by Connie Mason
No one answered her.
She hunkered down on the branch, trying to decide what to do. She still had Rob’s boot knife. And his claymore stood in the middle of the path. She doubted she could even lift it, let alone wield it.
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Mad Rob may have ruined her wedding and her reputation, but in a scrape, he’d made sure she was safe. He’d done all he could to protect her.
Her chest felt as if someone had dropped a lodestone on it.
She suspected Rob was dead. Horribly dead. No matter what he’d done to her, she was heartsick about that.
What about the wolf?
There was no sound of padded feet moving stealthily toward her.
But she couldn’t remain in the tree forever. Eventually, the pack would tire of chasing Falin and return. She needed to be long gone by then. The cloak had been dragged from the stallion’s back during the melee and was draped over a thornbush.
She’d freeze without that. Especially since now there was a wide swath missing from her skirt and chemise that bared her right leg to mid thigh.
How Mother will scold me when she sees how I’ve ruined my beautiful wedding dress, she thought disjointedly.
As if it signified anything.
She swung herself down, dangling from the bough again. She still had a ten-foot drop, which wouldn’t have troubled her if she’d had both shoes.
Elspeth released her hold and tried to land mostly on her right foot. Her ankle turned, and she went down hard.
And found herself nose to nose with a dead wolf.
She scrambled to her feet. There were several carcasses littering the path. She ought to have felt revulsion, but she was numb.
Then she limped over to retrieve the cloak and throw it around her shoulders. Her ears pricked to a new sound.
Someone was humming. She recognized the tune as one of the bawdy drinking songs her father and his men sang late at night after they were all deep in their cups. Sounds of crackling underbrush accompanied the song.
“Father?” she asked shakily.
“If ye’re asking whether I’m your sire or a priest, the answer is no to both.”
The voice was gravelly but it belonged to Rob.
He finally appeared, working his way through the timber, and burst back onto the game trail.
“Oh, Rob, ye’re alive!” Elspeth put both arms around his neck and hugged him close. “I was afeard ye were gone, but ye’re alive!”
“Aye, lass,” he said with a sinful grin. “Completely alive.”
She was suddenly aware of the hardness of his groin against her belly and pulled back away from him. She noticed then that he was covered with blood, and her alarm must have shown on her face.
“Dinna fret. It’s not my blood. At least, not mostly.”
“Ye wicked, wicked man. Why didna ye answer when I called to ye?”
“Did ye call?”
“Aye.”
He put a hand to the back of his head, and it came away with fresh, bright red blood.
“Seems I took a wee nap after the wolf knocked me into a fallen log. Fortunately, I woke with only a pounding head. He didna wake at all.”
“How did ye manage that?”
“My belt knife in his ribs might have had somewhat to do with it.” He stooped to clean the blade on the brown grass before he returned it to the small sheath at his waist. Then he did the same for the claymore and shoved it into his shoulder baldric. “I’ll have my boot knife back, if ye please.”
She stepped back a pace.
“I ken where ye stashed it, lass.” His gaze flicked pointedly at her bodice. “Dinna make me go in after it. Unless, o’ course, ye wish me to.”
She retrieved the small blade and cast it down. It quivered upright between his feet.
“Ye’ve some skill with a blade.”
“I’ve three older brothers.”
“I suppose Falin’s fled,” he said, looking down the path.
Elspeth nodded.
“Aye, well, he’s always had a coward’s heart,” Rob said. “The silly beastie.”
“The rest of the wolves went after him,” Elspeth said, feeling the need to stand up for the stallion. “He was no’ a coward. He bore us in safety a long way. He fought well and hard with ye. But he stood by ye till ye left him! And now the wolves will…” She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “And ye dinna care.”
She thumped his chest with her fist once.
“Ye dinna care at all, ye brute.” Her face crumpled, and tears coursed down her cheeks. The tension of the last few days broke over her like a wave, and she wept without shame for a horse that wouldn’t even let her mount him.
“Hush, lass. Ye dinna need to cry. The tears will freeze on your cheeks.” Rob grabbed a corner of the cloak and swiped at her face. “Falin will be fine, ye ken. He can run like the wind.”
“Ye didna see them after him.” She cried harder.
“He’s probably outrun that mangy pack and is well on his way back to his own stable by now,” Rob said. “Which is more than I can say for us. We need to be gone before the wolves decide we can’t run nearly so fast and turn back.”
“What about you? Your head is wounded.” She put a hand around his neck and felt a gash beneath blood-matted hair.
“There’s no time to clean me up and make me pretty. Come, lass. Let’s away.”
He took her hand and started down the trail. They hadn’t gone ten paces when she cried out.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I stepped on something sharp,” she said, balancing on one leg and plucking a thorn from the ball of her bare foot.
“Where’s your shoe?”
“I dinna know.”
A guilty flush washed over her. She knew exactly where she’d abandoned that shoe.
But why should she feel shamefaced before her abductor? True, he had risked his neck to save hers. That counted for something, but she couldn’t tell him the truth about her missing shoe. If she did, she’d have to admit to leaving a trail of silk all across the valley floor, and there was no telling how a madman might take to that news.
She glanced around. “It must be about here someplace.”
“Well, we haven’t time to look for it.” He grabbed up the piece of velvet he’d cut from her skirt and wrapped it around her foot several times. Then he rummaged in his sporran and came up with a length of leather lacing. He bound the velvet to her foot and calf.
“No’ exactly fashionable enough for court, but better than going unshod in this weather.”
Wolf song reached their ears, distant, but close enough to be worrisome.
“Come, lass. And step lively.”
This time he didn’t have to tell her twice.
Chapter 7
Angus Fletcher squinted against the glare of the winter sun on Loch Eireann. His longboat was provisioned for the journey. He’d already talked to his neighbor in the next glen, Rory Comyn, about looking to the needs of his barnyard beasts while he was gone. Rory agreed, but even so, Angus would have to count the hens twice when he returned. Everyone knew the Comyns had sticky fingers.
Now if only his passengers would arrive when Rob MacLaren said they would.
Sailing the loch was a fickle enterprise in the best of times. It was a long, narrow stretch of trouble, bounded by the central Highlands all round and so deep in spots, no one knew for certain whether there was a bottom. Then there was the changeable current that might turn a boat about if a man weren’t careful or turn it all the way over if he didn’t show Loch Eireann the proper respect.
Winter didn’t help matters either. The loch water was fresh, but Angus had never seen it freeze solid. Sometimes warm, sometimes frigid, the pesky current
turned the waters over too often for that.
Then, too, some folk believed an each uisge lived beneath the loch’s dark water. Angus had never actually seen a water horse, but he didn’t discount the existence of one. It didn’t do to disregard the spirits of a place. The faerie folk had claimed Loch Eireann centuries before he eked out a living on its shores. The water horse would remain hidden in its depths long after Angus was worm food.
When Rob first approached him about this trip, Angus was happy to finally have a chance to repay his friend. But he had tried to convince him to go east instead. Sailing in that direction, the loch emptied into the lovely River Earn, which flowed all the way to the Firth of Tay and the shining sea beyond. It was said to be a grand trip.
A man ought to see something of the world, and the Firth was as far away as he could imagine.
But the MacLaren was adamant. He’d go west to Lochearnhead or not at all.
Angus glanced at the shadows thrown by the morning sun, gauged how much time they had until the current switched, and then it wouldn’t matter what Rob wanted. There’d be no gainsaying the wind and standing waves.
“Well, if the MacLaren will no’ come to us, we must see what’s keeping him,” Angus told Fingal, his deerhound.
The burly highlander threw a cloak over his shoulders, picked up his walking staff, and strode into the forest. The shaggy, long-legged hound loped beside him.
***
“There’s another sign!” Elspeth’s father called out and urged his mount forward. He leaned from the back of his dun-colored mare and scooped a ragged pink sleeve from a tangle of blackberry bush. Stewart brandished the cloth for Lachlan to see as if it were a victory banner, a tentative smile on his face.
Lachlan Drummond was less hopeful about their search. True, Mad Rob hadn’t made good on his threat to kill the girl if they followed. And she seemed to be watched lightly enough to be able to leave markers on her way. But once they caught up to the MacLaren, Drummond wouldn’t give a pair of coppers for Elspeth Stewart’s chances.
A cornered boar has little to lose and may as well take a tusk to the nearest thing to him.
Revenge would be best served if Mad Rob gave them reason to hope and let them catch up to him before he slit the girl’s throat before their eyes. Then he wouldn’t care if they tore him to pieces. He’d have had his moment.
That’s what Lachlan would have done if their positions were reversed.
Drummond kicked his horse into a canter to close the distance between him and Stewart.
“We’re gaining on them.” Alistair folded the rosy sleeve with care and squirreled it away in his sporran along with all the other bits of silk they’d collected. “I can feel it.”
“Aye, but I’m wondering if it isna too easy. The girl is leaving so many clues, we may be playing right into the fiend’s hands,” Drummond said, giving his black beard a thoughtful tug. “I’m thinking we ought to call in the support of our allies. The MacLaren’s sins aren’t just against us, ye ken.”
“I dinna follow, unless ye mean Elspeth. He’s besmirched my daughter’s honor more than ours.” Stewart continued toward the forest, looking for another scrap of silk. “Who better than her father and betrothed to defend her?”
“The MacLaren has acted against the queen’s wishes by interrupting the wedding,” Drummond said. “Mad Rob invited us to collect Elspeth at Caisteal Dubh at month’s end. Wouldn’t ye like to see his face when we arrive there flanked by the queen’s own guard? After all, there’s some that would say what he’s done rises to the level of treason.”
The possibility of his enemy dying a traitor’s death gave Lachlan a warm glow of satisfaction.
“No, I canna think of that,” Stewart said. “We have to find Elspeth now. Her mother willna be satisfied to wait. Not even on the queen’s pleasure. We must press on.”
But before they could, a riderless black stallion came careening out of the woods. Drummond recognized the beast as Mad Rob’s and spurred his mount into pursuit. After half a mile, he pulled even with the stallion and grasped its reins long enough to yank it to a halt.
The MacLaren’s horse was flecked with foam and nearly blown. Otherwise, Lachlan knew he’d never have been able to catch it.
Stewart rode up to him. “Holy God, he’s covered with blood.”
The horse’s flanks were caked with dried splotches, and an open gash sent a rivulet of fresh red down his long leg. Stewart met Drummond’s gaze. Neither man had to say it aloud.
Rob MacLaren and his captive had been attacked by a pack of wolves, and the fact that they were no longer on horseback did not bode well.
“We have to press on, Lachlan,” Stewart said softly, his tone grim. “I have to know what befell her. Whatever we may find.”
“Aye,” Drummond agreed, handing off the stallion’s reins to one of his men. May as well ring the one bright spot from this damnable turn. Lachlan was getting a prime stud from the deal. “Take Roald with ye, Seamus, and see the beast home to my stable. Tend his hurts if he’ll let ye.”
His men hurried to loop a pair of ropes over the stallion’s neck to insure he couldn’t break away from them once he regained his wind. Lachlan didn’t have to remind them he’d take the failure out of their hides if they lost this exceptional bit of horseflesh.
That settles the question of going home now, Lachlan thought with resignation.
Alistair Stewart had already turned around toward the woods to continue the search for his daughter. But Lachlan could see he’d lost hope. His shoulders sagged like a man destined for the rack.
***
“Ow!” Elspeth hopped one-legged toward a fallen log and plopped down on it, holding her velvet-wrapped foot. The increasingly soggy and ragged cloth was no match for thorns. She plucked a long, vicious one from her heel. “I dinna think I can go on like this.”
“’Tis no’ much farther, lass,” Rob said, looking as pale and tired as she felt.
“But I’m hungry and thirsty and I could lie down in the grass right now and sleep for a week,” she said, eyeing a flat spot alongside the game trail. Their fitful few hours of rest in the cave wasn’t nearly adequate for the events of the long night and longer morning. All their provisions had been lost when Falin bolted.
Elspeth would trade her best brooch for a single swallow of water right now.
“Ye’ll sleep soon enough once we get where we’re going.” He scooped her up and balanced her over one shoulder, letting her head and arms dangle down his back.
“No, wait, put me down!” She pushed herself up with her hands splayed on his back.
“Are ye willing to walk then?” He made no move to put her down.
“I canna. No’ a single step.”
Rob snorted and started on down the trail. “Then beggars canna be choosers, can they?” He gave her bottom a swat. “Be grateful for small favors.”
Elspeth sagged over his shoulder, but it was hard to breathe when her head was hanging down. Little pinpricks of light pressed against the corners of her vision, and she pushed herself back up again.
“Ye really did yourself some damage when ye hit your head on that log,” she said when she noticed that Rob’s hair was crusted with blood on the back of his head.
“Oh, aye? And I thought the splitting headache was from no’ having my morning bowl of parritch.”
“Do ye think the wolves might come back?” she asked. “Is that why ye insist on pressing on?”
“No. They hunt by night.”
He climbed over a thick trunk that had fallen across the path. A low-hanging branch caught in her hair and pulled out several strands.
“Ow!”
If Rob heard her, he gave no sign.
“So long as we have shelter by the time night falls, we should be safe.”
“If our destination truly isna far, ye really should stop and rest,” she said.
“And ye really should stop talking, lass.”
Elspeth heard the weary threat in his tone and decided to heed him.
They left the larger trees of the older forest behind. Rob trudged on through the young, spindly forest, sometimes weaving so she feared he’d topple over.
Then he stopped suddenly, cocking his head to listen.
Something was approaching through the brush, rustling branches and snapping downed twigs underfoot. A big something from the sounds of it.
Elspeth closed her eyes, the better to concentrate, and heard panting coming from farther up the trail. A decidedly wolfish sound.
“I thought ye said wolves hunted only by night.”
“Unfortunately, of the two of us, it seems only ye have the honor of always being right. There’s no tree big enough to bear your weight nearby,” Rob said as he put her down. He stooped and pulled out his boot knife, handing it to her haft first. “If they get past me, dinna let yourself be taken.”
Elspeth accepted the knife. Of all the horrors in the world, the fear of being eaten alive by a wild creature turned a body’s bowels to water quicker than anything.
Aye, she’d put the blade to her own throat first.
Chapter 8
Elspeth sheltered behind Rob, her insides quaking. The panting sound was unmistakable now.
Then she heard a sharp whistle and a shouted, “Ho, Fingal, dinna range so far ahead, laddie.”
A thin, shaggy deerhound appeared around an outcropping of rock.
The set of Rob’s shoulders visibly relaxed. He lowered his knife and chuckled. The hound loped toward him, teeth bared in a doggie grin.
“Ye know this beast?” Elspeth stiffened as it sniffed her with thoroughness, Fingal’s great head higher than her waist.
“Aye, and he’s meek as a kitten so long as ye pose no threat to his master.” Rob ran a hand over the deerhound’s spine from neck to tail. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Angus, ye great bear! Come claim your dog, or we’ll fit him with a saddle and ride him back to your house.”