by Lily Baldwin
“The bridge shall be repaired,” Alasdair answered. “But, forgive me, my lady, I dare not lead that effort now. By yer father’s command, we’ve been charged with the task of ensuring yer safe passage home. The bridge will have to wait.”
Fiona knew Alasdair was right. If her father were present, he would insist Fiona and Esme be taken safely home first. “I trust yer judgment, Alasdair, but which road do we now take?”
“That is what Broden and I were discussing,” Alasdair answered. “I’ve suggested we head east to the pass over the Urram Hills.”
Broden nudged his horse closer to Fiona, drawing her gaze. “While I think we should take the western road.”
“I did not give ye leave to speak,” Alasdair said, looking pointedly at the young warrior.
Brows drawn, Fiona turned to the captain of her guard. “Why do ye oppose Broden’s suggestion?”
“His course will lead us onto disputed land.”
“Forgive me, Captain,” Broden blurted. “But the ownership of the land is not in dispute. The land belongs to us, either ye believe that or ye’re siding with the MacLeod.”
Alasdair’s eyes narrowed on the young warrior. “Ye ken I’m considering the well-being of our lady. We’ve not enough men to ensure her safety if we’re attacked. ‘Tis our land, make no mistake, but Jamie MacLeod doesn’t see it that way. If we were alone, I would take the western road just to anger the blackguard, but I will not encourage his wrath while Lady Fiona is in our company.”
Fiona was surprised when Broden continued to push his captain. “Our lady’s betrothal to Adam MacKenzie is widely known,” the young warrior began. “Surely, the MacLeod is not reckless enough to attack us now that we’ve allied with a clan as mighty as the MacKenzie. Also, the longer our journey, the greater the risk. Yer route will add half a day, and it brings us closer to Craobh Forest, which ye know is full of tinkers this time of year.”
Alasdair frowned. “I am captain. Ye go too far, Broden MacDonnell!”
“Might I settle this?” Fiona interjected, nudging her horse between the fiercely scowling warriors. She smiled warmly at Broden. “I do appreciate yer loyalty and courage, but I learned long ago to heed Alasdair’s advice; however, would ye take lead, Broden?” Her smile deepened. “Ye’ve such keen instincts. I will feel safer seeing ye up ahead of me.”
A hint of crimson colored Broden’s cheeks as he bowed. “Ye honor me, my lady.” He tugged on his reins, bringing his horse around, then wove his way back through their entourage. After Broden was out of ear shot, Alasdair turned and smiled softly at Fiona, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Well done, my lady.”
Fiona dipped her head in modest acknowledgement of his praise.
“Shall we push on for another hour?” he asked.
Fiona nodded. “I cannot wait to be home.”
“I look forward to our return as well, my lady.” Her captain bowed once more. Then he turned his horse about. “Clan MacDonnell,” Alasdair called out, drawing the attention of his men. “We ride for the Urram Hills.”
After nearly an hour passed, the forest road began to climb. At the top of the wooded hill, large jutting rocks cut through the soil, which thinned out the towering Scottish pines, providing Fiona with a view of the Urram Hills in the distance. Cloud shadows moved slowly across the rugged slopes. Despite their steep terrain, Fiona looked forward to the views the hills would provide of the surrounding countryside. The thick, verdant forest, although beautiful, had begun to feel confining, and she longed for space and a refreshing breeze.
“Would ye like to stop and rest a while?” Alasdair called back.
Tempted, Fiona closed her eyes and imagined sitting beneath a shaded tree. For a moment, she had made up her mind to stop for a spell, but then she took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back. Resting would only delay their return. Before she could give her answer, however, she had to ensure Esme was in agreement. Turning to her maid, she asked, “What say ye?”
Esme strengthened her own posture. “True, lasting comfort will only come when we reach Castle Creagan. Do not ask the men to stop on my account.”
“I agree,” Fiona told her maid. Then she called to Alasdair. “Unless the horses need the rest, carry on.”
“As ye wish, my lady,” the captain replied, but when they descended the other side of the wooded slope, their progress once again slowed.
Brows pinched, Fiona leaned over in her saddle and eyed the mud that oozed beneath her mount’s hooves, becoming thicker with every step they took. Moments later, the men in lead reined in their horses.
“I pray, not another delay,” Esme groaned under her breath for Fiona’s ears alone.
Fiona strained to see beyond the men in front of her, but she may as soon see through a stone wall as the broad shoulders and backs of Highland warriors.
After several minutes, Alasdair came riding toward them. “The road is impassable for the mud. The slides have changed the pitch. ‘Tis too soft and steep for the horses. I fear the passes over the Urram Hills are likely no better.”
Fiona chewed her lip as she considered their options.
“I knew we shouldn’t have made this journey so soon after the storms. Did I not say so, my lady,” Esme tsked, shaking her head.
Fiona nodded, impatiently. “Aye, ye did, but I wanted to spend more time in Adam’s company prior to our marriage, which, if I remind ye, is a mere fortnight from now.”
Alasdair raked his hand through his silver streaked hair. “We’ve no choice, but to take the western road. Blast,” he cursed, but then shot Fiona a look of remorse. “Forgive my outburst, my lady. I do not care to ride so close to MacLeod territory, but I see no other choice.”
A shiver shot up Fiona’s spine as she watched Alasdair direct the warriors to turn back the way they’d come. When their company started to move, Fiona gave her horse a nudge with her heel, then turned to Esme. “Do ye think we’ve made the right choice? I would rather contend with a hundred tinkers than even one MacLeod warrior.”
Esme reached over and patted Fiona’s hand. “Do not fash yerself, my lady. If Alasdair truly believed the western road presented too great a risk, he would have insisted we wait while the men repaired the bridge. Anyway, ‘tis not as if we are cutting through MacLeod territory.” Esme shivered at her own suggestion. “What a nightmare that would be. To think what those black-hearted men would do, if they got their sweaty, filthy paws on us. To be sure, they would have their way with us before they beat the very life from our ravaged bodies.”
“Enough, Esme! Do not speak of such things.” Fiona’s heart pounded at the very idea of being taken and tortured by the cruel Highland clan.
“Forgive me, my lady. I allowed my fear to best me.” Esme straightened her shoulders and gave a determined tilt to her chin. “We’ve nothing to worry about, my lady. So long as we stay on MacDonnell land, we’ll be just fine.”
Chapter Two
Fiona and Esme sat on a plaid spread over a fallen log while they filled their bellies with dried venison and chucks of crusty bread. After the horses were fed and rested, it was again time to set out. Fiona was happy to remount her mare, despite the protest of her aching backside. The sooner they made it home, the sooner she could soak in a hot bath. Towering Scot’s Pines lined the roadside, which hugged the curves of the Luath River on their right. Water swelled beyond the riverbed, intruding upon the road, which was muddy but not so much as to impede the horses.
Fiona cast her gaze high. Sunlight slanted through the branches, cutting through the cool shadows cast by the canopy of dark green needles overhead. She closed her eyes, savoring the warm light as she passed through a golden beam, but then she stiffened as whistling sounds sliced the air. An instant later, an arrow whizzed by her head and buried itself deep inside the tree next to her. Her horse reared. She cried out, grasping the reins with all her might. The moment her horse’s hooves touched down, a rush of warriors wearing the deep greens and blues of the MacLeod h
unting plaid poured onto the road.
Alasdair drew his sword. “My lady, ride! Take to the wood!”
The clang of steel rang out. “Follow me,” Fiona shouted at Esme, then drove her heels into her horse’s flanks. Wind whipped through her hair. Her pulse raced. She sped away from the fray with Esme close behind. Veering off the roadside into the thicket, her heart pounded in her ears, muffling the sounds of battle.
It was darker in the forest. Her gaze darted left and right while she pushed her mount to leap over fallen logs and weave around clusters of trees.
“We must hide,” Esme called from behind.
“Not yet,” Fiona shouted back over the crunch of bracket and leaves beneath their horses’ hooves. “We must distance ourselves from the fray.”
“Not too far, or else we might get lost,” Esme cautioned.
“Here,” Fiona called before turning her horse down a narrow path that sliced between two copses of slender birch trees.
Checking to ensure Esme followed, Fiona slid to the ground, leading her horse on foot toward a wide stretch of tall thicket.
“Ye’re taking us too far,” Esme cried.
Fiona glanced back at her terrified maid. “Trust me. Just a little farther.”
When they reached the thick wall of bramble, Fiona stopped. She could no longer hear the clang of swords or shouts and grunts of the skirmishing warriors. Still, her heart raced.
“Oh, my lady, what is to become of us?” Esme exclaimed, her face pale.
Fiona fought down her own panic and gave Esme’s arm a comforting squeeze. “Fear not. Alasdair and our men are the better warriors by far. Soon, we will be back on the road home.”
A rustling drew Fiona’s gaze. She sucked in a sharp breath.
“What was that?” Esme hissed.
Fiona motioned for her maid to remain silent before peering through the thicket. There she spotted a pale brown fawn nibbling at some brush.
Fiona smiled with relief. “’Tis only a wee fawn, Esme. Look for yerself.”
“Saints be praised,” Esme said, sagging back against a tree trunk. “I thought we were done for.”
“I told ye, we’ve not to fear,” Fiona soothed, although she knew she lied. They had every reason to be afraid. Still, she needed to keep Esme calm. Panicking only made any situation worse. “’Tis a beauty,” Fiona said, shifting her gaze to study the fawn. White spots dotted its wee body, and its tawny coat shone in places where it caught slivers of sunlight glinting through the trees.
Fiona shifted her stance to get a better look, snapping a slim branch beneath her foot. The deer raised its head, but to her surprise, it didn’t dart away.
Fiona pressed her hand to her heart. “The poor dear is limping. ‘Tis hurt.”
“No matter, my lady, it will be fine,” Esme assured her.
Fiona shook her head. “I do not see its mother anywhere. What if they’ve been separated?”
“Please, my lady,” Esme pleaded.
Fiona started to push through the bramble. “I must at least try to help it.”
“To do so is folly! Need I remind ye that we are hiding to save our very lives. The MacLeod has attacked our men. The devil himself could be out there right now, scouring the forest for us.”
Fiona glanced back at her maid’s face, which was drawn with worry. Even her knuckles shone white from gripping her reins so tightly. Fiona knew Esme was right, helping the fawn was a risk. Still, she couldn’t ignore the baby animal’s need and said as much, “We can’t leave an injured babe alone in the woods. Come nightfall, it will fall prey to the wolves.” Fiona tied her horse’s reins around the truck of a slender pine tree.
Esme made the sign of the cross, her eyes looking heavenward. “God save us.”
“Wheest,” Fiona hissed. “Ye’ll frighten the poor sweetling away.”
“But, my lady, ye have a farm of wounded animals already healing at the keep.”
Ignoring Esme’s continued protests, Fiona quietly followed the fawn. She wove through the trees, keeping the slender, tawny beast in sight. But the thicket snagged at her clothing, slowing her progress, and soon she lost sight of it.
“It must have squeezed through here,” Fiona called back to Esme, who begrudgingly tramped behind her. Pushing through bramble that tore at her cloak and hair, Fiona glanced back at her maid. “I’m sure it must just be on the other si—” Her last word turned into a scream as she stepped with not but air to catch her weight. Falling, she twisted and landed with a thud on her side. Pain shot through her shoulder and hip. She lay, unmoving, while the world around her spun. When the shock of the fall faded, she rolled onto her back and gripped her dizzy head between her hands and fought to calm her racing breaths. Then she slowly sat up.
“Are ye all right, my lady,” Esme said, her tone altogether lacking in compassion.
Fiona looked up at her maid who stood on the edge of the ravine with a stern brow cocked, and her arms crossed over her chest.
“Ye don’t have to say it,” Fiona told her, wincing as she moved her aching shoulder to ensure nothing was broken. “I will surrender my quest to save the fawn. I’m coming up directly.” Scowling, she climbed to her feet and dusted the dirt and leaves from her tunic before she started back up the ravine.
“Blast,” she cried when loose dirt and gravel gave way beneath her feet. She took a deep breath and tried again, but no sooner had she progressed a step or two up the steep slope, than she slid right back down again.
“Try to get a running start,” Esme called down.
Fiona nodded and backed up several steps. She gripped her skirts, holding them high, pressed her lips together, and charged up the slope. Straightaway, her foot slipped and down she plunged. Releasing her skirts in time, she caught her fall with her hands.
“My lady, what are we to do?” Esme fretted, drawing Fiona’s gaze. “What if ye’re stuck down there forever?” Esme drew a sharp breath. “The wolves! Oh, my lady, what are we to do?”
Fiona straightened and wiped her muddy hands off on her tunic, resisting the urge to chastise her maid for panicking. After all, their current circumstances were becoming increasingly grim—due in no small part to Fiona herself. “Esme, take a deep breath, then find a sturdy branch and lower it down.”
With a heavy sigh, Esme turned and bent over in the woods behind her, mumbling something Fiona thankfully could not discern. She turned back a few moments later, dragging a long, thick branch out into the open. “I’d have a word to say about yer soft heart for broken animals, if it wasn’t yer compassion that makes ye such a great lady,” Esme remarked while lowering the branch over the side.
Fiona had no reply as she stetched up on her toes, struggling to reach it. “Just a little lower, Esme.” Still, the branch hovered just above Fiona’s fingertips. “Lower,” she said, her voice strained. An instant later, Esme cried out. Losing her footing, she started to tip. She dropped the branch, her arms flapping wildly. Then she fell forward. Fiona reached to catch her maid but was thrown back beneath the woman’s larger size as Esme tumbled down the steep, wet slope, landing on Fiona.
She gasped for air as she rolled Esme off her.
A low groan fled Esme’s lips. “Ye’ve killed me for certain.”
Fiona stood, pulled her maid to her feet and began plucking leaves from the woman’s hair and cloak. “To be sure, ye’ll live, although I’ve made a mess of us both.”
After they made their tunics and cloaks as presentable as they could, Fiona scanned the steep ridge. “Come along,” she said. “We’ll have to find a way out of this ravine, then back to the men.”
“What about our horses?” Esme asked.
“Alasdair will know what to do about the horses.”
Fiona continued to scan the surrounding high ridge while they picked their way around rocks and tree roots, but the steep terrain offered no gentle pass. “We’ll just have to go around,” Fiona declared. Noting the position of the sun, she took hold of Esme’s hand
and continued forward. “Our greatest threat now is getting lost.”
An instant later, a sharp whistle rang out, causing Fiona to stumble to a halt.
“What was that?” Esme hissed, her eyes wide with terror.
Fiona turned around and around, scanning the ridge above. “Mayhap, it was a bird.”
The moment the word fled her lips, a tall man with massive shoulders appeared at the edge of the ravine. He gazed down at them with hard eyes. A snarl curled his lips. Long filthy hair spread out in wild tangles over broad shoulders. Fiona’s eyes darted to the muddy swath of MacLeod tartan slicing across his wide, bare chest. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling her cry of fear when a breath later, more MacLeod warriors filed out of the woods, forming a line on the ridge above her head.
Chapter Three
Jamie MacLeod was on his way home after a three-day hunting trek across the Urram Hills. Chasing after stags in the mud had more than tested his endurance and patience. Dirt and grime streaked his legs, arms, face, and hair. Several surprises had delayed their homecoming, mudslides, flooding, a band of foolhardy tinkers. But the most surprising of all—and surely the most ill-fated—was the newest delay.
He crossed his arms over his chest as he gazed down at two women he’d never seen before. One was petite and wore a fine cloak of rich blue velvet. Her raven black waves glinted in the sun. Wide, sky-blue, terror-filled eyes locked with his. She was startlingly beautiful with skin as white and pure as milk. The other woman, clad in simple homespun wool, stood tall with broad shoulders and full curves. Her blonde hair lay in a thick braid over one shoulder. She stared up at him with eyes that mirrored her lady’s, wide and full of fear.
“Who are ye?” he growled.
