by Aileen Adams
She heard the sharp snap of the twig, loud in the stillness of the midmorning air. She froze, immediately seeking a hiding place. No thickets here, just trees, many of them with branches starting high above the ground, the ground littered with dried and fresh pine needles, pine cones, and rocks, but none large enough to hide her. She heard the neigh and blow of a horse, opened her mouth to call out, then decided not to. She would’ve liked to think that it was Colin looking for her, but he probably wasn’t even aware that she wasn’t on her property. He wasn’t her keeper. Caution outweighed her hope. That sound might have simply been a deer or other animal, but no, it was a horse. She remembered what Colin had warned her about outlaws, and she had seen the truth of that herself soon after she had arrived.
She picked up her pace, trying to move quickly but not so quickly that her already clumsy legs would spill her to the ground. Her heart pounding, she glanced over her shoulder and found two trees growing close together, a small clump of shrubs near their base. She quickly made her way toward it and managed to duck behind the trees just as two riders emerged from the west, slightly above her own position, maybe thirty feet away.
She hunched down closer to the ground behind one of the trees, lying nearly flat as she peered between the two trees, watching, waiting, and then they appeared. Her heart sank with disappointment when she realized it wasn’t Colin but instead, she recognized the mill owner. Beside him rode a younger man she didn’t recognize. What was Duilach doing out here? Were they hunting? Could they be—
“She has to be here somewhere, we know that much,” the younger man said.
“Aye, but we’ve got to be careful.” Duilach shook his head. “Ye just better hope that the sheriff didn’t recognize either one of us.”
The younger man laughed. “How could he? We got on him pretty fast. Nay, he won’t be bothering us.”
Iona’s heart thudded. They’d attacked Colin? When? Where? Was he hurt, was he dead? She wanted to rise up from her hiding place and demand answers, but she couldn’t. She would have to—
“Don’t underestimate the man,” Duilach warned. “And definitely don’t underestimate Dougal Craig.”
Dougal? What did Dougal have to do with it? Had Dougal been responsible for the attack? Was he one of the men responsible for burning her house down? Were they part of an outlaw gang?
“If he hadn’t come along when he did, we wouldn’t have to worry about the sheriff. And good riddance anyway, always sticking up for the bloody English, never for us.”
Iona’s frown deepened. Was he talking about the English in general? The upcoming tartan ban, or was he referring to her?
“Not to worry,” Duilach said. “No chance of either of them recognizing us with our masks and these clothes. They’ll figure it was just outlaws. Now let’s find that blasted Englishwoman, take care of her once and for all, and then head back to the village. Too bad she escaped when we set her house on fire, or we wouldn’t have to go to all this trouble. I have no idea why the sheriff was there or who might have warned him that something was amiss, but one thing I do know. If we’re gone any longer than one more night, someone’s going to get suspicious and start asking questions.”
Her heart racing now, Iona struggled to make sense of what she’d heard. She feared for herself and for Colin. If she managed to escape, how could she find Colin? Was he lying out there in the forest somewhere? Injured, or worse? She’d heard Dougal’s name mentioned. Maybe she could find her way back to his property, but she doubted it. She was still lost, still injured, still confused. Besides, in the event that she did manage to find her way back to her property, or to the village itself, how could she accuse a longtime resident and community member without proof? Who would believe her? A sense of despair prompted her to lower her head, causing her head to pound in turn. What to do… what to do?
The horses moved off, Duilach and the man with him speaking softly, too softly for her to understand what they said.
One thing she did know for sure. She knew who had tried to burn her house down. She knew who had tried to kill her. She couldn’t understand such hatred. She had given the mill owner good coin for the flour he sold. Did others in the village know what he’d done? Were they protecting him? If Duilach failed in getting rid of her, were others waiting for their turn? Was she doomed to be hunted and attacked forever?
Tears filled her eyes, and she shook her head, afraid, truly afraid for the first time since the night of the fire. She realized how serious Colin had been about her safety. Duilach and the man with him were looking for her, and when they found her, she had no doubt that they would kill her, and no one would be the wiser. Not if Colin was alive, not anyone. Colin had to be alive! He had to!
She shifted her position, thinking that if she continued on, maybe even followed Duilach, she would eventually reach her property. And then, she would go into the village… but again, who would believe her? Maybe she could find Endorra, or even Beitris and Elspeth. They would believe her, she knew that. But to do that, to get someone out looking for Colin, she had to hurry. She had to—
She shifted her knee and prepared to stand, but she realized too late that her knee had found a stick beneath the pine needles. It snapped loudly beneath her. She cringed and froze.
Were Duilach and his companion far enough away or had they heard it? She held her breath, listening intently. Much to her dread, she heard the sound of horses’ hooves returning.
“Ye heard that, didn’t you?”
It was Duilach. Iona remained frozen, half crouching behind the two trees where she’d taken shelter. Go away, go away, please go away! But they didn’t. They kept coming, their horses weaving their way through the trees back toward where Iona hid. Run or stay put? What if Duilach found her? Why was he so determined to kill her? Heart thundering in her chest now, her hands shaking, the pain from her injuries forgotten and her mouth dry, she tried to make a decision. She should run. The horses would have to navigate between the trees, slowing them down, but at least it was something she could try. She couldn’t just sit here, waiting to be struck down like a cowering rabbit. She gathered her strength and her nerves, shifted onto her haunches, and then, poised, energy surging through her body, she pushed herself away from the tree.
Run! Run, faster!
“There she is!”
The shout, followed by laughter and horse hooves clambering for purchase as they were urged forward, Iona bit back a scream, saving her energy, her thoughts focused only on maintaining her balance, scrambling through the trees, cutting this way and that, fear—no, terror—giving her the strength she needed. Even so, that strength was short-lived. Already, she felt herself tiring, her head pounding, her vision blurring. She saw spots just before she nearly crashed headfirst into a low-hanging tree branch, and darted around the trunk, clasping its rough bark, breathing heavily, forcing herself to remain on her feet.
The horses had slowed, the growth of trees making it difficult for them to scramble in a straight line after her. She heard cursing, then a shout as Duilach or the other one yelled out an order.
“Flank her! Flank her! Cut her off!”
Her harsh breathing and the ringing in her ears only slightly dulled the sound of the pounding hooves, the snorts of the horses, and shouts of her pursuers. Despite her failing vision and strength, she quickly sought some sort of weapon as she ran. She suddenly emerged through the trees into a small clearing, gasping in dismay, heart sinking.
No cover. No cover!
She glanced down wildly, her chest heaving, and found a fist-sized rock. She picked it up, swaying on her feet, blinking fresh blood away from her eyes.
Duilach appeared in front of her, on his horse, the beast stomping its hoof impatiently, nostrils flaring.
To her right, she heard the other horse. She was cornered.
“Now what do ye think you’re going to do with that little rock, lass?” Duilach asked, his voice eerily calm.
Iona said nothing, biting back
her terror, telling herself that if she was going to die here, she might as well die bravely. Her fingers tightened on the rock as she carefully cast her gaze between Duilach and the other man, who now dismounted, watching her.
“Drop the rock, and we won’t hurt you,” the man said.
Iona didn’t believe it for a moment. “How stupid do you think I am?” She braced herself, ready to fight to the death as Duilach also dismounted, chortling softly under his breath.
“Ye should’ve left when ye got here, lass. Ye should’ve died in that house. Ye should’ve left after we burned it down. Stupid? Aye, I think you’re stupid, too stupid to know that your kind is not wanted here.”
She didn’t answer. She had nothing to say to that. Maybe she had been foolish, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She took a step back, maneuvering her arm to heave the rock, but at which one? Duilach or the other man? She decided on Duilach. She had one good throw in her. She stared at his forehand, focusing on it. If he took one step closer—
“Grab her!” the younger man shouted.
Duilach stepped forward, hands extended, fingers curled into claws, as if already feeling themselves wrapped around her throat.
She swung her arm back and then, eyes riveted to those of Duilach, she threw the rock as hard as she could. She had anticipated a slight feint and adjusted her throw at the last second. The rock hit with a thunk against the side of his head, staggering him.
He stood still, eyes wide and mouth agape as he stared at her, slowly lifted a hand and touched his forehead, then glancing down at his bloodstained fingers.
“Why, ye little—”
He rushed toward Iona so quickly she didn’t have a chance to scramble out of his way. He barreled into her, his hands reaching for her throat, clutching it, squeezing—
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, eyes wide, mouth open, gasping for air. She tried to scratch at his hands, to wrap her own fingers around his wrists, to pull his hands away from her throat. He was too strong, infuriated, filled with hatred, his strength too much for her. Her chest burned, striving for even a tiny bit of air. Her head swam, more spots and flashes of light blurring her vision, thankfully so, so that she didn’t have to look at his snarling, hate-filled eyes. She quickly tired, no air, no strength, and felt her arms drop down to her sides, and then…
She heard yelling, vaguely, coming from a great distance.
A shout.
She guessed as she inhaled a huge lungful of air, choking, gasping, but too weak to move. She heard voices, the sound of fighting, another short-lived scream, and then, silence. She stared up at the canopy of trees, felt the cool gust of air brushing against her features, her head still swimming, her body floating, and then…
Colin?
His face swam in her vision, hovering over her. At least his face would be the last she saw before she died, even if it was imagined. She tried to smile but didn’t have the energy. She felt herself lifted from the ground, cradled in strong arms, her head resting against a shoulder, a neck, so close she saw the pulse throbbing in the vein. Colin? Was this real?
“You’re going to be all right, Iona. Breathe.”
From nearby she heard another voice.
“Is she going to be all right?”
She turned her gaze slightly, her hands twitching now. Dougal? Dougal Craig? How had he and Colin found her? How had they both… She tried to ask but the only sound that escaped her throat, aching and sore now, was a weak croak.
“Don’t try to talk, Iona. You’re going to be all right.”
She felt herself lifted higher in his arms, pulled tight against his chest, one strong arm wrapped around her back, her head still resting on his shoulder, the other cradling her legs. How he managed to climb atop his horse carrying her, she didn’t know and didn’t care. Relief surged through her as she gazed down at Dougal, tying Duilach and the other man with thick leather straps. She frowned, still confused, trying to make sense of it all. Over the humming in her ears and her swimming vision, every muscle in her body aching once again, she sank deeper into Colin’s protective embrace, grateful that once again, he had come looking for her—
“Let’s take her to my home. She can rest of there,” Dougal said.
“Aye,” Colin said, shifting her in his arms as he urged his horse forward.
Wait, Iona thought. What was happening? Where were Duilach and his partner? Why were they going to Dougal’s house? Why didn’t he take her home? Home… She wanted to go home, but where exactly was that? The fear, her thirst and hunger, and her injuries took their toll, and now, knowing that she was safe, she allowed herself to be pulled back down into the sweet embrace of slumber.
Epilogue
Three days later, Iona felt strong enough to sit up in bed, and a fine bed it was, too. How long had it been since she’d slept in a real bed like this? Not a straw-filled sack, not a hard floor, but an honest-to-goodness mattress stuffed with feathers, so soft, so luxurious?
Sitting upright, her back cushioned by soft pillows, she gazed around the finely appointed room, again shaking her head in quiet dismay. The inside of Dougal’s house, if this was any indication, was much finer and well-kept than the outside. Not only that, but he must be very well off to have such fine furniture, such fine bedding, such fine… everything.
She didn’t remember too much about the first day, very little, in fact, but yesterday things had become clearer.
Dougal and Colin had confronted Duilach and the other man, who turned out to be his cousin. At the moment, they were both sitting in his tiny, cramped jailhouse, waiting for an officer of the law to arrive from Edinburgh, where the two would stand before a judge regarding the arson and the attempted murder.
She’d had several visitors.
Endorra had come to take care of her and treat her wounds, help her bathe, and provided welcome company. Beitris and Elspeth had also visited briefly, gazing about the room with wide-eyed wonder. Apparently, no one had ever been inside Dougal’s home before.
She hadn’t seen Dougal once since he and Colin had rescued her from the attack, but Colin had been by several times. Her face flamed with heat as she recalled the worried expression he wore when she had woken yesterday with a clear head and more acute vision. He didn’t scold or criticize her for not heeding his warnings, but merely reached for her hand and held it between his. He too had looked a bit abashed, but then she’d smiled, neither one of them having to say a word. A surge of affection for him had her feeling quite heady, and she had no doubt that she hadn’t imagined his interest.
Last evening, he’d come to visit, and after nodding toward Endorra, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room by the window, he’d sat down in the chair beside the bed and spoken softly to her, asked to speak with her the next day, if she should feel up to it. She’s barely been able to contain her curiosity at his asking, almost formally, to visit with her.
And now here he was. Handsome as ever, standing before her.
“Iona, I know we got off to a rough start, but… but I find that I’ve grown quite attached to you. Being that you’re so stubborn and willful, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to have someone watching over you, would it?”
She didn’t hear much of anything after he had said “attached to you,” so she simply nodded, her insides warming, hope burgeoning within her. But then it faded. She frowned. “But what about… The people around here, they want me to go. They hate my presence, and it would only end up doing you harm, attaching yourself to an Englishwoman such as myself.”
He grinned and shook his head. “You’d be surprised at the changes that have occurred while you’ve been lying abed, soaking up all this luxury.”
That too had garnered her curiosity. “How did Dougal… I mean, is he rich?” She thought about it, and with an impish grin, asked yet another question. “Do you think he found the treasure a long time ago and just never said anything about it?”
Colin chuckled. “Nay, lass, he didn’t f
ind the treasure. I fear that’s nothing more than a myth, and ye would do well to push it from your thoughts.”
“Then how—”
Colin glanced at Endorra, exchanged a smile with her, and then turned back to Iona. “Turns out that our very own Dougal Craig is an English lord.”
At first, Iona thought that she had heard wrong. “What? A lord?”
Colin nodded. “When we delivered those two miscreants to the jailhouse and the village was in an uproar for it, Dougal gave them all a good piece of his mind. I dare say it’s probably the most anyone has ever heard him speak since he lived here, which I can tell you, is quite some time.”
Iona listened as she glanced at Endorra, who merely grinned and nodded as if she’d known all along.
Colin continued. “He told the villagers they should be ashamed of themselves, treating someone like they had, without giving them a chance. He asked them how many years they had known him to live in the vicinity, not bothering anyone, and not many of them could remember when he’d actually arrived, it been so long. He’d become… if not familiar, at least known in these parts.”
“And it was you who told me that there were rumors flying about that he was an outlaw!”
Colin shrugged. “Well, I’ll be the first one to admit when I’m wrong.”
Iona slowly shook her head.
“As ye can well imagine, everyone was quite confused. Och, ye should’ve heard them! When they finally asked who, Dougal straightened his back, grinned at them, and stuck his thumb in his own chest. And then he announced that not only was he an Englishman, but he was a lord of the realm!” Colin paused, shaking his head again at the memory.
