by Aileen Adams
Leading Bruce at a walk, studying the ground, the trees, and the shrubs around him, he noticed some crushed dwarf willow, and then a short distance beyond that, a broken branch from a Wych fern sapling.
Once he had a general sense of her direction, he continued his search, but the further he proceeded into the woods, the fewer traces he found.
She was in her element; doubt crept into his thoughts.
Alis had purposely taken steps to avoid leaving tracks. Only once after the initial indication of her tracks did he find half a footprint heading west.
It was obvious that she knew how to take advantage of the landscape to try to hide her footprints, stepping on stones, branches lying on the ground, or even fallen leaves and pine needles to make her way deeper into the woods.
At the same time, he knew that taking such measures would slow her down. She didn’t have that much of a head start. Still, he and Bruce tried to follow her general direction for nearly an hour before he pulled his horse to a halt, sighing with frustration.
Blast it all!
Where had the lass disappeared to?
He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and then opened his eyes, looking up into the branches of a pine tree.
With narrowed eyes, he searched the branches. Had she climbed up? Was that why he could not find her trail, nor many tracks? Had she assumed that anyone who followed would not expect her to do so? He muttered a curse and his horse flicked his ears back at the sound.
“Do you think she’s gone into the trees, Bruce?”
He retraced his path, constantly looking up into the trees to see if he could spot Alis hiding in any of them. With any other woman, he wouldn’t even have considered such a thing, but with Alis?
Obviously comfortable in the woods and with enough skills to survive, he wouldn’t put it past her. She was canny, that one. She may not remember her name or who she was or to whom she belonged, but she knew how to survive.
Eventually, he retraced his path back to the manor house.
His concern grew. Had he completely misjudged her? Was Phillip right? Was Alis a spy? He didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to believe that he would’ve fallen for such a ploy. But if he had, he wasn’t the only one. And if she wasn’t, why had she run off like that? Why not just confront him? Defend herself? Then again, maybe even she didn’t know the truth of the matter. If her memory loss was genuine, maybe she just didn’t know she was a spy.
He shook his head and muttered. “You’re talking in circles.”
* * *
By the time Maccay retured to the manor house, Phillip stood in front, talking with Jake, Sarah, and Heather.
The moment he emerged from the woods, heading back toward his house to stable Bruce, Heather rushed forward and grabbed the bridle.
“You didn’t find her?”
Maccay shook his head.
Heather frowned and turned to scowl at Phillip, obviously not particularly caring that he was the laird. “How could you accuse her of such a thing? A spy? To what purpose?”
Maccay watched Phillip and Jake exchange a glance.
“Phillip, you know something. What is it?”
The question came from Sarah, one hand resting on her belly, the other on her husband’s arm.
Once again, Phillip glanced at Jake.
Maccay waited for him to answer.
“Sarah, Heather, there’s something … I was waiting for something more solid to go on, but—”
Heather turned on him, hands on her hips. “What is it?” She moved toward her sister.
Maccay dismounted and joined them.
It was obvious by the way he hesitated that Phillip didn’t want to mention it, but Jake gave him an encouraging nod.
“Two things. First, we’ve heard rumors that the McGregors may be seeking revenge against the clan for the incident with Jake and Heather earlier this year.”
“And what’s that to do with Alis?” Sarah asked.
Phillip didn’t reply to that question. “We also have reason to believe that your stepfather is heading this way.”
A gasp erupted from Sarah’s throat as, wide-eyed, she stared at her sister before turning back to her husband. “Our stepfather? He found out where we were? How? And why would he be coming here?”
Maccay was startled at the transformation of the sisters’ expression.
They both paled, faces drained of color, both glancing at each other with uncertainty before turning toward their respective husbands.
Maccay felt anger surge inside him. Just the mention of their stepfather could invoke such visceral reactions? He must be an evil man indeed.
“Wait,” Heather said. “You think Alis has something to do with it?” She frowned, shaking her head. “But how? She can’t even remember who she is, let alone—”
Sarah looked up at her husband. “You have suspicions that she’s a spy.”
It wasn’t a question but a statement.
Phillip offered a quick nod.
“That’s preposterous!” Heather exclaimed.
“How can you be so sure?”
Heather stared at Phillip a moment, then turned to Maccay.
“Maccay, you’ve been living with her. Has she given any indication that she’s pretending her memory loss? Has her story changed at all? Has she remembered something that provokes such suspicions?”
He glanced at Phillip and then shook his head. “No, but—”
Heather looked from Jake to Phillip. “And these rumors about the McGregors. You think she honestly has anything to do with that? To what purpose? If the McGregors want revenge, they certainly don’t need a spy to do so. Why would they? They know where we live. What could she possibly tell them that they don’t already know?”
Phillip gestured. “Enough. I didn’t say that Alis was a spy. It was a mere possibility, especially in light of these two separate, yet very concerning rumors—”
“Rumors,” Heather scoffed despite Jake’s efforts to calm her. “And we all know that half the time rumors prove to be unfounded, based on nothing more than gossip!”
“And what if these rumors are founded in fact?” Phillip said quietly. “What if the rumor about your stepfather is true?”
“What information do you have so far?”
The question came from Sarah, now reaching for her sister’s hand.
Maccay noted her fierce, protective expression, emphasizing her determination to not only protect her sister, but herself and her baby from her drunkard stepfather. It was also obvious that Phillip didn’t want to reply, but her steady stare finally provoked an answer.
“I have information, and I’m not going to tell you from where, that Patrick MacDonald is bringing the law with him to officially charge me and my brother with kidnapping and—”
“Kidnapping!” Sarah gasped.
Maccay was aware that Phillip knew very well that the charge could stick; Phillip had kidnapped Sarah, but when he returned to the coast to fetch Heather, she had come willingly, anxious to be away from Patrick and his abuse.
He saw the tears welling in Sarah’s eyes and the alarmed glance she gave her sister.
“I will deny it, Phillip!” she said, stomping her foot against the ground.
Heather also nodded.
“I will deny that you kidnapped me, and that when you found me and you told me why you needed my skills, I went willingly.”
“Me too,” Heather said.
Phillip gave her an affectionate smile. “If I have anything to say about it, you will not lay eyes on your stepfather.” He glanced at Jake. “I do have a feeling that in some way, Ceana was behind this, but I don’t know if or how Alis could be involved.”
Heather once again began to protest.
Phillip raised his hand. “Heather, Alis very well could have been involved, if not purposely, then inadvertently. She may have information. Information that we need—”
“But she doesn’t remember anything!” Heather protested.
Heather lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. “And if she wasn’t? If she’s completely innocent of your suspicions?”
Phillip didn’t respond but looked to Maccay. “We need to find her. And the sooner the better.”
14
Alis had run quite a distance, choking back her tears, refusing to cry like a baby as she headed deeper and deeper into the woods, darting among trees, watching where she placed her feet with care despite her quick pace.
It seemed second nature to do so.
Once again, she wondered about her background. Why did she know these things? Maybe she hadn’t lived in the woods for a short time. Maybe she had lived in the woods for years. Who knew?
The midday sun felt warm on her skin. She felt so lost; not physically, but emotionally. Alone once again.
She had grown comfortable in the company of Sarah and Heather Duncan, and even more so living with Maccay in his small house.
Yet all those pleasant memories had been dashed, literally stomped upon, when she had learned of Maccay’s true motive. The laird had put him up to it, encouraged him to live with her, to get close to her, and why?
The thought that she could be a spy seems ludicrous. If she were to spy on the Duncan clan, what had she been doing living in the woods? Had she lost her memory before going into the woods or after? What had caused those original injuries that Sarah had told her about? Who had beaten her and left her in the woods?
She had believed Maccay’s supposed friendship, his camaraderie… the fact that she allowed herself to even start growing fond of him, only to realize it was all nothing more than a ploy?
A myriad of emotions rage through her, not the least of which was anger. She felt a deep sense of betrayal and struggled to deal with the emotional turmoil that the truth had elicited. Disappointment, sadness, and a great sense of loss.
She had resolved herself to the idea that she might never regain her memory, never truly realize where she came from or where she belonged. With the amount of time that had passed with no word or rumors of anyone looking for her, she had accepted the fact that likely no one was.
She had felt so fortunate that people like the Duncans had taken her in, provided care of her, and given her a roof overhead and food to fill her belly.
Now? She felt like a fool. They had all fooled her.
Did everyone know about the laird’s suspicions? Did Heather and Sarah know that Phillip had instructed Maccay to watch her, to keep her under his eye? Did they also believe she was a spy? Had their pretense of friendship been nothing more than a lie as well? Had everyone lied to her?
Finally, exhausted, she found a place to sit and think, about midway up a tree and rock-studded slope, amid a cluster of boulders that jutted upward from a cluster of gnarled and ancient pine. Their aroma filled the air around her, providing her with a sense of familiarity and comfort as she contemplated her next course of action.
What could she do? Where could she go?
She muttered under her breath. It was obvious that she knew how to survive in the wild. She knew how to snare rabbits and hunt fish. She didn’t need Maccay or the laird’s protection to survive. She didn’t need any of them, and certainly not Maccay. She could do just fine on her own!
She didn’t know how long she sat there, alternating between angry fuming and tears ,before she heard the distant sound.
She wasn’t sure how she recognized it, but she knew it was a horse’s hoof brushing against a stone. She peered carefully through the trees, pressing her back against the rock behind her, deeper into the shadows, unmoving as she allowed only her eyes to gaze over the landscape below.
There, maybe a hundred yards distant, rounding the bottom of the slope and emerging into a small clearing, she saw a rider. While she couldn’t discern the features of that rider, she did recognize the horse.
It was Bruce, Maccay’s gelding.
Her first instinct was to stand and call out to him, but then she forced herself to remain still, once again anger coming to the fore. He didn’t want to find her for her safety’s sake. He wanted to find her for his, and for the laird’s. They couldn’t keep an eye on her if they couldn’t find her.
Once again, warm tears filled her eyes and blurred her vision but she blinked hard several times, didn’t dare move to brush them away. She remained still as stone as his horse moved across the small clearing and disappeared into the woods beyond. She watched the spot for what seemed forever, waiting for him to emerge, but he never did.
The fact that he was out looking for her… no, not for her. She had to keep reminding herself of that. He had his own ulterior motives for finding her and they likely had nothing to do with her personal safety but more to do with the laird’s suspicion.
Slowly, she relaxed and allowed her head to lean against the granite behind her. Forced to herself to contemplate the question. Was she a spy? No. She couldn’t, wouldn’t believe it. To what end?
She bent her knees and hugged them closer to her chest. If she didn’t move, she wouldn’t leave tracks. And when evening came? She had no flint or stone with which to start a fire. No cloak to ward off the evening chill. No knife, no food nor source of water nearby.
No matter. She could spend the night here and deal with those things tomorrow. Her confidence in her skills swelled. She could do it. She would. She would disappear back into the woods.
This time, she would be much more careful.
Maccay wouldn’t find her a second time.
* * *
Alis jolted awake, lifting her head from where her chin rested against her chest, all senses alert. Not sure what had woken her, she froze, eyes wide.
How could she have fallen asleep? She scolded herself and looked to the west. The sun headed toward the horizon. Should she stay here or move to find a better place to spend the night?
Searching the landscape sprawled out below, ears attuned to the sounds of the late afternoon, heading toward evening, the crickets off in the distance, and even further, the low croak of a frog. Come morning she would explore the source of that frog, because where there were frogs, there was a source of water.
A gentle breeze ruffled through the trees, nothing unusual, nothing out of place. What had startled her—
She smelled smoke.
Then a voice.
A voice so near that she felt the shiver of fear race down her spine.
Not Maccay’s voice.
She didn’t recognize it. It had a gravelly edge to it, like someone had just experienced a bate of coughing.
“I told you, we’re close.”
Another male answered. “When I get my hands on those two, they’re gonna be sorry.”
The voices came from the other side of the cluster of rocks behind her. Two men, perhaps more, likely sat hunched over a small fire. She on the south side, they on the north.
She didn’t move, hardly dared to blink, hardly even enough to breathe. It was so quiet she heard the dull crackle of wood.
The breeze blew from west to east, which was why she smelled the wood smoke so plainly. She sat downwind, lucky that neither they nor their horses would sense her presence. She remained perfectly still. How long had they been there? It couldn’t have been long or she would have woken before now, wouldn’t she?
To think she’d not only fallen asleep, but slept so heavily that she hadn’t heard horse nor man approach—or two men preparing a campfire—didn’t bode well. She could only blame that on her emotional exhaustion, the tears she had shed, the innate desire to block out unpleasant things in one’s life—
“I’m not sure this is a good idea. From what I hear, the Duncans are not a clan to be trifled with—”
“I’ll be taking back what’s mine, what they took from me. And you, as a duly official authority, will back me up, is that clear?”
“Patrick, I’m just warning you that my influence only goes so far, especially with these highlanders. There are wild bunch, every single one of them.”
Alis frowned.
Patrick.
Why did that name seem familiar?
“I have the law on my side and you know it. I know it. And I have no doubt in my mind that bastard, Phillip Duncan, knows it too.”
“What if—”
“No ifs about it!” The second man grumbled, followed by a loud, wet belch. “I’ll be taking back what’s mine, and that’s all there is to it.”
“But if Clyde doesn’t follow through with his promise to help, we’re going to find ourselves outnumbered, whether the law is on our side are not.”
Clyde.
Again, a hint of recognition.
“The McGregors hatred of the Duncan clan runs deep, and has for generations. Clyde won’t hesitate to take part in any plan to destroy the laird or his brother. These highland clans… it’s all they do. Feud and fight. It’s been going on for generations.”
What was this about? Who were they talking about? She heard the sound of sloshing.
“You might want to take it easy on that, Patrick. You need to have a clear head about you come morning—”
“You keep your nose where it belongs, Connor, and mind yer own business. It’s been a long day and a little bit o’ ale is not going to hurt nothing.” Another bit of sloshing, followed by another belch, and then a harsh laugh. “I can’t wait to see the look on Sarah’s face when she sees me,” he said. “Both of them. I can’t believe either one of them had the nerve to leave me… why, their mother is turning over in her grave as we speak.”
“You said they were kidnapped, Patrick.”
“What the hell do you think I meant?” Came the belligerent reply. “Of course, they were kidnapped! But it’s been a long while, over a year! Give me one good reason why me own daughters have made no effort to escape and come back to me, where they belong!”
