When they reached the small ladder that led out, Iain clenched his fists to fight his urge to run over Robbie and climb out as fast as possible. Robbie hefted the door at the top open and Iain took in a deep, soothing breath of the fresh air pouring in. When Robbie climbed out then turned to offer a hand, Iain gritted his teeth to fight the urge to race out of the tunnel like a rat escaping a flooded warren. From the way Robbie winced though, he knew he had gripped his brother’s hand harder than needed. He climbed out then stood staring at the ground as he fought to calm the turmoil inside of him.
“Are ye well, Iain?”
“Aye.” He took one deep breath and let it out slowly. “Aye. I kept my thoughts on saving the child. That is far more important than some fear I cannae shake.”
“And that worked for you. It always has. I was worried when I smelled the smoke. Too much like what set the fear in you. We all know the story.”
Iain sighed. “’Tis a fear I best conquer. It was years ago. There is no sense in clinging to it. Now, we need to look for the blood trail.”
“It looked to be a slow bleed,” Robbie said as he began to search the ground.
“Even a slow, steady loss of blood can prove fatal.” Iain looked around to see that they were just inside the stand of trees. “Ye cannae help but wonder why the mon and the woman didnae use the tunnel to flee.”
“I did wonder. I think the why of all that happened here concerns the child. Here is some blood. Looks like whatever is losing it headed deeper into the trees.”
Iain followed the trail Robbie pointed out. He was not sure a child could survive such a steady loss of blood. Slow and steady though it was, it was adding up to a lot. And why had the parents not at least bandaged the wound before sending the child off? He tried to picture the attack and slowly came to the conclusion that the parents had given their lives to protect the child. They had held off the attackers as best they could, for as long as they could, and sent their child off to safety. Had they believed the men were after the child?
“There is something odd about all this,” he said as he and his brother stopped to search yet again for the trail to follow.
“What is odd?” Robbie gave a soft cry of triumph as he found another drop of blood. “Found it.”
“Changed direction.” Iain frowned as he studied the stain and looked into the thickening wood. “Maybe the child was given a particular direction to go in. And it is odd because the child was sent off. Then there is how its parents were tortured. The men had to be after something verra specific and it had something to do with the child. Yet why would anyone be after the child of a couple farming in the hills?”
“Cannae think of any reason. More apt to be after the woman but they just used her and killed her. This way now.” He turned a little to the right. “It is strange that the men did not go hunting if they were still after the child. It doesnae appear as if they searched for it at all.”
“That would have made sense but the parents may have convinced them that the child was not there or even that it was dead.” Robbie paused and stared at the ground. “Weel, we may lose the trail now.” When Iain joined him, Robbie crouched down and pointed out the crushed grass and small puddle of blood. “I think the child realized he was leaving a trail and bound up the wound.” He stood up and wandered around looking for some hint of what direction the child took next. “So we may be hunting an older child.”
Iain stayed crouched down by the spot. It was easy enough to see where someone had sat down. Looking close, he could even see the tiny thread revealing something had been torn to make a bandage. What bothered him were the two footprints he could see. They were small but not, he thought, small enough to be a child’s. Neither was the spot where someone had clearly sat for a while. Then he saw the faint print of a child’s foot.
“Found another bit of blood, Iain,” said Robbie when he returned. “Reckon the bandage wasnae tied on correctly.”
Standing up, Iain shook his head. “Or there was more than one wound and the one doing the bandaging didnae consider it worth taking time to tend it.”
“Or didnae have enough bandages.”
“Possible. Where was the blood?” He looked where Robbie pointed and nodded. “We keep looking. I believe we will soon find the hole they crawled into.”
“They?”
“Aye.” He crouched down and pointed out the marks he had found as he said, “One set of footprints here and just there one print of a bairn’s foot.”
Robbie looked closely and shook his head. “I didnae see them. Good eyes, Iain. So we look for two.”
“Could just be one small child and one older one but, aye, two. Somewhere in these woods is a hole they crawled into to hide.”
“Then we best be moving again.”
It was slow work with only drops of blood to tell them where to go. Whoever was moving through the woods knew how to avoid leaving much of a trail. Iain hoped they found the ones they hunted soon, as the day was rapidly drawing to an end. The last place he wanted to be after the sun set was this far up in the hills near a killing site. He wanted them all tucked up safely behind stockade walls as soon as possible.
Then he saw it through an opening in the trees. One old tree had finally succumbed to age and rot. The top half had snapped off almost cleanly. That broken piece had fallen so that it angled away from the bottom of the trunk, its tangled dying branches providing a good covering for what could possibly be a hollow trunk. He was certain it was the hiding place he searched for.
If he was right, it was actually a well-chosen spot. There was shade enough to make it somewhat hidden from sight. It was not in a straight line from the cabin. Nor was it too close or too obvious. He suspected he spotted it because too much of his life had been spent making sure there was a good place for him and his brothers to hide. If he had found such a spot in his travels he would have marked it as a safe haven.
It was a good place to hide, he thought. The ones running had not run straight to it, either. If he and Robbie did not have some skill at tracking, they never would have found the trail to follow. The tree was far away from the cabin and, being in a shaded area, one that made it harder to spot.
“O’er here, Robbie,” he said as he started toward the tree and stared through the branches, searching for the opening he was certain was there.
“Should we call out first?” asked Robbie as he hurried over to Iain’s side.
“Nay, we dinnae want to startle anyone. They are afraid and hurt. They are nay about to step out and say howdy-do. They will either hide by staying silent and dug in or be scared into shooting at us.”
“Ah, aye, there is that.”
“Let us hope we find our quarry.”
Chapter Two
Emily did not think she had ever hurt so badly, or been so afraid. She was exhausted and heartsore. Her arm burned and her leg throbbed in such a way she constantly had to bite back a cry. She knew her sister and David were dead even though she had not seen them fall but she was sure she had heard screams. They had not begun searching for their son, either. There was also no way they could have held off ten men for long, not men who had made it clear they wanted everyone in the house dead. All she wanted to do was curl up on a soft bed and cry but she had Neddy to care for.
She looked down at the boy sleeping curled up at her side, her wide skirts as his blanket. He looked so much like his father that she felt a stab of loss. David had been a good man. His son had the same thick wavy black hair, a sweet little face, and big brown eyes that could convince people to give him anything he wanted. Fortunately, he was not yet old enough to understand the power of those eyes. She prayed he was also not old enough to fully understand what had happened to his parents.
Lightly stroking his hair, she closed her eyes. They were safe at the moment. She needed someone with skill to tend her wounds but, for now, they were safe. Now was not the time to fret. Now was the time to plan. As soon as she felt sure those men who had attacked the
m were gone, they would run again. She just wished she knew where they could run to.
For a moment the pain in her leg and shoulder was pushed aside by the pain in her heart. Her sister and her husband were certainly dead. Every time she tried to think of them as merely wounded her mind mocked her. The shooting had ended and the taint of wood smoke still hung in the air. The last time she saw them Annabel and David were still desperately trying to hold off their attackers. Her sister had ordered her to take little Neddy and run. She had not wanted to leave them, had desperately wanted to stay and fight, but both David and Annabel had grown equally desperate in their pleas for her to save Neddy. The look in David’s eyes had convinced her to go, that look of desperate sadness. It was a plea she had had to obey and she was certain it had cost her. Tears clouded her eyes as the surety that she would never see her sister again swept over her.
She wanted to go back and look, to see if what she feared was true, but then she felt her nephew wriggle closer to her side. Emily could not risk him. If David and Annabel were dead, they had given their lives to save young Neddy, she firmly reminded herself. Done what any loving parent would do. She could not toss away that sacrifice with a foolish action, one driven solely by emotion. The sweet little boy had no skill in protecting himself.
“Mama? Papa?”
Her nephew’s query, spoken in a soft tear-choked voice, acted like an arrow to her heart. She did not know how to explain it all to him. Emily held him closer and began to sort through a number of ways to explain that Mama and Papa were gone. A flicker of hope attempted to spring to life in her chest but good sense ruthlessly smothered it. Then a sound broke through her grief-ridden thoughts.
Emily quickly hid Neddy beneath her wide skirts. The sound she had heard had now clarified itself into male voices. She sat as still as possible and listened carefully as the voices drew nearer. Her fear receded a little because the men spoke differently than the ones who had attacked her family. Those men had not had what sounded very much like a Scots accent.
That made no sense, she thought as she pressed deeper into the hole dug inside a tree hollow. What were Scotsmen doing wandering around the hills of Arkansas? Annabel had often complained about being so completely out of place, so alone despite David always being at her side. The farther west they had traveled the more separated from it all she had felt. Annabel had missed society far more than she ever did or could. She had constantly repeated stories of the places she had gone, the events she had attended, the food and people there, and the fashions she had shopped for. Emily had begun to fear her sister would fall permanently into her world of memories. These men were definitely not ones who had grown up in these hills or come from any sort of high society. She grasped the knife she had placed by her side and waited, tense and wary, as the men drew closer.
Suddenly she fell back into the memory of the attack she had just fled from. The men had ridden up to the cabin so fast David had barely made it inside, barring the door behind him. Emily had stood silenced by shock as her sister had tossed a rifle to her husband then grabbed one of her own and loaded it. Then the shooting had begun. The men outside had demanded her sister hand over her only child. After some colorful threats that had made her blood run cold the shooting had begun and there had been little lag in the assault. Emily had done her best to keep Neddy shielded and safe, sheltered from the bullets filling the air. Soon both Annabel and David were wounded and then someone had tried to set the cabin alight. Annabel had ordered Emily to take Neddy and run, run and hide.
Tears filled her eyes. She had not wanted to leave Annabel and David, had been sure she would never see them again if she did run. The terrified child clinging to her was all that had given her the strength to move, to run and hide as ordered. It was what her sister needed. The knowledge that someone was taking her child to a safe place would give Annabel the strength to keep fighting. It was during the time Emily had been getting Neddy into the root cellar that she had been wounded. Now, with the smell of smoke beginning to fade and the sound of shooting silent for too long, she knew her duty was to keep Neddy alive and safe. She tightened the grip on the knife by her side.
“Let us just hope we find our quarry alive,” said a man with a deep voice that was too close to the opening of her hiding place.
Quarry ? she thought. That was a word a hunter used. Gritting her teeth over the pain in her leg, she rose carefully to her knees. Determined to protect her nephew, she held the knife at the ready and kept her mind clear. She knew she could not battle all of the men but she would make it cost them dearly to take Neddy from her.
* * *
Iain saw the shadow of the opening in the tree and moved closer as he signaled to his brother to help him shift the broken tree limb. As soon as it was moved he saw the opening more clearly. The trunk of the tree was thick enough to make a hollow that could easily hide a child but it was too shadowed to see if it did.
He got on his knees and edged closer. When he stuck his head inside he did so slowly and was glad of it when he felt cold steel touch his throat. He glanced down and calmly met the narrowed gaze of a woman.
“I mean no harm,” he said. “I am nay one of the men who burned the cabin.” He fought a wince as the blade trembled in what appeared to be a small hand and the point scraped painfully over his skin. “My brothers and I smelled the smoke and came to help.” He reminded himself he was speaking to a survivor and kept his voice as soft and pleasant as he could.
“The people who lived there?” There was a hint of dread in her voice as she asked and he suspected she already knew what he would answer.
“Could ye move the blade aside? It makes talking a wee bit uncomfortable.”
“Oh. I beg your pardon.”
He warily rubbed his hand over his throat when the knife was pulled away and swallowed a laugh over how polite she had sounded. “I fear the people in the cabin are dead.” A sound much like a moan choked by a sob reached his ears and he grimaced, knowing he had probably been too blunt, but he had no idea how else he could have answered her question. “We have buried them. Come out and I will show ye where they are.” He inched back and held out his hand.
Emily hesitated a moment but then decided she had few choices left. She had already been found and the man had made no threatening move. Toward her or Neddy. Although she had no idea of what she could do now, she knew she could not remain huddled in a shallow hole dug inside the trunk of a dying tree. Trying desperately to keep Neddy hidden by her skirts she allowed the man to pull her out. The shadows helped. They kept Neddy hidden but it added an awkwardness to her movements that she could not hide.
“Are ye hurt?” he asked as she stood up but kept her right hand tight against her skirts.
“A small wound already bandaged. I will be fine.” She looked in the direction of the house and fought the urge to collapse, to weep. “Annabel and David are dead.”
“Aye.” He decided he would never tell her how. “I am Iain MacEnroy and this is my brother Robbie. My other brother, Matthew, is at the cabin collecting all that can be salvaged and I have yet another brother, Duncan, watching over our wagons.”
She nodded but her thoughts were centered on how to keep Neddy hidden until she was absolutely certain these men were safe. “I am Emily Stanton. I thank you for burying my sister and her husband.”
Iain frowned. There was a distinct English accent to the woman’s words, which held that cool politeness her class was so well known for. He told himself not to let that trouble him. He had known some decent English men and women in his time. There were also a lot of them coming to America, as desperately in need of a better life as he was.
“It was nay a bother,” he said quietly.
“I must mark the grave,” she said as she started to walk back to the cabin, dreading what she would find but determined to do her sister and her husband honor.
He cursed softly. Her voice was slurred, like someone half-asleep. He signaled Robbie and they followed th
e woman. He noticed that she walked oddly, as if she was dragging her feet. Her left arm hung limply at her side and he could now see the dark stain of blood on the blue sleeve of her gown. The woman was wounded worse than she had claimed. Quickening his pace, he drew up beside her. When he looked at her he noticed that she was very pale and was sweating despite the cool breezes.
Grasping her wrist to halt her, he scowled when she stared at his hand then slowly looked up at him. Her eyes were cloudy and he doubted she was seeing him clearly. Then she began to sway. He grabbed her around the waist as she began to fall to her knees.
“Do not let me fall on him,” she said in a rapidly fading voice.
The abrupt increase in the weight he supported told him she had fainted. Just as he shifted to pick her up a small boy scrambled out from beneath her skirts. Robbie caught hold of the child before the boy could grab her.
“Em! Emmy!” The child thrashed in Robbie’s hold, reaching blindly for the woman Iain was now cradling in his arms.
“Hush, laddie. Hush!” Iain cautiously stepped closer so the boy could see the woman he held, even touch her slightly. “She has but swooned. She sleeps because she was hurt.”
The child calmed although he stuck his thumb in his mouth and shuddered a little with the remnants of his fear. Here was the child they had been searching for. The boy looked physically unharmed but Iain knew there would be scars left from what had happened at his home. It brought up his own memories of trying to explain to young Lachlan that their parents were dead. He quickly shook them aside and started walking toward the burned cabin.
By the time he reached the graveside Emily was stirring. Reluctantly, for he found holding the slender woman pleasurable despite her unconscious state, he set her on her feet, holding her by the waist until she steadied. Even with her disordered appearance and too-pale skin she was a pretty little thing. Her blond hair was in a thick braid tied off by a ribbon that matched the color of her gown.
The Scotsman Who Saved Me Page 2
