by Aileen Adams
Still unsure, she waited. And waited.
Later, much later, she carefully scrambled from beneath the trees, grabbed on to a pine branch, her palm now sticky with sap, she rose to her feet, her head swimming again, pain sending sharp, shooting stabs through her skull. Her vision blurred once again as she tried to gain her footing. Her legs trembled wildly beneath her, not even her tight grip on the branches nearby able to hold her upright. Weak from exposure, and likely from fear, she collapsed once again.
21
Colin cursed again, thinking that he would have made better time on foot than on horseback, the woods so thick in places he had to carefully thread his way through the forest, constantly searching ahead to find a passable route while at the same time trying to find any sign of Iona’s passing. At one point, turning downslope, he came across a small pile of stones. Had those been left by Iona? He altered his horse’s path, gazing through the trees, noting that a pathway seemed a bit clearer here, the trees not growing quite so close together. A short distance later, keeping the horse to a slow walk, he found a piece of fabric tied to a branch. While pleased that she’d had the presence of mind to mark her path, he couldn’t help but wonder what happened. Why hadn’t she returned home? Of course, he wasn’t positive that she hadn’t, but he’d seen no fresh ashes in the small fire pit lined with stones in front of her tent. No, he felt positive that she had gone looking for the treasure, or perhaps to…
There was another small cairn of stones, and a short distance beyond that, another strip of cloth. Now that he knew the general direction she had taken to Dougal’s property—though she hadn’t known it belonged to Dougal—he urged his horse forward. Before too long, he came across one of the larger cairns that marked Dougal’s property line from hers, following a stream whose headwaters bubbled up from underneath giant masses of rock farther up in the mountains.
He knew that Iona had ventured to the meadow surrounding Dougal’s home and that he had caught her near the corner of his home. He also knew that she had walked a straight line back into the woods from there. He gazed at Dougal’s home, a large one at that, his thoughts disturbed. Why hadn’t Dougal ever made any effort to repair the yard that surrounded the place in front, the garden area in back? Not that he expected the reclusive man to plant a rose garden, but at least make the place look a little more welcoming, a little less abandoned. Though, he did note that none of the windows were broken, although the place could use a good washing, the stones of the foundation covered with green lichen and moss, a few of the shingles on the roof also needing replacing.
He snorted. How Dougal kept his property was none of his business. He turned his horse toward the wood line, seeking her footprints in the dirt, without luck. He’d hoped to find Iona before nightfall, before the oncoming rain washed away any possible trail she had left behind. Unfortunately, he saw no more strips of linen, no more makeshift cairns. He diligently searched for indications of her passage and then abruptly pulled his horse to a halt with a frown. What was he doing? Why was he out here? He told himself he was merely concerned regarding her safety, but this effort of his was more than that. He didn’t want to think about it, wanted to refuse even the idea that he felt something more than professional concern for Iona Douglas. However, the very fact that he was going to so much trouble, taking so much time, searching for her, growing increasingly anxious by the moment, spoke louder than any words. But why? He had an entire village of people to worry about and take care of, not to mention outlying farmers. So what made Iona Douglas so special?
Just the thought of her softened him, eliciting a quirk of a smile. How much longer would he deny the truth? Yet, how could someone grow attached to someone else in so little time, with so little interaction? He’d courted women before, sometimes for months, and never once had even begun to feel anything for them close to what he was feeling for Iona. Attraction. Desire. An urge to get to know her better. In some ways, Iona Douglas was much like him. Stubborn, willful, and prideful. If those traits were admirable in a man, why not in a woman?
A rumble of thunder in the distance prompted him to turn his thoughts from ideas of romance and back to his job. He ventured deeper into the trees, guiding his horse uphill, around thickets, looking for a broken branch, an overturned stone, footprints in the soil. He found nothing. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t come this way, but due to the landscape, she wouldn’t have left much of the trail. Unfortunately, there were dozens of routes she could’ve taken through the woods, but he didn’t have time to search all of them. He couldn’t—
He frowned, urging his horse toward a clump of shrubs, beneath which he spied several fresh, green leaves with small portions of twigs attached to them, lying on the ground. It looked like something had ripped them off. A few feet farther on, he found a heel print. She had come this way! Another footprint, the length between the strides telling him that she had been running. He envisioned her running quickly, slapping at branches, getting away from Dougal’s threatening demeanor, frightened, and… lost. She had run in the opposite direction of her own property. He felt a catch in his chest, hoped he wasn’t—
His heart skipped a beat and a tight knot formed in his stomach when he saw a cluster of rocks a short distance farther on, and even though it had misted earlier, he saw the telltale signs of blood. He quickly dismounted and crouched near the rocks, studying the area. He spied the meandering root of a pine tree nearby, its roots growing close to the ground, some exposed as they threaded their way from the trunk-like fingers.
He read the signs on the ground and in the vegetation. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened. She had tripped over one of them, landed hard, and injured herself. He saw the impression where she had landed, the disturbed pine needles and vague clumps of soil underneath. He looked up, searching the area, but saw no sign of her. He glanced back down at the blood. Not a lot, but still, she was out here, hurt, lost, exposed to the elements, and likely afraid. He cursed softly under his breath and stood, turned to his horse, and prepared to mount.
A sudden rush of movement from behind prompted him to spin, one hand on his horse’s withers, the other reaching for the knife at his waist, prepared to give Dougal hell for sneaking up on him again.
Not Dougal.
A flash of movement rushed toward him from the shadows of the nearby trees. Not as large as Dougal. He pulled his knife, prepared to face whoever approached, when something heavy slammed into his side, almost taking him down to his knees. He yelped in startled pain and at the same time realized that there were two, flanking him. A second blow to his ribs did drop him to one knee just as his attacker from the front appeared, face covered with cloth, also in the process of swinging a heavy, stout stick in a wide arc.
Colin barely had time to lift his left arm to block the blow, felt the strike land hard on his left shoulder, pain exploding through his body. Heart pounding, he tried to maneuver into a position where he could face both his attackers, but they were too quick. Another hit from the back prompted him to turn and try to fight off that one, and then he could deal with the other one from the front.
He heard a low, deep-throated chuckle and then a startled gasp of surprise as a voice shouted from a distance.
His two attackers quickly retreated, but not before one of them clobbered him one more time with his stick, this one catching him low at the base of his neck. Again, a crack of pain riddled his body, and though he fought against it, he slowly sagged to the ground, unconscious.
The sound of humming and fire crackling woke him. He opened his eyes to find himself lying on his back, darkness surrounding him, save for the glow of the small fire. What—
“Good, you’re awake. I was growing bored.”
Colin frowned and shifted his torso, wincing as his aching muscles protested.
Dougal? What happened? What was he doing here? He took a couple of deep breaths and then slowly sat up, ignoring the protesting pain in his shoulder, his back, and at the base of his nec
k. His body throbbed with the pain as the attack came back to him. He’d found Iona’s trail, found where she had tripped and fallen, where she had bled. He’d been about to mount his horse and try to find her when he been attacked.
“The two men who attacked ye are long gone,” Dougal commented. “Lucky thing I came by when I did.”
Colin opened his mouth to respond when a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the stark trunks of trees, outlining their boughs and spires of rock just beyond on a nearby mountain slope, followed moments later by a low rumble of thunder.
Lucky? Or convenient? Or planned? “Why were ye following me?”
Dougal shrugged. “Curiosity?”
“Do ye know who they were? You’ve seen them before?”
“Not sure, and again, not sure.”
Colin lifted a hand to brush his hair back from his forehead. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means just what I said. They wore masks, so I didn’t get a good look at their faces, but something about them seemed familiar.”
“Like what?”
Again, Dougal offered a lazy shrug, poking at the small campfire with a stick, eliciting a renewed flair of a flame, crackling and popping as it released a small stream of embers.
“I think Iona is out here lost and maybe injured.”
Dougal lifted an eyebrow and a lopsided grin. “Iona?”
Colin felt his cheeks flame, grateful for the darkness. “Miss Douglas. Ye know anything about that, Dougal?”
“Do I know anything about what? The lass being injured?” He shook his head and tossed the stick he’d been poking with into the fire, watching the flames lick at it. “Nay, I don’t.”
“What was familiar about the men who attacked me?”
Dougal hesitated, but whether in an attempt to hide the identities of the men or just because he didn’t care, Colin didn’t know. Another flash of lightning lit the sky, this time the rumble of thunder farther away.
“Another storm’s coming,” he said dryly. “Didn’t get any rain out of the previous storm, but the air smells heavy with moisture. It’s going to be a downpour.”
“Dougal,” Colin said, his tone low and heavy with warning. “If ye know something, ye forgot to tell me.”
“I did?”
“Ye did, and it’s your duty to tell me. Besides, I know that you’re not as cold and heartless as ye pretend to be. Tell me. Have ye seen any signs of Iona out here? And those two men who attacked me. I have a feeling ye know them. Do ye know why they attacked me?”
Dougal’s dark eyes focused on Colin for several moments, and then peered into the darkness beyond the campfire. Finally, he spoke. “I have not seen Iona since I shooed her away from my property. As for the other question, well, as ye well know, these forests are often traveled by outlaws, so your being attacked is no real surprise either.”
Colin wasn’t sure whether he could believe what Dougal said but looked around and saw his horse tied to a tree nearby. He knew that Dougal knew more than he was telling. He also knew that Dougal was rumored to be somewhat of an outlaw himself but Colin had never caught him doing anything illegal, nor was he wont to terrorize women.
“Dougal, I know that you’re not the type to hurt a woman, but—” He paused when Dougal sent him a dark glare that startled him, a dark, threatening look.
“Ye don’t know anything about me,” Dougal replied quietly.
Odd. He wasn’t sure what Dougal was talking about, but let it go. He rose slowly, testing his muscles and his balance, but despite the throbbing and protesting of his muscles, he determined that he was not seriously injured. “Thank ye for interfering,” he said shortly. “Now, I’m going after Iona.”
Dougal said nothing, then heaved a heavy sigh, shook his head, and stood as well. “It’s going to be dawn shortly. Ye might want to look in that direction,” he said, lifting an arm and pointing to the southeast.
“And why would I look there?”
“Because that’s where the two men who attacked ye disappeared. And I’ll tell ye something else. One of them moved like Duilach.”
Duilach? The mill owner? He lifted his eyebrows in surprise. Why would Duilach—
“And his cousin.”
Colin wasn’t too familiar with Duilach’s cousin, an outlier with a small piece of property a day’s ride to the west of the village. Confusion and disbelief warred with one another in his brain. He knew that Duilach had been vocal against Iona’s presence, but until now, he’d never known the man to have a violent bone in his body. He was—
“Ye never know how a man might behave.” Dougal shrugged. “The ones ye believe will act a certain way don’t, and the others act in a manner ye never expected.” He smiled, but it was none too friendly. “Ye don’t really know what moves the hearts of many of the people in your village, Sheriff. Ye never can. It’s why I don’t trust anybody. Ever.”
With that, Dougal turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows. Moments later, Colin heard the soft clop of horse’s hooves as Dougal left him standing there, beside a crackling fire, disgruntled, amazed, and not a little annoyed at the news that one of his villagers, one he had known for years, had attacked and possibly tried to kill him. And if they were out here, they were also on Iona’s trail.
Had Duilach and his cousin set fire to Iona’s house? Did his hatred prompt him to take his feelings out on a defenseless woman? He quickly kicked dirt over the fire until the flames were extinguished, and then, following another flash of lightning and ripple of thunder, he turned toward his horse, fearing that Duilach and his cousin were bent on finding Iona and taking care of her, once and for all.
22
Laboriously, one painful step at a time, arms outstretched to maintain her balance and equilibrium, Iona slowly headed south, hoping to come—at some point during the next couple of hours—across the stream that had served as a rough demarcation line between her property and Dougal’s. If she followed the stream downstream, she would eventually make her way back to her home, wouldn’t she? Or was the stream she had found a different one, a tributary, one of many? Was she looking for the wrong one? If she found a stream, would it take farther away from her home?
She could deny that she felt frightened, desperate to find a way back to her property, but it wouldn’t be true. Pain coursed through her body with every precarious step she took, while hunger and thirst worsened her confusion. Distracting herself proved a temporary endeavor. She should never have gone looking for treasure and realized that in doing so, she had behaved foolishly. If she survived, if she somehow made it back to her property, she would focus only on rebuilding, and then she would worry about earning a living.
The hours passed slowly, but as the fog had lifted and the storm had gone, she’d been encouraged. The trees didn’t grow quite as thickly here, and though the mountains loomed oppressive and threatening behind her, she knew that she needed to head away from them. She had not roamed across any mountainsides before she’d found Dougal’s property, but now that she thought about it, she had traveled uphill a ways after running away from him. She shouldn’t have let him frighten her so. He had not once lifted a hand to her, but he very well could have any time she was alone. How often had she found him standing at the edge of her property, just watching? He could’ve attacked then. Or that day she had sold him the bread? He could’ve attacked her then too. Then again, he could’ve just been trying to fool her, to lull her into a sense of safety. Anyone in the village or outside of it, including Dougal, could’ve set fire to her house and tried to kill her.
She didn’t want to think that he would’ve done such a thing, but it was possible. Someone didn’t have to show blatant hatred toward another person to do something unthinkable to them. She didn’t know any of the villagers, other than her brief interactions when making purchases. Colin hadn’t warned her about anyone in particular, other than Dougal in a roundabout way, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t harbor hatred… deep-seat
ed hatred that would prompt them to burn someone’s house down in the middle of the night.
Look at her own family. Rich, highly respected, well-known in their circles, no one would suspect that they treated their relative with such disregard. They didn’t know that on the Isle of Skye, they had forced her to live up in the attic, her quarters not even as large or well-appointed as those of the household servants. She recalled that stuffy attic now, the dust, the heat, and the still, musty odor that forever lingered in the air, the tiny window that offered very little light during the day, and only a glimpse of the sky at night. People didn’t know that for all those years, her so-called beloved relatives had required that she earn her keep, whether it be working alongside the cook in the kitchen or helping the housekeeper with the laundry or the dusting. They took Iona to church services, where she had to pretend that they were one big happy family, but the minute they retreated to their manor house after services, the nice dress came off to be carefully folded away as she changed into clothing more befitting a servant.
She tried not to think about those times, tried not to imagine what it would be like to be truly loved and cared for. Naturally, such thoughts inevitably had her thinking of the sheriff. Colin. She gave up and surrendered to her emotions, admitting that she wished that she wasn’t English, that he might, just possibly, be attracted to her. She had seen the way he looked at her and sometimes watched her when he didn’t think she was looking. Studying her. She knew that she frustrated him to no end, but was that frustration caused by simple irritation or something else?
She recalled how solid and secure she’d felt when he caught her that night she jumped from her window during the fire. He hadn’t simply blocked her fall. He had done his best to protect her from injury, rolling his body to take the brunt of the fall against his own. Was that instinct or something else? How many times had he come by her property to ostensibly check on her or to warn her not to go into the woods by herself? Was that a man just been diligent about his duty or was it something else? Admit it. Was her attraction to Colin merely infatuation, triggered by the fact that he was the only man in the village who seemed to be concerned for her safety, or was it something else? Something deeper? She liked to think that perhaps there was hope for her future here in this area, that the villagers would eventually get over their resentment of her, and that she could make a life here. However, she always had to consider—