by Aileen Adams
While it was often difficult to keep moving, to push himself beyond the point of discomfort, he also realized that he was feeling stronger and his stamina had increased.
While he was pleased about that, he wondered if the pain would ever cease. And with that thought came anger and blame on the person who had caused it.
No, Ceana had not thrust that sword deep into his thigh, but she had made his injury worse. One of the reasons he was out here now along with Hugh, Maccay, and several of the other warriors from the clan. Searching for Ceana.
They had ridden through the village earlier in the morning, a silent, somber group, armed with bows and quivers filled with arrows, short swords, and dirks. Maccay carried a crossbow, and one of the others carried a club. They were armed and ready to confront any dangers as they patrolled the borders of the Duncan lands.
No one rode into the higher reaches of the mountains or much beyond the borders of the village without a weapon.
While it had been a long time since any other clan had dared step foot on Duncan lands, the presence of the Orkneys months ago, and the recent rumors that Ceana had been seen in the presence of the McGregors, one couldn't be too cautious.
The Orkneys were bad enough, a violent clan that didn't need an excuse to fight—or to pick one. If possible, the McGregors were even worse than the Orkneys. Worse because they often were capable of fooling people—even small villages of people—into trusting them, lulling them into a sense of security before they attacked. Such had occurred shortly before Jake had gone off to war. The McGregors had come down from the other side of the mountain range looking for plunder, women, and gold.
For some reason, they thought that the Duncan clan had plenty of each—and were willing to share—and made the mistake of venturing close to Lorrie, a village at the very edge of the Duncan lands perhaps a three-day’s ride from Duncan manor.
One of the McGregors had approached the small village, pretending he was a weary traveler. A local blacksmith had invited the man into his home for a good hot meal, a roof over his head, and a good night's sleep.
Unfortunately, the villager had paid for his kindness. The McGregor had waited until the man, his wife, and his young daughter were asleep before savagely slitting the throats of the parents and kidnapping the girl, taking her back to his clan.
Phillip had been outraged.
The McGregors had paid, and paid dearly. As soon as Phillip found out about the incident, he and his men had ridden enforce over the mountains to McGregor lands, confronted the clan leader, and warned him that if they didn't hand over the girl, a full-out war between the two clans would ensue.
Angus McGregor, the clan leader, had been none too pleased. Not only with the Duncan clan’s threats, but also with his nephew, Clyde, the man responsible for the attack.
To his credit, Angus had returned the terrified girl to the Duncans and banished the nephew, who was well aware of the tentative truce that existed between the Duncan and the McGregor clans, and had nevertheless risked their clan’s peace and safety with his reckless actions.
Ever since then, the truce had been strained. Yet now, Phillip had been informed that Ceana had been seen in the presence of a McGregor, perhaps even Clyde.
The knowledge raised not only eyebrows, but tensions as well.
Jake wasn't sure what they would find when they approached closer to their borders, but his main goal was to find Ceana or at least gain solid information of her whereabouts. She had to know that she couldn't escape retribution. Surely she realized that neither he nor Phillip would—
“Jake, are you listening?”
He turned to find Hugh looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “What?”
Hugh turned to Maccay with a grin. “You remember the last time we saw him looking like that and daydreaming?”
Jake scowled. “I'm not daydreaming—”
“When he realized he was sweet on Ceana,” Maccay nodded.
“Absolutely smitten, he was,” Hugh chuckled.
“I was not smitten,” Jake grumbled. “But there's no denying that Ceana was a lovely woman.”
“Aye, she was that, but with an evil streak, that's for sure.”
Jake couldn't argue with Maccay. He wondered how he and Phillip had never seen it—that evil streak in Ceana. Had it developed as she grew older and more dissatisfied with her lot in life or had it always been there? He wasn't sure, and now it didn't matter. She had shown her true character, and he was glad that he had nothing more to do with her.
Except for this messy bit of revenge. First, he had to find her.
“You know who else is pretty?”
Jake glowered at the both of them, but didn't respond.
“Heather,” they said at the same time.
The comment annoyed Jake to no end.
Both of them—all three of them were attracted to Heather?
The very thought of it was bothersome. Not surprising though.
She was attractive, sweet, and even-tempered… well, at least as far as they knew. The Heather he was beginning to know better was not quite as demure, could kick like an angry horse—he could very well attest to that—and was skilled in a way that no one, probably not even Sarah, could ever imagine.
“Don't you find her attractive?”
He glanced at Maccay. “I do,” he said simply. He glanced between them and saw Hugh’s grin. “What are you smiling about?”
Maccay turned to Hugh. “Have you noticed the same thing I have?”
Hugh nodded.
“What are you two talking about? What are you up to?”
Maccay chuckled. “We've noticed the way you watch her.”
Jake blustered. “I do no such thing!”
What had gotten into these two?
More importantly, was he that obvious? If Hugh had noticed him paying any special attention to Heather, chances were that others had also. He didn't like that. Had either of them seen him leaving the manor house shortly after Heather for their training sessions? He eyed each of them but didn't see any signs that they were aware of what he'd been up to. He had no doubt that if they had seen him skulking about at night, they would've said something.
“You're both daft,” he mumbled. “Why don't you focus on keeping an eye out for Ceana or those damned McGregors?”
The small group ventured on, patrolling the northern boundaries of the Duncan lands.
Throughout the day, they occasionally split up, but always reported back that they had seen no sign of travelers, horses, carriages, or even wagons.
“Maybe the sentry Hugh talked to was mistaken,” Maccay surmised. “Maybe it wasn't Ceana at all.”
Jake shook his head. “Ceana is unmistakable. The description he gave Hugh suits her. You’ll find no other woman in the village, or the outlying villages, at least that I can remember, that has a similar appearance to Ceana.”
“Well, if they've been about, they certainly didn't come this way,” Maccay sighed.
“We’ll look another day or two. If we don't find anything, we’ll return to the manor house.”
* * *
Two more days of patrolling resulted in much the same.
While they did see signs of recent travel near the western borders of the Duncan lands through one of the narrow valleys that spanned the mountain range, they didn't see any signs of Ceana herself.
It was a cool, damp, and misty morning this high up in the foothills. A blanket of fog settled in the low parts of rugged canyons and gullies. The fog was not very dense near the ground but wafted upward in eerie tendrils, hiding ditches, trees, and perhaps even a McGregor or two.
Jake's leg ached, but he resisted the urge to clench it with his hand. He refused to display any signs of weakness, nor show any of the men riding with him that he was in pain.
Still, the throbbing was incessant, keeping time with his heartbeat. He had to force himself to focus on his surroundings and not the steady thrum of discomfort in his leg.
He
was tired, this third night of patrolling. The damp night air had seeped into his very bones. He felt cold from the inside out. His constant pain made him short tempered, and he found himself clamping his mouth shut rather than speaking and taking it out on the others.
He longed for his warm bed at home. A blazing fire. When he got back, he would acquiesce to Sarah’s offer to make a poultice that might bring some relief.
He knew that eventually, his physical stamina would return, but he was not a patient man. His mind was strong, his spirit determined, but his body betrayed him. He wasn't used to having to pamper any part of his body. It was bad enough that he walked with a limp, but this damnable pain grated on his nerves.
“Hugh, look!”
Jake looked up to find Maccay pointing a short distance away.
Hugh urged his horse in that direction and Jake followed.
There, near the edge of a steep gully, they saw a thick cluster of berry bushes. A small strip of cloth had been tied to one of the branches near the ground.
He frowned.
A trail marker? The cloth hadn't simply fallen and become entangled in the branches.
He saw a knot. It had been tied.
“There’s another,” Maccay pointed again.
A short distance away they found another strip of cloth. A bit further, another.
Jake and the others slowed their horses, carefully searching the area.
The woods surrounding them were not dense, but offered adequate cover. Above them loomed the mountains--steep, rocky walls, nearly impossible for a horse to climb. He carefully searched every nook and cranny from east to west but didn't see a sign of any movement. He smelled no hint of smoke from a campfire in the air.
He looked down at the strip of cloth in the bush. Had it been there long? He couldn’t be sure. And why mark a trail here? There were no roads through the mountains in this area. Perhaps a trail that horses or men on foot could traverse single file, but nothing wider. Not many dared to take horses up here. The landscape discouraged such travel. Most took the longer way around the foot of the mountain. The rock-strewn slopes here were much too dangerous to risk a valuable horse or wagon. Even travel by foot was a challenge.
“We're close to the boundary between Orkney and Duncan lands.” He shook his head, not sure what to think.
He leaned over the side of his horse in an attempt to get a closer look at the fabric. The only thing special about it was its color. Light blue. That meant the fabric had not belonged to a commoner. It was expensive to purchase cloth of such a hue. Dark brown, gray, and beige or black were more prevalent among villagers. Brightly colored cloth like the strips tied to the branches belonged to those who had money.
Not inordinately expensive, of course, but out here?
He shook his head, then once again took in the rocky escarpments and tree-studded rocky-sloped hillsides, and muttered under his breath.
“How far are we from where the sentry spied Ceana and the McGregor?”
“I'm not sure exactly,” Hugh replied. “I know our sentries don't range beyond our borders, and he said it was in this region.”
Jake nodded. “Let's keep looking for more signs until nightfall. If we don't find anything by dark, we’ll head back in the morning. Maybe this has been nothing but a waste of time. While I prefer to err on the side of caution, there's no proof that anyone’s come this way in a while.”
He sighed, not sure if what he felt was more disappointment than anger, or a mixture of both. Between his frustration of not finding Ceana and the damnable ache in his leg, he was in a foul mood.
“We’ll find her, Jake,” Maccay said. “Sooner or later, we'll find her.”
* * *
Nothing came of the strips of cloth. Why they were there or how long they had been there could not be determined. Even after fanning out, the group of men did not find any recent signs of campfires nor the tracks of hunting parties or other signs that any small group or even lone travelers had ridden into Duncan lands.
It was a mystery—one that didn't sit well with Jake. Still, without a clear indication of enemy patrols, he suggested that they return to the manor by a southerly path along the southwest borders of their lands to see if they could find anything else.
Several small villages could be found along the southwestern and southern edges of Duncan lands.
They would be able to ask around and provide them with Ceana's description, and let the villagers know that the Laird was not only looking for her, but would offer a fine reward for anyone providing information of her whereabouts.
It took another two days to travel to complete the circuitous route and head north and back to the manor. It was growing toward evening by then, and Jake gritted his teeth against the pain that shot through his leg with every hoof fall of his horse. They would reach the manor by late afternoon tomorrow if they were not delayed. As far as he was concerned, his return couldn't come fast enough.
The thought had him berating himself. He had never felt so vulnerable, at the mercy of a body that refused to do his bidding—a body that refused to accept the pain that throbbed like a steady force in tune with his heartbeat.
They had been gone for nearly a week.
A long, physically grueling week spent on horseback from sunup until sundown. The physical exertion had taken a toll on him. Every reminder of his physical pain had him seeking vengeance on Ceana and her treachery.
He vowed to find her and have his revenge. Most of all, he wanted to know why.
Why had she tried to kill him? Why, after claiming undying love and affection for him, had she allowed him to suffer, to lie in his own sickly filth, to leave him to the ravages of infection and fever?
Had she felt so spiteful because he had spurned her affections? He had never imagined Ceana could be so shallow, so self-centered that she would seriously try to kill him.
She could hide, for now, but he knew that sooner or later a villager or perhaps even a member of an enemy clan would divulge her location.
The reward money offered by Phillip would certainly encourage the villagers, who owed no loyalty to Ceana, but did to their laird. Someone would let them know as soon as possible if she was spotted. She could run and hide, even live with an enemy clan, but not even the gods could protect her from Phillip’s wrath.
The Duncans were not a violent clan, but they would not allow Ceana's betrayal to go unpunished.
Phillip was not cruel, nor was Jake, but justice must be served. Not only to remind those living under the blanket of safety offered by the Duncans that they owed at least allegiance to their laird, but because if they allowed her treachery to go unpunished, it would be considered a sign of weakness.
What Phillip had planned for Ceana, Jake did not know. At the moment, he didn't care. All he could think about was how badly his leg hurt. It was so stiff at night when he climbed off his horse that it hardly bore his weight without threatening to buckle.
He had seen the way Hugh and Maccay glanced his way when it was time to set up camp. He was sure that they had noticed his pain, though he tried so carefully to hide it.
They would say nothing of course. But that would not stop them from thinking it. Did they think him less of a leader or a man capable of leading them, even if it was only a patrol? He wished he knew.
No one had ever dared question him or his abilities. Not in the past. Up until now, no one had questioned him. But were they thinking it? He bit back a sigh and realized that every time he acknowledged the pain in his leg, he also acknowledged his growing hatred for Ceana.
He was not a man used to such black and foreboding feelings. He had loved her once. Or he thought he had. But, when the others slept and he sat awake, gingerly massaging his thigh muscles, it was difficult to halt his desire for revenge.
In trying to distract himself, he thought of Ceana and Heather—complete opposites in many ways. Both beautiful. But Heather espoused a gentleness of spirit, a kindness that Ceana had never had.
/> Heather was a compassionate woman, one who felt deeply for others. Her devotion to her sister was just one facet of her personality and character.
He was anxious to return to the manor, to see Heather again. To spend more time with her, training in the meadow. He looked forward to seeing the way her face flushed with pleasure when she mastered a move with her dirk or short sword, or the way that she squealed with delight when her arrow struck a target he had pointed out.
He smiled as he thought of the way her—
He had begun to develop feelings for her.
He quickly shook off the thought.
Heather was not interested in him. The only thing she wanted from him was his help in training her in the use of weapons. She had only grudgingly given him the kiss he had only half-jokingly demanded in return. She had given him no indication that she thought of him as anything other than a mentor.
He shook his head, realizing the foolishness of his imagination. Heather would not be interested in a cripple. She deserved a man who was whole, not one who was now lame, unable to go into battle, to ride with the Duncan soldiers.
He could patrol, provide security for the inhabitants of the manor and the village, but so too could Hugh or Maccay.
No, he was nothing special. Not anymore.
Still…
Between dusk and full dark he smelled it—the slightest hint of smoke. He halted his horse, gesturing for the others to do the same.
They waited in a small cluster, each now catching the scent of the smoke on the breeze, assessing its direction.
There, high up on a hillside in the distance, they saw a brief flicker of firelight.
Hugh spoke. “Someone's lit a campfire.”
Jake nodded. “Let's get a little closer and then we can move in on foot.”
Within a short time, he, Hugh, and Maccay were creeping by foot through the trees toward the clearing.
Two others walked along the flank, a little further away. The last man in their group had stayed behind to guard the horses. They had not seen any sentries posted, but approached the campfire slowly and carefully.
