Chapter Eleven
Someone was tracking them. Errol had sensed it a while ago, but he was for certs of it now. He’d been listening intently and heard the tell-tale sound of twigs crunching underfoot in the distance behind them.
He’d managed to keep Moira close to his side. Not an easy task as she kept wanting to hurry ahead.
“I need ye to stay close,” he ordered for the umpteenth time.
Moira only threw a droll look over her shoulder and pushed her horse forward.
He believed it was a single person. What he’d heard didn’t allude to more than that. He needed to draw the man out so he could find out why he followed them. Ask him what he sought.
In a short time, they came to a small village. Located on MacLeod lands it was mainly a farming village that consisted of about twenty families. Errol could use the distraction of the bustling village to see if the man would show his face.
“We’ll stop here for a brief respite.”
“I think we should move forward. There’s no sense in wasting time here.” Moira stated as if she kenned what they should do better than he.
He raised a brow at her, letting her ken he was tired of her questioning his every move. “Ye need rest. The horses need rest. We will be on our way after a meal.”
Moira looked around, her nose scrunched in the cutest way.
What was he thinking?
He was thinking that when she did that the freckles on her cheeks became more prominent. Her eyes more blue.
Errol closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She was the last thing he needed to be admiring. She was his enemy. His family’s enemy.
Responsible for the death of his brother.
Why he hadn’t turned them around and returned to the Macleod Keep yet was something that he still couldn’t comprehend.
That was a lie. For he kenned that whilst he shouldn’t, he wanted to spend as much time with Moira as he could.
They walked their horses over to a stable and handed the reins over to the stable lad that waited patiently for them.
When Errol had helped Moira dismount, he dropped his head low, whispering in her ear, “stay close.”
Her blue eyes rounded, and her breath hitched. “Are they here?”
He kenned exactly who she was referring to. The bandits from earlier. But they werenae going anywhere. Errol had made sure of that.
“Nay. ’Tis but a small village and ye’re safe here. However, ye still wear the Hart colors.”
At that, she clutched her cloak tighter around her neck.
No one here would hurt Moira whilst she was in his presence, but that didn’t stop them from throwing angry looks in her direction when they passed.
“Come. Let us sup and then we can continue on our journey to the sea.”
In a small pub, they sat at a table along the far wall. Errol sat so he could see everyone that walked in the door. Whoever was following them would no doubt show themselves here as well. They ordered stew and ale, and Errol’s eyes scanned the pub whilst they waited for their food.
A man entered, and Errol immediately recognized him. Their gazes clashed afore the man’s slid over to Moira, a look of disgust blanketing his face.
“MacLeod,” he called as he approached their table. “May I have a word?”
“Lachlan.” Errol stood and acknowledged the man. He was a warrior. One of Errol’s father’s guards. And most likely the person that had been following them. “Ye’ve been trailing us for some time. Any reason?”
His gaze once again slid to Moira as he sucked on a blade of grass between his teeth.
Moira watched the exchange silently and Errol noticed she’d drawn in her cloak just a little tighter than afore. As if that would offer her any shelter from whatever attack she perceived was coming her way.
“I need a word. Alone.”
Moira’s eyes rounded in response, a slight shiver emanating off her body.
Errol pointed to a corner. “I will be right there. Eat yer stew. I willnae be long.”
She nodded, but her eyes remained fixed on Lachlan.
Errol glanced around the small pub. No one was paying them any attention. He felt it was safe to step away from the table a few feet, and did so, Lachlan following on his heels.
Once they were out of earshot, Errol spun. “Did my father send ye here? To follow us?” His whispered words were harsh, his intention to show Lachlan that he wasn’t happy with what he was doing.
“My laird doesnae ken I am here. I come of my own accord.”
“For what?” Errol ground out.
“To question yer loyalty to the MacLeod. ’Tis obvious ’tis lacking if ye are working with a Hart. Does family loyalty mean naught to ye anymore?”
Errol growled. Closing the space between them. The urge to grab the man’s tunic in his hands and shake him senseless was strong. He clenched his fists but remained calm.
“I would choose yer words carefully afore ye accuse me of going against my family. A family that I’ve shed blood for.”
“And yet, here ye are with her.” He nodded toward Moira, who was completely focused on their conversation. “What would yer father think if he kenned what ye are doing?”
“Are ye threatening me?”
Lachlan laughed. “Am I? God above, nay. But I fear the clan would find ye most untrustworthy if they found out ye were wandering the countryside with a Hart. What are ye doing with the wench anyway?”
Errol didn’t appreciate Lachlan calling Moira a wench. He was well aware that he didn’t have to answer any of Lachlan’s questions. His position in Errol’s father’s guard did not give him any authority when it came to Errol.
“Ne’er once have I given any reason for the clan to doubt me. I willnae start now.”
“Again,” Lachlan waved his hand toward Moira. “I must remind ye of where ye are and with whom.”
“Ye neednae remind me of aught. Return to MacLeod Keep at once,” Errol demanded.
“I dinnae take orders from a traitor. Have ye forgotten what the Hart have done to us? To our clan? To our families? To yer family?”
Errol took a step back and pushed his hands through his short hair, dragging his nails across his scalp, allowing the pain to remind him of his duties.
“This is strictly an escort trip.”
“If ye believe that, then ye are even more naive than yer sister. Ye need to take heed as to who ye let get under yer skin. Naught good can come from a Hart. She will as likely stab ye in the back when ye’ve turned away from her then be someone true in her actions.
” The man paused, his gaze falling on Moira once again, before returning to his.
“She is a Hart. She cannae be trusted in aught that she does. Whate’er this mission is that ye are doing, for whate’er unkenned reason, never let yer guard down around her.
If ye do, it may verra well be the last thing ye e’er do.
” With that, Lachlan spun on his heel and exited the pub.
Errol watched his retreat and stared at the empty doorway for a long time, thinking about what Lachlan had said.
Tried to find fault in his words. But there was none.
He wanted to kick himself. He’d allowed himself to get comfortable around Moira.
Not completely, but moreso than afore. She’d drawn him into her impish spell, and he now realized he’d lost his way.
Dragging his hands across his scalp again, he took a deep breath afore returning to the table where Moira sat watching him warily.
“Is something amiss?” She asked when he sank into the chair across from her.
“Eat. We need to be back on the road as soon as possible,” he said gruffly, ignoring her question.
She must have sensed his mood shift. For once she didn’t fight him and instead did as he asked. Something he hadn’t seen her do yet.
He needed to keep her at arm’s length. He’d promised Anna he would escort Moira around the highlands so she could find the treasure the map had alluded to.
And he had his share of it that was owed to him as well.
But that was all he would do. They didn’t need to talk.
To hold conversations, though he’d yet to find aught that they had in common to discuss anyway. Nay, this was a mission. Naught more.
Later, when he and Moira were back on their horses traveling to Loch Nunch, she’d attempted to start a conversation, filling the empty space with chatter, but he’d refused to answer. Refused to engage in anyway. Lachlan was right.
He was betraying his clan.
Moira Hart was naught but trouble. No good could come of aught betwixt them.
“What do ye think we will find in the cave?” Moira asked again, trying to fill the silence stretched thick between them.
Errol didn’t answer. He just grunted and kicked his horse to move faster.
“Did I say something wrong?” Moira asked after another long silence.
Could the woman ever stop talking? It was as if she had this incessant need to fill the silence.
What was wrong with enjoying the sounds of the beautiful nature that surrounded them?
The babbling brook they were riding beside.
The birds singing high in the trees. The rustle of the newly grown leaves, bright green on thick brown branches.
Soon, the salty brine of the sea tickled his nose. “We are almost there.” He announced but said naught further.
“I can smell the salt in the air,” Moira said, breathing deeply. “’Tis a beautiful smell is it no’?”
Just then, they broke through the trees and in front of them, they could see the sea, its dark blue water crashing into the rocks at the water’s edge.
Moira stopped, her breath caught in her throat as she looked out at the water and its surroundings.
She brought her horse forward a few steps and then turned around.
“The mountain,” she whispered. “The mountain, the sea,” she paused.
“Now we just need to locate the cave. It has to be around here, close, is it no’? ”
Errol rolled his lips inward and waited for her to see the cave that was just over the rocks to their left.
It was located up a steep incline and the trek getting to it would be dangerous.
The rocks would be slippery, wet from the water, worn smooth from the violent waves that constantly crashed over them.
And inside?
He didn’t ken what to expect. He had never explored the cave.
Hadn’t kenned anyone that had. The stories he had heard as a young lad was that the cave was haunted.
Inhabited by a spirit who’d gone out to meet his lover on the rocks, only to be swept away afore she had appeared.
Legend says he wanders the rocks now, every day, waiting for the time when his lover will appear, and they can live happily ever after.
Errol didn’t believe the tale. But there were lots of others that did and for the most part it kept people away from the cave. Now that he thought about it, it was the perfect story to keep people out of a cave where something of great value had been hidden.
What better way to thwart the curious then with a ghost tale?
It had worked for him and those that he kenned. They’d all stayed far away from this cave whenever they’d been in the area.
“’Tis over there,” he dipped his head to the left and waited for Moira to spot it.
When she did, her mouth formed a perfect circle. She slid off her horse and moved forward, her eyes wide.
“’Tis amazing.” She spun, a huge grin splitting her face. “Have ye e’er been inside?”
“Nay,” he answered and dismounted, tying his and her horses to a nearby tree.
She walked closer to the shore and paused, her hands on her slim hips. “How are we to enter it? ’Tis high.”
“We will need to take caution as the rocks will be slick, but we will need to climb up to it.”
“Surely there must be another way. A back entrance mayhap?” She asked, her voice hopeful.
Errol shook his head. “I’m afraid no’.”
Moira clapped her hands together. “Well, then, I will just have to rely on ye and yer climbing skills, then. Too bad Rory isnae here. He would have no problem traversing those rocks.”
At the mention of her brother’s name, Errol’s fists clenched. It was a reminder that she was a Hart and he needed to see her as naught more than that.
His enemy.