by Aileen Adams
“Yesterday morning.”
His frown deepened. “What did she want?”
Dougal shrugged. “Well, let’s just say she didn’t knock at the front door, so I doubted she wanted anything. Snooping most likely.”
Colin shook his head, not sure what to think. It wasn’t like Dougal’s house was just across the river. It was quite a distance away. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” Dougal said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I told her to go away.”
“Which way did she go?”
Dougal frowned at him. “How should I know? I told her to get off my property, and she did, disappearing into the forest.”
“Did she appear frightened? Ye don’t know which way she went? Was she walking or was she running?”
“She’d better be frightened, because I don’t want her snooping on my property again. And as far as her gait, she was walking, though swiftly. Why?”
“Because she’s not on her own property now, nor in the tent—”
“I know.”
“And ye know that how?” Colin shook his head, growing more irritated by the moment. “Are ye bothering her, Dougal? What have ye done?” To his surprise, he realized that his hands had fisted. If Dougal had done anything to Iona—
Dougal didn’t say anything but simply lifted an eyebrow, rolling his eyes. “Look, Colin, she’s my neighbor and I know I have to deal with that. But I don’t want her on my property, and I just came by this morning to remind her where the property lines were. She couldn’t have missed the cairns demarcating our property lines. She’s not that stupid.”
“And she wasn’t here? When did ye arrive?”
Dougal stared at him, speechless.
Colin wasn’t sure what to think. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen any fresh tracks around her tent this morning. “I wonder if she ever made it back,” he mused, gazing deeper into the forest surrounding three quarters of Iona’s property. It was easy to get lost out here, even for those who knew the area, like himself or Dougal. He turned again toward the mountains rising to the east, carpeted with trees, filled with gullies and ravines, narrow canyons, and rocky cliffs interspersed in between.
“She could be lost in there.”
Dougal said nothing for several moments, though his gaze traveled from Colin up into the mountains and back again. “Then I suppose you’d better go looking for her.”
As if he didn’t have anything better to do, and then he remembered the scrolls. “Have ye seen any travelers riding through here over the past few days?”
Dougal shook his head. Would Dougal tell him, even if he did? Dougal could be temperamental, and he only cooperated with Colin when it suited his purposes, such as ordering Iona off his property. He sighed. “Where was the last time ye saw her, Dougal?”
Before turning away, Dougal offered a short reply. “Heading into the woods due east of my property line, toward the river.” With that, he shrugged and walked away.
Colin wanted to call after him, to tell him to help him look for Iona, but he knew he couldn’t order the man to do any such thing.
Iona wore only a pair of thin slippers so he doubted she would have gone far, but then she had obviously made it all the way from her property to Dougal’s house. A good distance for sure. Her feet probably hurt, her muscles might be sore, and for all he knew, she was not that far away, might’ve gotten back yesterday and was off again hunting for berries or whatnot.
Then again, he couldn’t take a chance.
He returned to his horse, muttering under his breath the entire time as he carefully guided the horse into the thick growth of trees, across the stream, and up a slight slope as he headed for Dougal’s property. With luck, he might pick up her trail before the clouds hovering to the east built up and let loose with a full-fledged storm.
20
Dark… why was it so dark?
Iona opened her eyes, fighting the lethargy trapping her body, her limbs… making her feel… boneless. She frowned, even that slight movement of muscles in her forehead prompting a bolt of pain to dance around inside her skull. She grimaced again in pain, then winced, more pain. Her head swam, her thoughts confused and garbled. Why was it dark?
Her eyelids felt so heavy, and it took even a great deal of effort for her to force her eyes open again, to slowly blink. Everything appeared blurry. That first blink was so difficult, and the moment her eyes closed she wanted nothing more than to keep them that way, to go back to sleep, to escape back into her comfort, snuggling deeper into her blanket. Her hand curled, thinking to pull the blanket closer around her shoulders. Chilly outside, a slight breeze blowing, the scent of pine, the dirt so rich in her nostrils. Sleeping in the tent was quite different from sleeping in a house, the smells richer and deeper, the air cooler, the sounds of the night…
She grabbed a handful of dirt and leaves, crunching them softly in her hand. Her eyes wider now, she tried to make sense of what she saw, or rather, what she didn’t see. She didn’t see the side of the tent, the candle she lit when she went to sleep. She didn’t see the small pile of clothing she had carefully folded and placed next to the corner of her makeshift bed. Instead, she saw blackness and then deeper black, shades of black and nothing more.
Her heart skipped a beat as her brain jolted in alarm. She wasn’t in her tent. Where was she? With a gasp, her eyes wide open now, she realized she lay on her stomach, the left side of her face pressed into the dirt. Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat, pulsing in pain, and then it all came back to her in a rush. She’d gone exploring, found the cairns, followed the stream through the thickness of the trees until she came to the property where that imposing manor stood. She remembered creeping up to the corner, wanting to look inside but knowing that she shouldn’t, knowing that she was invading someone else’s privacy. She didn’t like people on her property, and she doubted that she would be welcome on another’s, especially without being invited.
She remembered the voice behind her, turning to find Dougal glaring down at her. She remembered her fear and his shouted command for her to go away, to leave. Step-by-step, she remembered walking away from that manor house with as much dignity as she could muster even though she had been in the wrong. Back straight, chin lifted, it took everything she had in her to walk purposefully toward the tree line and to disappear inside the shade and shadows. Only then, upon hearing Dougal shout once more, had she broken into a run. She remembered growing disoriented, and finally, lost, miles of woods surrounding her on every side, not knowing which way to go, the canopy of the trees so thick she couldn’t even tell where the sun stood in the sky.
Then… she had fallen, and that’s all she remembered.
With a groan, she placed her hands beneath her shoulders and pushed upward. Even that slight effort caused her arm muscles to tremble with fatigue. She barely managed enough strength to roll over onto her side, one hand reaching for the side of her head as she rolled over onto her back, groaning with the pain. She was in a forest. Obviously, she had lain here, unconscious, for a long time. An entire day? Slowly, her hand touched the side of her head, felt her hair, matted with dried blood, wincing as her fingertips gently explored the huge lump and gash on the left side of her head, just behind her temple and above her left ear. The swelling was about the size of a goose egg, the gash may be as long as her index finger. How deep, she didn’t know, as she resisted probing. How serious? She didn’t know that either. All she knew was pain, the throbbing, steadily thrumming from her head down her neck into her spine, reaching down to her knees. The pain took her breath away, caused her fear that she might be mortally wounded.
She lay still for several moments, assessing her physical condition. Ever so slowly, she tested her limbs. She wiggled her toes, then her ankles, then slightly bent her knees. She was able to wriggle her fingers, turn her wrists, and bend her elbows, that much she knew since she’d managed to roll herself over. She gathered her strength, knowing that… knowing that
what? If she didn’t do something, she would die out here? She passed her hand in front of her eyes, not sure whether her vision had been affected by the injury or if it was really and truly so dark outside. It was then that she smelled the air, heavy with humidity, a soft misty rain gently caressing her face. That mist felt cool and refreshing but nevertheless sent a shiver of dread down her spine.
What time was it? Had she been lying out here more than a day? She felt her clothes, noting that the front of her gown felt relatively dry, although part of the tunic that had been splayed out beside her felt damp and heavy with moisture. How long had it been misting? Had it rained? Her hair felt matted, but she determined but the blood… What was she going to do? She needed help but had nowhere to turn. Warm tears filled her eyes as she endured a wave of abject self-pity. Was this to be her fate then? To die in the middle of the wilderness by herself, no one to find her, no one to mourn her passing?
She groaned again. “No,” she said, her voice cracking with dryness. No, she wouldn’t die out here alone. She would do what she had to do. She would find her way back home. She would survive, just like she had survived her entire life. Nothing in her life had been easy, and even though she now owned a piece of property, things were still not easy. Maybe things never would be easy. Maybe every day, for the remainder of her life, she would have to fight, scratch, and scrabble for sustenance, for shelter, and she had no one to rely on but herself. Like she always had. She lay for several more moments, gathering her strength, clearing her thoughts, her mind traveling back to her childhood and young years, never feeling truly welcome, never feeling as if she belonged. She inhaled, pleased to realize she hadn’t broken any ribs, and then slowly exhaled. She had to survive. She wouldn’t give up. Never. With everything she had been through in life, she knew how to persevere. Still, she could not deny her weariness, so very tired of it all.
With another deep breath, she slowly rolled onto her left side, hissing sharply at the renewed throbbing in her skull. Oh, the pain! It took her breath away, weakened her muscles, and caused yet another surge of fear to take hold.
What if…
Nevertheless, with effort and not a little pain, she finally managed to push herself upright, her arms stiffened against the dirt, the soft skin of her palms crunching pine needles underneath, her legs curled to the side, her hip throbbing at the stone that dug into it beneath her. Her head swam, and her arms threatened to buckle beneath the weight of her upper torso, but she forced herself to wait, arms trembling, muscles shaking. She lowered her head, her chin touching her chest, breathing as slowly as she could to work through the pain. It felt like the ground moved beneath her and she uttered another soft moan. Dizzy. She felt dizzy, and her stomach roiled. She could only wait and hope that it would pass.
After endless moments, forcing breath in and out of her lungs, clamping her lips tightly against the pain, she waited it out. Finally, the dizziness passed and left behind a steady throbbing. She determined that she could bear that, and carefully lifted her head, working the muscles in her stiff shoulders and neck, now able to discern vague bits of light in between the shadows, shafts of moonlight briefly illuminating some of the forest around her. Then, in the distance, a flash, barely enough to illuminate the area around her before it was gone again, followed several moments later by a dull rumble of thunder. Rain was on the way, and soon. She needed to find shelter. In her already weakened state, she knew that if she remained exposed to the elements, she would come down with fever, likely die, unable to forage for berries, roots, or… or anything.
For the briefest moment, Colin’s face appeared in her thoughts; his half-scowl, half-amused look on his face. It would be nice if he were here with her, but—
No, don’t even think about that. Colin wasn’t going to be relieved to see her. He would be furious that she had disobeyed him. Again. But he wasn’t her husband, and he wasn’t her father, and he wasn’t her demanding cousin! She wasn’t hurting anyone! She’d only been exploring, looking for that blasted treasure! It wasn’t her fault that everyone here hated her. Well, almost everyone. It wasn’t her fault that she had been born English any more than it was their fault for being born Scottish. Why did they hate her so? Why did everybody hate her? Nobody ever wanted her, ever, not since her parents had died… Tears again welled, and she felt hot drops racing down her cheeks. She choked back a sob but winced at the resulting pain and forced herself to stop. She lifted a hand and swiped the tears from her face with trembling fingers. Now was not the time to break down. Now was not the time to succumb to self-pity. She could do that later. When she got out of here.
If she ever did.
Another flash of lightning, brighter this time, and then a sharp, startling crack of thunder overhead prompted her to jump, every muscle in her body tense with alarm, followed by pounding pain as the thunder bounced and rolled off of the hills, rumbling, ever rumbling into the distance. Shelter. She needed to find shelter, and quickly. She peered into the shadowy darkness around her but saw nothing but trees. Perhaps she could crawl under the boughs of a low-hanging pine. Not perfect, but it would offer some shelter, although if lightning struck the tree she hid under… Well, nothing much she could do about that. It was either stay here and likely become drenched and exposed to the storm, risking fever and chills, or clamber under the boughs of a tree. She chose the latter.
Tugging her gown up to her thighs, not caring one whit about decorum and decency, she grabbed a handful of fabric and held the bunch of cloth in one hand as she ever so slowly lifted herself, head hanging with pain again, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Head down, she made for the shelter of the trees, not fifteen feet away though it felt like miles. Eventually, pain wracking her entire body, her head screaming in protest, she soon felt the sharp needles of a low-hanging fir brush against her scalp. The scent of pine rich in her nostrils, the scent inviting, she pressed forward, scrambling under two heavy branches, her hands coming into contact with a thick layer of dried pine needles. She cried out in pain as her knee landed on top of a dried pine cone, but bent on her task, she gained another foot before, unexpectedly, the top of her head banged against the tree trunk, the rough bark scraping the top of her scalp, sending shooting waves of pain through her skull. She cried out, saw stars dancing across her vision, and then, with another brilliant flash of lightning that seemed to erupt from the ground itself, followed by another astounding and ground-shaking crash of thunder, she collapsed…
Later—she wasn’t sure how much later—an odd sound drifted into her consciousness, one that was out of place. The scent of pine filled her nostrils, as did the smell of wet earth, damp moss, and wet bark. She trembled with cold and rolled carefully onto her side, her arms hugged tightly around her body, her head pounding once again as her mind renewed her memories. She remembered finding a modicum of shelter under the pine tree just before a storm. The smells and aromas, the sense of the landscape around her filled her with a sense of peace, but that sense of peace wasn’t enough to prompt her to just lie here, waiting to die, not even because those aromas prompted her to simply relinquish, to fade away, to disappear into the darkness of unconscious slumber once again.
She forced her eyes open, surprised to find daylight oozing down through the trees. She saw a thin layer of fog creeping along the ground between the tree trunks, threading its ephemeral fingers around trees and into the very boughs of the tree under which she had taken shelter. She felt stiff, chilled, and wracked with pain, but she shifted her position, propped herself up on shaking arms, and inspected her surroundings.
She peered through the pine needles surrounding her, hunched down beneath the branches of the tree, but saw nothing but more trees, thick undergrowth, the light diffused by the canopy of trees overhead, not offering her any indication of direction. Her heart sank. Even if somebody had come looking for her, meaning Colin, the rain last night would have washed away her trail. Wouldn’t it? Once again, she thought of Colin and wished she had listened to
him. While she didn’t like to admit it, she did feel safer with him around, even if he was bossy. That sound—
She peered around, her heart pounding with fear when she recognized it for what it was. The grunting of pigs. No, not pigs. Not farm pigs. Boars. Wild boars. Had they picked up her scent? Would they attack her? Rip her to shreds with their sharp teeth? Feast on her flesh? Or was the rich scent of pine heavy enough to hide her from them? She froze, not moving a muscle as the boars—it sounded like two of them—meandered ever closer to the pine tree that sheltered her.
Her lips clamped together, her fingers clutching handfuls of dirt and pine beneath her, only her heart pounding, so hard she felt it would burst, she closed her eyes and prayed. Prayed that they didn’t catch her scent. Prayed that they had eaten their fill earlier and were no longer hungry. If they were, if they attacked, she’d be dead, likely before a scream of horror could echo through the wilderness. Every muscle in her body tense, her head pounding, her heart racing in time to the throbs of pain, she remained as still as possible. She held her breath as long as she could, and then very slowly and with as much control as she could muster, she exhaled through her nose, then inhaled again, ever so slowly even though every fiber of her being wanted to scream. No matter how much she wanted to jump up and race from beneath the boughs of the tree, or even better, to climb up, out of their reach. She knew that in her weakened and injured state that she would never make it.
Finally, as the seconds passed, each one seeming like an hour to her, the boars moved on, and soon the sound of their grunting and rooting disappeared to be replaced by the tweeting of birds high up in the trees as the mist and fog slowly cleared and steam rose from the ground around her, as the sunlight pushed through the fog to warm the mountain slopes.