by Tracy Brogan
Bess quaked where she landed, eyes watery and fearful.
Outside, the men stirred fast to action by their master’s shout, ready to defend their lords. In seconds, his father and Tavish burst into the tent.
Bess struggled to sit up, but Myles reached over and grabbed her bony shoulder.
“Where is my wife?”
Bess blinked, saying nothing.
Cedric stepped to the tent flap and murmured to a man-at-arms, who nodded and quickly moved away.
Myles jostled the old woman, setting her teeth to rattle. “Answer me, you conniving witch.”
Tavish stepped closer, regret thickening his voice. “They must have switched places.”
Myles cast a scathing glance at his uncle. “’Tis obvious, Tavish! But where is Fiona now?”
“Gone,” answered Bess.
Anger and dread mingled as one inside Myles’s chest. “Gone where?”
The man-at-arms returned. “She’s not on the maid’s pallet, my lords. Shall I have the men search the area?”
Cedric nodded and took a step toward Bess, towering over her, hands fisted on his hips. “Where is she, woman?”
Her lips clamped, and Myles poked her with his foot. “You think she’s unsafe with the likes of us? How will she fare in the forest with the wild creatures and the wicked terrain? Or the cold rain? Do you hear that thunder? A mighty storm is coming.”
“I told her not to go,” she said faintly. “She commanded I take her place. ’Twas not my will.”
His lungs felt full of peat bog. “Where is she off to?”
Bess ducked her head, as if to avoid a blow, though not one of them had raised a hand. “She forbid me to tell.”
Myles bent closer still. “You do her no service by keeping this secret. She’s sure to come to harm in those woods. If you care for your mistress, you’ll tell me where she was headed. Home?”
Bess shook her head and eyed him warily. “Will she come to greater harm if you find her?”
Myles grit his teeth in frustration. “I will treat her with care. I cannot promise the same for you if you do not answer. Where has she gone?” He pressed upon her shoulder.
“To Our Lady of the Immaculate Heart,” the maid spit out.
“The convent?” the men exclaimed in unison.
“Aye. She has an aunt there. Her mother’s sister.”
“Where is this convent?” Myles asked. Surely no destination could be less suitable for his disobedient bride. Then again, perhaps a life of discipline and penance might be just what she needed.
Tavish spoke. “In Ludlow. I know the place. But ’tis a full day’s ride from here. She’ll never make it without a horse. She didn’t steal a horse, did she?”
Bess rose up straighter. “My lady is no thief!”
Myles snorted. “No thief, perhaps, but a troublesome she-devil. And you”—he pointed a finger at Bess’s nose—“you should have awoken me last night.”
“She cannot have gone far in the dark,” Cedric said. “And clever as the lass might be, she no doubt left a trail wide as Loch Ness.”
Myles moved to the bed of blankets and shoved one foot into a boot. He bent to lace it. “I’ll deal with this, Father. You be on your way. I’ll find her quickly and catch up to you.”
Cedric nodded. “The carts keep our pace slow enough, but if we reach Inverness, we’ll stay and wait for you. Take ten men on your search. More eyes will make the task easier.”
Myles wanted to argue and insist he could find her without aid. ’Twas disgraceful enough she’d left him while he slept! Christ Almighty! What kind of a soldier was he, to let the enemy slip from his grasp just because he was content and sleepy? But then again, who could have imagined the chit would be so foolish?
“Tavish, choose the men,” Myles ordered.
Tavish snapped to attention. “’Tis done. And if it suits you both, I’ll count myself among them. ’Twas I who let the girl out of sight.” He turned to leave the tent, nearly tripping over Bess. He nudged her none too gently with his toe. “And what shall we do with this sack of gristle and bits?”
“Tie her to a tree and leave her for the wolves.” Myles wasn’t serious, of course, but let her think he was, by God. Then she’d tell her mistress not to cross him again. If he ever found her. An odd sensation twisted in his gut. It took a moment to recognize it, for the feeling rarely visited him.
It was worry.
The earl regarded her a moment. “Put her in the cart. She goes with us to Dempsey. And, Tavish, don’t judge yourself too harshly over this occurrence. After all, the lass is pure Sinclair.”
The brothers exchanged a look that Myles didn’t wholly understand, but he’d press his father on that issue later, after his bride was found.
Tavish nodded and hauled Bess from the tent.
Myles tugged on his other boot, avoiding Cedric’s gaze. Sinclair or no, the girl had duped him with her compliance. He jerked the laces tight and finished tying them.
“You mustn’t judge yourself too harshly either, son.”
“I had that old crone in my bed, Father, without even realizing. Marriage has me addlepated, and it’s only just begun.” Frustration rasped in his voice.
Cedric’s easy laughter filled the tent, his good humor in stark contrast to Myles’s own. “Truer words were never spoken. Women have a way of complicating the simplest of things. And desperation makes them stranger still. Don’t fret on it. Just find her and bring her home.”
“Desperation.” The word stung on the tongue. “That’s what I don’t understand, Father. Why was she so desperate to leave she’d rather face a future full of calamitous repercussions?”
“Because her father filled her head with lies, lad. You know I didn’t murder Aislinn Sinclair, but this lass certainly thinks I did. It’s up to you to convince her otherwise.”
Myles picked up his belt, taking note of his missing dagger. At least the girl had the sense to arm herself, but he’d be wary of that blade when he found her. She’d stabbed his father with nothing more than a brooch. She could do real damage with his knife. His thoughts trigged a question that burst forth unbidden. “How is it Aislinn had your brooch, Father? Was it stolen?” His father’s expression turned somber in that instant. “It was given freely. ’Twas meant to be proof of a promise I made.”
“What promise?”
His father shook his head. “Your wife awaits you in the woods. We’ll talk on this another day.”
His father was coy as a courtesan when it came to Aislinn Sinclair. But he was right. Every moment that passed took Fiona farther away from the protection of the Campbells and closer to certain danger—a wild boar, perhaps, or worse yet, forest brigands. Myles picked up his own cloak and left the tent. Rain started in earnest, and thunder rumbled like an omen.
The pelting rain stung Fiona’s eyes, slowing her progress to a pathetic pace. With no idea how far she’d come, she knew only that she’d walked for hours and was irretrievably lost. She had struggled to keep her path due east, but the night stars played cat and mouse among the clouds until at last the sky was so heavy with rain she saw nothing but darkness. It was morning now, but still the rain fell.
The best she could hope for now was to eventually hit Moray Firth and then decide if she must go north or south. Or perhaps she’d wade straightaway into the frigid waters and be done with herself. She’d been drowning slowly for hours now, her limbs already shriveled and pale as a corpse. How much worse could a swift death in the ocean’s raging tide feel compared to this elongated death?
The rain doubled the weight of her garments, and despondency bore down on her spirits heavier still. She’d made a mistake. A horrible, irreconcilable mistake. She knew that now. Twice during the night, she’d heard such a wicked howling in the woods she’d climbed a tree trying to hide from it. Her dress was in tatters, torn by brambles and branches, and it was quite possible she’d broken a finger when trying to break her fall after tripping over a bulky tree r
oot.
Her plan, which seemed plausible when whispered under a dry cloak with Bess, now revealed itself to be utterly absurd. She had panicked and run, convincing herself she could simply disappear with the help of her Fraser kin. The marriage had been consummated, so the truce would hold and Margaret would be safe. But with the dawn, logic had replaced desperation, and Hugh Sinclair was cursing her from the heavens for her impetuous failure.
The Frasers held more hatred toward the king and Campbells than most. But even if she made her way to their stronghold, would they offer aid? Would they house and clothe and feed her, and then, God willing, see her safely to Glamis Castle and her Douglas cousins? Even if they did, the likelihood of her husband relinquishing his claim on her was improbable, and her family would very well suffer the consequences of this night’s misadventure. Oh, what a stupid, foolish coward was she.
She should’ve killed him. She should have sliced his throat like a pig to slaughter and pulled out his heart for soup. Then she should’ve turned the knife upon herself. ’Twas the only way to purge her soul of his stain and save her sister from the same fate as herself.
But what now? She could not go back. She knew the type of punishment Cedric Campbell could dole out. Her mother’s battered body had been evidence enough. The memory of that hateful day bore down on her, heavier and colder than the rain. She’d been just ten years old when they’d laid her mother on a trestle table in the great hall so that every Sinclair might see the damage done at the Campbell chieftain’s hand.
Aislinn Sinclair, beautiful and once so vibrant, bruised and tinged by death’s gray palette. A villager admitted to having seen Cedric near the spot that day. And if that testimony was not great enough, there was the brooch, pinned through her very flesh, a brand, a flag of victory.
Seeing her mother cold upon the table, Fiona plucked the pin out, thinking in her childish mind that, once it was removed, her mother might come alive again. But she did not.
’Twas John who led Fiona away soon after, drying her tears and vowing to avenge their mother’s death. But he’d lied. His recent betrayal wounded her far greater than Simon’s, for Simon was a brute, all instinct and strength with little insight. But John knew her loneliness. He shared the ache of missing their mother, and still he’d done nothing to stop Simon from sacrificing her to the Campbells. The last remaining shards of her heart splintered. Yes, she had escaped her husband, but now it seemed she had no brothers left to return to.
Lightning cracked, reminding Fiona of more immediate dangers. There, in the distance, she spotted a dwelling. Blessed heaven. ’Twas a small, abandoned hut, but a palace to her eyes. She hurried to it and stepped inside. Searching in vain for any food, she realized the mice had long since cleared the place of even the tiniest crumb. But still, there was a dry spot on the floor, and she sank down on it like it was a bed fit for the pope himself. Weariness collapsed her limbs, and fitfully, she slept.
For an hour or more, Myles and his men headed toward Ludlow and searched the forest in the dismal rain, looking for any sign. They found none. No footprints or bits of fabric left behind. No broken branches or strands of deep-red hair twisted in a thicket. And all the while, questions rammed against the doors of his mind. What if he could not find her and never learned her fate? Or what if he found her too late, after some evil of the woods had done its worst?
The rain let up, and Myles signaled to his uncle. Leaning forward from his saddle, he spoke the words quietly. “’Tis clear the old nurse lied. These Sinclairs are a duplicitous lot.”
Tavish nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. Fiona could not have come this far without a horse, and all of ours were accounted for. But if not to Ludlow, then where?”
Myles looked around, as if she might be waving from a distance just to taunt him. What would he do to dupe an enemy? “If it were me, I’d send my pursuers opposite of the way I was headed. Fraser land is east of here. Do you suppose she’d go to them?”
Tavish scratched at his red beard. “There’s no telling what the foolish thing might do. But she’s not come this way. That is certain.”
“We’ll return to last night’s camp and start again. We know she’s not gone west. And Father is traveling south. So we’ll divide and search east and north. She really cannot have gotten far.”
“Unless she had help.”
Myles looked at Tavish, cold dread spiraling in his gut at the notion. “Help? Do you think this was prearranged?”
His uncle rolled his wide shoulders and spit on the ground. “’Twas a bold move to wander out into the forest alone at night. She’s either brave, mad, or planning to meet someone.”
The idea clutched at Myles like a sinewy claw. If she’d had help, then only God Himself would know where to look. He rose up in his stirrups and whistled to his men.
CHAPTER 9
RESTARTING FROM LAST evening’s camp, Myles and half his men headed east. Within a mile, they picked up her trail. He sent one man to gather those heading north, and soon they were a party of ten once more. His anger, simmering since finding the nurse in his bed that morning, now scalded. His wife’s foolishness was beyond comprehension, her actions leading them straight into enemy lands. Pride stung like a nettle on his collar as they trailed bits of fabric, broken branches, and footprints in the soft forest floor. His men knew him to be resourceful and wise, but his wife seemed hell-bent on making a fool of him. He’d not tolerate such disobedience, and when he found her, he’d make certain she understood as much.
The girl had taken a circuitous route, either getting lost or perhaps trying to cover her way. She was clever enough to think of that, while he’d not been clever enough to realize the nurse had lied. He’d not make such a mistake again. Duplicitous Sinclairs.
For the next few hours, they followed her trail, and as the sun tipped the crest of the mountains, they came upon a tiny shack. Myles knew deep in his gut she’d been there, and perhaps lingered still. He motioned for his men to approach silently.
Tavish leaned in for a whisper. “Perhaps we should circle the place. She’s likely to slip into a rabbit hole if we’re not paying full attention.”
“If she does, ’twill be you I send in after her.”
“Best be a very large rabbit hole, in that case.” Tavish ran a thick hand over his belly.
Myles halted his horse and slid from the saddle, landing on the ground with practiced ease. He reached for his dagger, remembering then that the little wench had swiped it. Not a thief, indeed!
“Give me your dirk, Tavish. If I need a blade, I cannot wield a sword in so small a dwelling.”
Tavish had the nerve to look indignant. “Where’s your dirk?”
Myles looked to the sky in a plea for patience. “Where do you think?”
“Ah, she is a pesky little menace, that wife of yours. Here.” He handed him the dagger. “Please try to see that I get it back, would you?”
“As surely as you make certain she doesn’t sneak off again in the night.”
Tavish’s ruddy complexion took on a deeper hue. “’Twas a clever trick.”
“Indeed.” Myles nodded once and made short work of getting to the door of the hut as his men circled it at a distance, still on their horses.
He listened for a moment and heard nothing. Holding the dirk in one hand, he eased open the door with the other. And behold, there she was, asleep in the dirt. Filthy, bedraggled, her hair tangled in knots, breathing soft and innocent as a newborn babe.
All day he’d stewed over this moment, and now he’d caught her. His hands itched with the need to throttle that slender white neck. Lord knew she deserved it. But at the sight of her, an odd relief coursed through him. She was found, safe and whole. She had not perished in the forest, or worse, found sanctuary with the Frasers. But relief soon gave vent to his pent-up frustration.
He bent low, gripping her shoulder and jostling her awake.
She gasped in surprise, and before he knew what she was about,
she swung her arm around and pain sliced at his leg.
Curse the little hellion! She just slashed me with my own dagger!
He flung himself against her body, pinning her between himself and the hard ground. Breath woofed from her lungs as he twisted one hand into that damnable red hair and caught her wrist with his other. He squeezed, making her gasp again, and his blade fell from her fingers onto the dirt.
Ire and relief mingled. He wanted to pummel her. And shake her. And kiss her. The shocking combination disoriented his senses. She was a foe like no other, using guile against which he had no weapons.
“You found me?”
“You thought I wouldn’t?” He pulled her arms up over her head and pinned them with one hand as she grunted from his weight.
“You should be halfway to Ludlow.” Her voice rasped for want of air in her lungs.
The wench knew no humility. He had her trapped like a rat in a bucket, and she had the audacity to make accusations?
“No, I should be halfway to home, but your capriciousness brought me here instead.” He pulled a cord from inside his jerkin and began to twine it around her wrists, his face stern. “Girl, you try my patience. You’ve cost me hours in the saddle, worn out my horses, irritated my men, and put us all in danger. And for what? Your stubborn Sinclair pride? You are a Campbell now. You answer to me. ’Tis time you learned that.”
And then he kissed her.
Fiona was dazed and bewildered. She’d been in a dream, a hideous, harrowing dream, being chased by long-armed demons. Suddenly, one reached out and grabbed her hair, but she had a spear and threw it. Only, it was no dream. It was Myles, pressing down on top of her, smothering away the last of her breath with his mouth.
She tried to move, but the binding cord twisted the tender skin of her wrists, stinging in contrast to the warm melding of his lips against her own. How had he found her, when she herself didn’t even know where she was? All those awful hours, wandering, searching for the Fraser keep, and all her efforts for naught.
