The warrior in her wished she were off fighting for her king with them, and finally using her years of combat training. Instead, she’d been left in charge of Glenkeld Castle, which both terrified and excited her, because together with the castle, she was responsible for protecting Colin, her son.
The sense of danger prickled against her skin as she quickly looked around. She better hurry to Tamhas and Muir. It had been pretty stupid of her to separate from them, but she’d wanted to test herself, to see if she was strong enough, if she was ready. The truth was, she’d been afraid of walking alone outside the castle walls ever since her clan brought her back from Dunollie. She was ashamed of her fear. Ashamed that she couldn’t conquer it. Separating from her bodyguards for this small mission was a step towards putting an end to it.
She put the arrow back in her quiver and the bow on her shoulder. The voices grew closer, and she went in that direction.
“There’s no moat, and the walls are nae high. With ladders, we’ll be in the castle in no time.”
She stopped. Those were not her bodyguards.
“Aye, and the top part of the wall is crumbled on the northern side. Chief will be pleased.”
She hid behind a tree trunk, her stomach churning, her breath ragged. Crumbled wall on the northern side… No moat… That described Glenkeld Castle.
Cold crawled down her spine.
“Aye. How much longer to the horses? Canna wait to bring the news to Dunollie. Chief wants to march soon and get his grandson.”
“Nae long.”
Dunollie… His grandson…
The ground shifted under her feet. Her knees melted, and her blood turned to ice. The nightmare that had crippled her whole life was coming for her again.
MacDogualls.
Where were her bodyguards?
Her feet were as heavy as lead, frozen to the ground. With an enormous effort, and trying to calm her shaky breath, she turned and looked in the direction of the voices. The two men were walking east with their backs to her now. Their dark tunics swayed as they moved lazily through the trees like they already owned these lands.
She could kill them. She could send an arrow into one of them, and if she were fast enough, she could kill the other one before he turned around. Her hands shaking violently, she took her bow and an arrow. She nocked the arrow in place, but it fell.
“Damnation,” she whispered.
They were walking away.
She tried again. This time, she secured the arrow in place. She lifted the bow and pulled the string to her cheek. But her breath shuddered, and the arrow jumped up and down before her eyes.
They were leaving. If she wanted to stop the MacDougall spies, this was her last chance. She was almost out of time. She’d never actually hurt anyone, except for the occasional bruises and scratches during combat training.
If she shot now and the arrow missed, the men would be alerted and come after her. Then she’d really need to fight for her life. She couldn’t let them to take her again.
The past blurred her vision. She remembered lying helpless on a bed, unable to move, pain unlike any she’d ever known tearing her apart. Panic clogged her throat.
The men disappeared behind the trees, and she lost sight of them. She lowered her bow, breathing heavily, a strange mixture of relief and fear tearing her apart. Her mind went blank.
The memory of endless pain and despair flooded her. She could feel it again, her violated, torn flesh, the humiliation, the bottomless exhaustion and desperation. Her body acted before she could think.
She turned and ran.
Trees flashed before her eyes, and branches slapped her. She stumbled against roots and pushed against trunks. The air was a bog, slowing her, grabbing her. She turned to look behind her, but no one followed her. The only sounds were her ragged breathing, the chirping of the birds, and the wind rustling the leaves.
She came to a halt at the sharp edge of a ravine, rocks crumbling under her feet and falling down the slope. She panted and looked around. The MacDougall men were nowhere to be seen.
Thank God, Mary, and Jesu, it seemed like she was alone. Suddenly, she heard someone moan down in the ravine. Her hand jerked to her shoulder for her bow, but it wasn’t there. She must have been so caught up in her terror she dropped it without realizing.
She heard the moan again, longer and louder now, and she narrowed her eyes, searching down below for the source of it. Maybe Tamhas or Muir had fallen, or maybe they’d been attacked by the MacDougall spies?
Someone moved. A broad-shouldered man in clothes the color of fading leaves crawled from the ruins of an ancient tower that most folk avoided. He sat up and held his head like he had a headache or had hit it hard. She didn’t recognize him from the castle. Was he another MacDougall spy? She should just leave before he saw her.
The man raised his head, and for a moment, Marjorie thought he did look familiar. Not that she recognized his face, but there was something about him, like she knew him from somewhere.
“Hey!” he cried, wincing as he moved. “I’m pretty hurt, and I don’t think I can climb up. Can you help?”
Marjorie hesitated. Leaving a man in trouble was cowardly. It had been cowardly to let those two spies go instead of rising up like the warrior she’d been training to be all these years. She just couldn’t do it again. He was injured. How dangerous could he be?
“Can you call 911, or whatever you guys have here in Scotland?” he said.
She frowned. She’d heard an accent like his before. His soft Rs and broad consonants sounded like her new sister-in-law, Amy. Also, calling some numbers didn’t make any sense.
“Ye must have injured yer head,” she said. “Dinna move. I’m coming down.”
“Don’t. You may hurt yourself—”
But she began climbing down the slope, carefully balancing on the rocks and stones that crumbled and rolled from under her feet. Once or twice, she almost fell, but she held on to bushes and regained her balance by sheer luck.
When she was down, she studied the man from closer up. Oh, Jesu and Mary, she hadn’t realized from high above how huge he was. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone as muscular and tall—except perhaps Ian. Muscles corded under his wet clothes. He wore broad breeches with pockets, a tight, thin tunic, and a short coat the likes of which she’d never seen before. They were all completely wet. Had he swum in the brook? His brown hair was completely wet and gathered in a ponytail behind his head. His blue eyes were framed with long eyelashes, but there was pain behind them. Like he was carrying the misery of the whole world on his shoulders. Like pain was in his bloodstream.
And like no one could understand.
Her gut clenched as the thought reverberated within her like the echo of a voice in a cave.
“Are ye from around here?” she said.
“No. I was on my way to a farm nearby and had a bad fall.”
“The Keir farm?” she said.
Her maid, Moire, had mentioned she had a cousin that was coming for a visit.
“Yes, the Keir farm,” he said.
“Ye must be Moire’s cousin. Sorry, I forgot yer name, although I’m sure she mentioned it.”
“Konnor,” he said. “But I’m not—”
A branch snapped somewhere above them, and Marjorie ducked and pulled him behind one of the large boulders. He crawled, wincing but not making a sound.