"Did you not take Tabrizia into Edinburgh with you?" asked Troy, already knowing the answer.
"Tabrizia?" demanded Paris.
"She's missing: We have been searching since noon," replied Troy miserably:
"Her mare is gone, didn't you see that?" demanded Paris.
"Yes, but we hoped she had gone with you," said Troy.
"Get all the stable hands. Someone must have helped-her to saddle. If she's been thrown in this storm, she won't last long," he said urgently. He questioned the young lad Troy had found, the one who had saddled Tabrizia's horse. "Where was she going?" asked Paris carefully.
"She was wi' the dark woman from Tantallon," the boy told the solemn group.
"Margaret!" exclaimed Troy.
Grim-faced, Paris shouted, "Where's The Mangler? Come, girl!"
Adam watched Paris mount and take off like the wind. "He shouldn't go alone."
Troy nodded. "I'll get Ian and his men. We'll follow him."
It was slow going, for the snow was a deep powder, which, in many places, reached up to the stallion's underbelly. The Mangler loped along, not experiencing the same difficulty as the horse and the man.
Paris's mind raced in a hundred different directions. Were the Fates playing with him? Had he finally found his heart's desire, only to have her snatched from him after a few short months? He forced his mind to be calm. Self-torture would gain him nothing. Though darkness had fallen hours ago, the moon upon the snow made it seem like daylight. He saw nothing. No tracks, no fallen horse, nothing! He turned in the saddle and saw that his men were out in full force. It took two long, slow hours to reach Tantallon.
He strode across the great entrance hall and stopped at the foot of the staircase as Margaret appeared and came down two steps. Relief had swept over him as he had seen Tabrizia's mare in the stables, and he knew they had made it through the storm.
"Margaret, thank God! Where is Tabrizia?"
"Tabrizia?" she asked, apparently puzzled. "How should I know?"
He looked into her blazing eyes and he knew.
"The game is over, Margaret. Her horse is in the stables, and you were seen at Cockburnspath today. You want her dead, don't you?" he asked incredulously.
"I rid you of one wife, and you married another," she cried, her eyes glittering wildly.
"You killed Anne, you and your mother, between you," he realized aloud.
She began to laugh. "She was my mother's creature from the moment she knew Anne married you while carrying another man's child." She laughed again. "My mother and I even got rid of that French bitch, Danielle, all those years ago. How ironic her bastard should come to haunt us."
"Where is Tabrizia?" Paris demanded urgently.
Magnus had quickly come up behind her, and they had her trapped now.
"Somewhere on the mountain giving birth! They will both be dead by now." She gave a triumphant laugh.
Magnus took a double-edged claymore from the wall and smote the woman he had lived with for all those years. Her body stood erect for a long moment after her head had left her shoulders, then it crumpled and lay crookedly across three stairs. The head rolled to one side, the face hidden by the sticky, black hair.
"Find her! Find her!" cried Magnus. "Call out all my men."
They searched the mountainside with torch-lights, making a crisscross pattern then, working backward, did it all over again. They searched the long night through to no avail.
Toward morning, it was The Mangler who found her. The excited barks told Paris immediately that the huge beast had found something. He prayed it would not be some animal the dog had unearthed. He found the shieling, buried in snow, and crawled inside. She was lying still and cold, but he could hear his child mewling and knew that it, at least, was alive.
He sent up a great shout that brought torchbearers to the cave. He passed his son out to Ian, and then Paris picked up Tabrizia gently, not daring to examine her too closely in case she had already left him. As he struggled through the deep drifts, his heart pounding with the great effort, he suddenly became aware of another heartbeat against his. A faint, fast, but steady beat that sent his hope wildly soaring and quickened his footsteps toward the sanctuary of Tantallon.
"Brandy and whisky," he shouted as he swept Tabrizia up to their own apartments. Ian followed, carrying the baby. The household sprang into life with a steady stream of servants carrying blankets, hot water, liquor and food. Others laid out fires and food and cleaned up the muddy snow that had been trailed across the carpets.
"Rub the child with whisky," Paris instructed Ian as he laid Tabrizia in the big bed. "Here, pour some into this bowl," and he took it to the bed and began to rub her arms and shoulders with the raw whisky.
Ian tried his best with the baby, but it began to scream angrily in protest. The wide-eyed men exchanged grins. "I dinna think he needs more reviving," decided Ian, wrapping the child in a woolen blanket.
Tabrizia opened her eyes and closed them again. Paris held the brandy to her lips, and she coughed and choked as a little went down her throat.
"My baby," she gasped as his screams penetrated her consciousness.
"He is here, love," soothed Paris, taking the child from Ian and tucking him in beside his mother.
"Get some hot bricks," Paris ordered a servant, and as Magnus approached to see how his daughter fared, Paris gently said, "She's going to be all right." And the older man's eyes filled with unshed tears. He put hot bricks to her feet and fed her warm broth, hushing her questions and assuring her their child was lusty and strong.
"Out, everyone. She needs rest," he commanded.
When they finally had privacy, he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. He reached inside his doublet and brought forth the exquisite gift. He slipped it on her finger and raised it to his lips. Her eyes shone like the amethyst jewels in the ring.
"I must look terrible," she whispered.
"You are the most beautiful creature in the world," he assured her, his eyes brimming with tears.
"No, he is," she decided, looking down at her son.
"Him? When I first saw him in that lair, he looked for all the world like some fox's kit," he teased softly.
She tenderly touched the red tuft of hair on her son's head.
"For which great city shall we name him?" asked Paris, his heart overflowing with love.
"None. I intend to found my own dynasty." She smiled. "I had him out upon the heath and that is what we will call him. Heath Cockburn!"
He bent to kiss her. "I can refuse you nothing," he admitted, and he had no regrets.
THE END
I hope you enjoyed Wild Hearts. You can see all of my books on my website
http://www.virginiahenley.com
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