Chapter Sixteen #2
Downstairs, she breathed a sigh of relief when even the innkeeper was nowhere to be found. Mayhap he had retired for the night as well.
Outside, she located her horse in the stable, and handed the sleepy-eyed stable boy a coin for watching and caring for the mare.
He looked confused as he tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes, but she told him that all was well and to go back to sleep. Nodding, he had curled back up on a bale of hay and fell back asleep.
Usually, she had Errol to help her mount, but of course, she was on her own this time. She found a stool and moved it over beside her horse and stepped upon it, then, using the reins, pulled herself the rest of the way up, careful not to hurt her mare.
Outside of the stable, she urged her horse left and once she was certain no one followed, she kicked the mare into a trot and headed in what she hoped was Northeast. According to what Errol had said, it should only take but a few hours to arrive at the hollow.
Moira tried not to think about how her father would react if he kenned she were traveling MacLeod lands by herself.
She shuddered. She hadn’t thought about that piece until now. Mayhap she should take off her cloak since it was in the Hart colors. That way she didn’t catch anyone’s ire if they happened upon her.
Thinking that was best, she untied the bow at her neck and slipped the cloak off her shoulders. Rolling it into a ball, she stuffed the cloak under her leg. She would put it in her travel bag when she stopped next, which would be when she got to the hollow.
Errol would be furious when he woke up to find himself alone in the room. Not because he cared about her, but because he wasn’t keeping up with the responsibility of being her guardian.
Well, she would show him. She didn’t need a guardian and she could travel just fine alone.
At least that was what she kept repeating to herself.
*
He was awakened by the movement in the stable. He had been sleeping outside, near the blacksmith’s shed. It gave him a view of the stable and the horses inside. Though he was surprised to see the Hart bitch fetching her mare.
He was even more surprised to see that she was alone.
What was she up to?
He had waited to see if the MacLeod followed her, but once she’d mounted her horse and left the stables with no sign of him, it was clear she was stealing away in the night and leaving him behind.
That was fine with him. She would be much easier to track. She didn’t take care to cover her tracks like the MacLeod.
He mounted his horse, and set off to follow Moira Hart, keeping a wide enough distance that she wouldn’t hear his horse trailing behind her.
Where was she going without her escort?
Her protection.
She was moving Northeast. But to where? Eventually, she would end up at the sea, unless she veered off in another direction.
Was she after another clue? He still had not learned what they had found in the hidden cave.
But he had seen the small chest the MacLeod had carried with him down the rocks.
What contents it held he had no idea. It could be empty for all he kenned, but he doubted that.
Why would he burden himself with an empty chest whilst he climbed down a precarious rock wall?
He wouldn’t do that.
Nay. There had to be something valuable inside.
Ahead of him, Moira’s mare paused, and he signaled for his horse to do the same thing, stroking its neck to keep him at ease so he remained silent.
Whatever caused her to stop had passed and she once again moved forward.
Into the trees he followed her, the branches reaching out and scratching at his face. He swiped them out of the way. Swearing when one poked him in the eye, pain stabbing into his socket.
Thankfully, she hadn’t heard him, and she continued on as if she didn’t have aught to be worried about.
He hated the woods. They reminded him of when he and his brother would play when they were young. His brother nimbly jumping over fallen trees and logs, running swiftly away as they would chase each other. He could never catch his brother.
But his brother always caught him. Not right away. His brother had always given him a lead start and didn’t put in a lot of effort. There was no use since the chase would always end the same way.
His brother was a good man. And for the briefest of moments, he felt a pang of sadness. Of guilt.
The way his father always doted on his brother was sickening. Just once, he wanted to be the subject of his father’s devotion.
Only once.
But it never came to fruition.
His father was a mean, selfish bastard.
He had learned of their family’s secret through his brother.
His brother that should have taken over the family land on their father’s death.
He sneered.
He took care of that.
Remembering when his father had fallen onto a jagged branch when riding. His brother had been dead for a few weeks by that time. His father was still grieving the loss of his beloved son.
It made him sick.
But when his father fell, he kenned he had his chance. He found a nearby rock, hefty enough to do the job he sought.
His father had called out to him, asking for help.
He laughed. “Now I am of use to ye, ye old fool?”
Confusion furrowed his father’s brow, seeing the rock in his hand.
He bent near his father, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Ye thought I was useless. But, yet I managed to strike down yer son, did I no’?”
His father’s eyes rounded, understanding dawning on his face.
“Aye. ’Twas me. I am no’ so useless now, am I?”
“Son,” his father said.
“Dinnae call me that,” he spat, spittle falling from his lips and onto his father’s cheek. “Ye dinnae get the privilege of calling me that after all these years.” He bent once again, his mouth near his father’s ear. “Just ken that he suffered, I made sure of it.”
He stood and saw the pain in his father’s eyes.
The anger. Reveling in the knowledge that his father could do naught about it, he brought the rock down onto his father’s skull with all his might.
He struck again and again, until he couldn’t see his father’s face anymore. Just tissue and bone and blood.
Dropping the rock, he left his father where he had fallen. The scavengers would make use of his remains.
He didn’t deserve a burial.
Bringing his focus back to the here and now, he watched Moira’s figure in the far distance, wondering where she was going for the umpteenth time.
Would this be the final clue? If it were, he would be able to dispose of her, just like he had his father and his brother.
And then he would destroy the clues and keep the family secret.
It mattered naught what happened to him. There was no one left in his family. With no wives and no children born to his brother, their lineage died with him.
But he had the last laugh. The final victory.
It was him.
He was the one to keep the family secret safe.