Chapter 22 #2
She burst through the back doors into the freezing, rain-soaked night, the fierce northern wind immediately tearing her dark hair from its tight braid.
The cold rain struck her face like a slap, but she did not care.
She marched directly into the stables, her leather boots sinking into the wet straw as the horses shifted restlessly in their stalls, sensing the panic in the air.
“Saddle the bay,” Alba commanded the startled stable boy, her voice booming with authority. “Now!”
“But me Lady…” the boy stammered, dropping his wooden bucket. “The Laird said the Gates are to be barred.”
“I am Lady MacLaren,” Alba hissed, her hands steadying despite the terror hammering inside her ribs as she grabbed the leather bridle herself and threw it over the horse’s head. “I do nae need anyone’s permission to go home.”
* * *
The hooves of Sebastian’s stallion churned the gray, slushy mud into a thick paste as they tore into the lower courtyard of MacKenzie Castle.
The journey along the High Trail had been brutal, a blind sprint through the freezing dark that had left his mount’s flanks lathered in white foam and his men shivering beneath their damp cloaks.
He swung his leg over the saddle before the horse had even come to a complete halt, his heavy boots splashing into the muck.
The stronghold was roaring with activity.
Archers lined the high battlements, their quivers neatly arranged against the crenellations.
Dozens of horses filled the courtyard, their breath thick in the cold air, while blacksmiths hammered iron rims onto wagon wheels in the stables.
Fergus MacKenzie had turned his home into a fortress.
“Yer walls look ready for a winter campaign, Laird MacKenzie,” Sebastian called out, his gravelly voice cutting through the din of hammering metal as the MacKenzie Laird descended the stone steps.
Fergus gripped Sebastian’s forearm in a hard warrior’s greeting. “Yer message was clear enough, MacGregor. We’ve got two hundred spears in the lower ward, and the gates are reinforced with oak timber. If Kerr tries to use our Ridge as a bypass, he’ll find a wall of iron waiting for him.”
“I am grateful ye took the warnin’ seriously,” Sebastian said, nodding toward the battlements. “Kerr isnae a man to underestimate. He doesnae strike unless he thinks he’s already won.”
“Aye, well, he hasnae met me archers,” Fergus said, wiping a stray drop of rain from his brow. “Hamish, see to yer horses. Me boys have dry straw and hot mash ready in the back stalls.”
“Thank ye, Laird,” Hamish muttered, though his eyes were already scanning the bustling courtyard with a soldier’s caution. “We rode the beasts ragged gettin’ down the Pass.”
Sebastian did not care about the horses. He did not care about the archers or the timber reinforcements. His dark eyes swept across the crowded ward, searching the doorways, the gallery, and the path to the stables.
He was looking for a flash of green wool. He was listening for a sharp, demanding voice that would tell him he was a fool for riding through a mountain storm without his armor.
“Where is she?” Sebastian asked, turning back to Fergus. “Inside with Margaret?”
Fergus’s expression shifted instantly. The easy, confident pride of a commander vanished from his face, his jaw locking tight as his dark eyes dropped toward the mud between them.
“She left,” Fergus said flatly.
Sebastian went completely still. The breath caught in his throat, his fingers tightening around the leather reins of his horse until the stirrup iron groaned.
The bustling noise of the courtyard—the hammering, the shouting captains, the snorting horses—seemed to drop into a terrifying, dead silence.
“What?” Sebastian rumbled, his voice dropping an octave. “What do ye mean, she left?”
"Nae an hour past," Fergus said grimly. "The horn had barely stopped sounding. She saw the banners on the North Ridge last night from the Hall windows,” Fergus explained quickly, his hands rising to steady Sebastian as the larger man stepped into his space. “One of me scouts brought the word, and before we could bar the courtyard, she went mad. She thought ye were walkin’ into a blind alley at MacLaren Castle.”
“I didnae send her into danger, Fergus.” Sebastian’s voice dropped low, tight with a fury he was forcing himself to leash. “I sent the message by her hand because I kent ye’d trust a warnin’ that came from her. I hoped she’d stay behind yer walls once it was delivered.”
“Then ye hoped wrong,” Fergus said, holding his ground, though his own jaw was tight. “She’s nae a parcel, MacGregor. She saw the banners on the Ridge, and she chose to ride. I couldnae stop her any more than ye could have, and I willnae stand here and let ye blame me for it.”
“She should have stayed,” Sebastian said.
“Aye. She should have.” Fergus’s voice quieted, but it did not soften. “But she’s spent three years fightin’ for the right to decide that for herself. Ye of all men should ken that by now. Nay one commands that woman to do anythin’ she’s already set her mind against. Nae ye. Nae me. Nae anyone.”
Cold flooded through Sebastian instantly. It was not the chill of the northern wind; it was a heavy, suffocating ice that started in his stomach and spread straight to his limbs. He had left his fortress at dawn. He had traveled the very same trail she would have taken.
“We rode the Dragon’s Tail from the Northern Gate to yer Border Stone.” Sebastian said, the words barely clearing his teeth. “There was no carriage. There were no outriders.”
He dragged a hand down his face, the horror of it landing fully.
"But I crossed the High Ridge before the storm broke proper.
If she left after the worst of it hit, she'd have taken the Low Postern road round the kiln instead of the Ridge trail, to save time in the dark and mud.
Two different roads, same destination. We passed within a mile of each other and never kent it. "
Hamish stepped forward, his face turning a sickly ash-gray beneath his red beard. “God’s teeth. If she took the High Trail while the storm was breaking…”
“How many guards with her?” Sebastian demanded, grabbing the front of Fergus’s heavy tunic, his knuckles white as he hauled the MacKenzie Laird forward. “Tell me ye didnae let her ride out alone.”