Chapter 5 #2
Or as well as they could be, considering she’d be obliged to spend the next five hundred and two hours trapped in the castle with an enraged Callum Ross.
She plunged through the trees, not daring to look back. Despite her aversion to the woods, she knew them a good deal better than either of the men pursuing her. If she could only keep her wits about her, she’d find her way to the village while they were still blundering through the trees.
She ran as fast as she could through the darkness, her chest squeezing with each of her gasping breaths, fancying she could hear the heavy tread of men’s boots behind her with every step, but after a lifetime of stumbling blindly along the pathway, the gloom began to give way to the fading light.
She didn’t stop until she emerged from the woods onto the top of what served as the High Street in Dunvegan. By now twilight had fallen, and the street was deserted, the shop doors closed and locked. All but Baird’s Pub, which was doing a brisk business, as always.
A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she braced her hands on her knees as the bread and cheese she’d had for luncheon threatened to come back up in a hot burst of sickness, but after a few deep breaths the nausea receded, and thank goodness for it.
There was no time to cast up her accounts.
She could smell the smoke now, the heavy, acrid scent of it stinging her nostrils and invading her lungs. It was farther to the west than it had looked from the castle, well past the edge of the village.
But no, surely not. That didn’t make any sense, unless …
Unless that curl of smoke didn’t have anything to do with Sorcha, after all. The only thing that lay that far to the west of the village was Clyde Stewart’s farm, and her sister had no reason to go there.
Did she?
Mr. Stewart lived there alone. He’d lost his wife some ten years earlier, and he had no children. He was a strange man, the sort she took care to keep well away from.
But the smoke was coming from that direction, the hazy cloud hovering directly over what could only be Mr. Stewart’s property.
Dash it, what should she do? Should she trust Sorcha would find her way home on her own, or should she go on toward the Stewart farm? She couldn’t think of a single piece of business Sorcha could have with Clyde Stewart, but one could never tell with Sorcha.
It must be nearly six by now. The storm was coming closer with every minute, and the sky was darkening with ominous clouds. Sorcha had sworn she’d return to the castle before dark, and while it wouldn’t be the first promise she’d broken, it felt different this time.
In the end, all that mattered was that Sorcha was still missing, and this was no time to dally, with her pursuers on her heels.
She allowed herself one deep, calming breath before she stepped onto the High Street and crossed over to the side opposite Baird’s Pub, keeping to the shadows as much as she could.
The last thing she wanted was to draw the attention of the men who frequented that establishment.
Or anyone else, for that matter. She couldn’t be seen rushing about the village at this time of day. It looked suspicious, a MacLeod sister wandering about alone in the dark. If anyone happened to see her, they would assume the worst. They always did, when it came to her and her sisters.
As much as she might wish otherwise, she wasn’t like every other lady in Scotland anymore. Or any other lady at all, come to that. She was a MacLeod, and being a MacLeod carried certain risks these days.
Why had she let Sorcha leave the castle this afternoon?
She should have known better than to agree to such a reckless scheme.
She might have foreseen it would come to this.
Bad luck seemed to be forever on their heels no matter what they did, but these were just the sort of foolish antics that made it easy for it to catch them.
But no one accosted her, or even seemed to notice her as she made her way toward the apothecary’s shop at the opposite end of the High Street, taking care to keep her steps slow and measured—
“Freya?”
The voice was soft, a whisper only, but it seemed to have come from the darkness itself, and she jumped, her heart shooting into her throat. “Oh!”
But it was only Glynnis Fraser, the apothecary’s sister, and the one friend they still had left in Dunvegan. “Glynnis, my goodness.” She sagged against the side of the shop, her hand over her chest. “You startled me.”
“Oh, dear. I am sorry.” Glynnis hesitated, her brow furrowing. “Are you looking for Sorcha?”
Her heart gave an anxious leap under her palm. “Yes. You’ve seen her, then?”
Glynnis nodded. “Yes.”
“Thank goodness!” Sorcha couldn’t have gotten far, then. That was welcome news.
But her relief was short-lived, the hope rushing through her freezing to ice in her veins at Glynnis’s next words.
“She came down the High Street a little over an hour ago. I thought she must have returned to the castle by now, but then I saw you pass by the window.” Glynnis frowned. “She had a cart with her, with one of her birds in a box inside it.”
“One of her sparrowhawks? That is strange.” Sorcha was as protective of her birds as a mother with a newborn baby. “What in the world could she be thinking, dragging one of her precious birds halfway across Dunvegan?”
Glynnis gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t know what she’s up to, but I thought it was odd, so I watched to see which direction she went. She headed directly west, toward Clyde Stewart’s farm on the outskirts of town.”
“I don’t understand. It doesn’t make any sense.” They weren’t at all acquainted with Clyde Stewart. What reason could Sorcha have to visit him, of all people?
“No.” Glynnis shook her head. “It doesn’t.”
They stood there for a moment, staring at each other, a dozen unasked questions hanging between them, but neither voiced them. There was no point.
Only Sorcha knew the answers.
Freya attempted a smile, but her cheeks felt numb, and her mouth too wide for her face. “I’d better go then and fetch her before she gets herself into trouble.”
“Yes, I think so.”
But she hadn’t gotten more than half a dozen steps past the shop before Glynnis’s voice stopped her. “Freya?”
She turned back to find Glynnis hovering in the doorway in the faint glow from the lamp inside the shop, wringing her hands. “Yes?”
“Hurry.”