave and exited the burial ground through the gate. Melancholy consumed her as she recalled, yet again, that she would never meet his father, whom he'd held so dear.
Even though she'd never seen Colin with her eyes, only with her hands and her heart… and in her dreams, she knew which man he was. The only one who drew her attention. The only one who stared directly at her. Tall and handsome with sandy hair. Although she could not quite perceive his expression, she felt his dark and tormented pain, and it near broke her heart. She hung her head and stared at the snow-dusted ground, feeling something powerful in Colin calling out to her, raking through her soul.
She refused to look at him now, although she wanted to more than anything. Nay, she wanted to tell him in private about her returned sight and didn't want him to find out before then. She hoped he would be glad. Her heart rate sped up, and her icy hands sweated within her gloves as she held the bridle loosely.
When footsteps approached, she felt his anguish even more. Her ability to detect others' feelings had amplified during her years of blindness.
"Thank you for coming, Neacal." Colin's voice slid down deep within her, bringing her soul to life, but at the same time, his grief frayed her control. The wind chilled the tears welling in her burning eyes. She watched the men from the corners of her eyes.
"I'm sorry we're late." Neacal dismounted and gave Colin a warrior handshake. "I wish we could've arrived before the funeral, but the ladies wished to come and pay their respects, too. We could not travel as fast."
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