Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
T he night was shrouded darkness as Jamie and Annabelle rode side by side, trailing the group of thieves.
"Do you smell that?" Annabelle asked softly.
Jamie replied, "Aye, lass. Tis the scent of campfire smoke."
Jamie directed her toward the edge of the road, and they dismounted. He took the reins of both horses and tied them to a thin tree, so they wouldn’t wander off. With their horses secured and the dense woods around them, they ventured forward on foot, their every movement cautious, deliberate. Annabelle's heart pounded in her chest, and she was thankful that she wasn’t wearing a dress but one of the pants outfits Jen had given her. It made it much easier to navigate the wilderness without having to worry about snagging her skirt on branches.
As they drew closer to the campfire, they could make out faint murmurs and the soft crackling of burning wood. It was a surreal sight – a small clearing amidst the wild, the glow of the fire casting an eerie light upon a motley group of figures, huddled together around the light of the fire trying to stay warm. Jamie and Annabelle exchanged a wordless glance, their eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
Annabelle's thoughts raced as she struggled to maintain her footing in the unfamiliar terrain. Her detective instincts told her that this was a crucial moment, a pivotal juncture in their quest to save Maeve and clear the Donald Clan’s name. Every twig underfoot, every leaf that rustled seemed to echo through the forest, a potential herald of their presence.
“Stay close, lass," Jamie whispered.
Together, they crept toward the firelight, a beacon of revelation in the heart of the mysterious woods. They reached the edge of a clearing, and Jamie motioned for Annabelle to squat down. The two of them huddled low and peered through the trees. Before them lay an obvious campsite of tents and horses.
The camp was alive with activity. There were seven men in total, aside from the three thieves they were tracking. It was a formidable group, far too numerous for Jamie and Annabelle to take on alone. They needed help, but first they had to find out if this was the group they were after.
The thieves were certainly well-provisioned, that much was clear. Annabelle's heart pounded in her chest, and she felt a bead of sweat forming on her brow. Annabelle knew they needed a plan, and fast, if they were to find Maeve Campbell and uncover the truth behind the attacks that had thrown their clans into turmoil. As they crouched in the shadows, Annabelle's sharp eyes caught the movement of one of the bandits as he was moving away from the others toward a cart. She nudged Jamie gently on the shoulder, directing his attention to the bandit's actions. “What’s he doing?” she whispered.
They watched as the bandit lifted a heavy woolen blanket from the back of the cart, revealing a wooden cage with a metal lock. It was a cage typically used for livestock, and its presence in this camp was a curious and unsettling sight.
Their senses heightened, the night was pierced by a fierce, distinctly feminine, Scottish voice. Anger and defiance dripped from each word as the voice cried out, "Get away from me, you filthy MacDonald!"
There was no mistaking it – the voice had to belong to Maeve Campbell. Relief washed over Annabelle like a cool, soothing breeze on a scorching day. They had found her, their quest was nearly over. The cloud covered moonlight cast eerie shadows across the camp as they continued to observe. However as the clouds moved on and the mood shone brightly once more, Jamie sucked in a breath. Annabelle glanced at him and noticed the anger on his face.
“What is it?” she murmured.
“My cousin. Malcolm MacDonald.” The ire in Jamie's voice was unmistakable as he pointed out the man who was, without a doubt, the mastermind behind the entire ambush on the Campbell envoy.