Chapter 1 #3
Relief made her dizzy. “Thank the Lord. We must hurry now. Who knows when the others will awake.”
Muirne looked back at the fire. “Can we take the blankets? And perhaps some of the food?”
Isabail’s gaze locked on the large sleeping shape of MacCurran. Falling snow had accumulated in the folds of his blanket, farthest from the fire. “We dare not. If either of the other two awakens, we are doomed.”
“But it might be days before the earl’s men find us.”
“My brother kept the bothy well stocked. There’s bound to be some food there. We must move swiftly.” She wrapped her cloak and fur tightly about her body. She was already missing the heat of the fire.
They set off for the standing stone once more, and when they reached it, turned sharply south.
If memory served her correctly, the bothy was at the base of this hill, tucked into the woods.
There was a small circle of stones about a hundred paces from the front door, and this taller, solitary stone pointed directly toward it.
All they had to do was stay straight and true.
They marched forward, Muirne following Isabail’s lead.
The older woman struggled over the rocky terrain and stumbled several times.
As they traversed the hill, Isabail looked back at the standing stone several times to keep her bearing, but darkness and a thickening veil of snow soon blocked the stone from sight.
In some ways, the snow was a godsend.
Any evidence of their passage was obliterated by a sea of white.
If Graeme roused or one of the other men awoke, they would not know in which direction the women had set off.
They would surely assume they would head back the way they’d come—east, not south.
But the snow was also a serious hindrance.
It was thick and wet, and it accumulated with surprising speed, making walking much more difficult.
“Ah!”
Isabail spun around.
Muirne lay sprawled on the ground, pain etched on her face. “My foot. I’ve twisted my foot.”
Isabail waded back to her maid’s side. “It’s not much farther. I’m certain of it. Can you stand?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s give it a go.” Determined to get to the bothy and out of the blowing snow, Isabail offered Muirne her arm. “Up we get.”
The older woman clutched her arm and pushed to one foot. Then she gingerly tested her injured limb, wincing the instant she placed weight on it. “Nay, my lady. I cannot walk. You’ll have to get on without me.”
“Don’t be daft. I’ll not leave you here.
” Isabail studied the snow-blurred tree line at the bottom of the hill.
Where was the circle of stones? Should she not be able to see them by now?
The snow was thick and drifting, but it hardly seemed possible that they would be completely buried. Yet there was no sign of them.
Without a guidepost, the wisest option was to head straight for the trees. At least there they would enjoy some protection from the wind.
“One step at a time,” she encouraged Muirne as they set off.
Between the snow, the uneven rocks beneath, and the shivers beginning to rack the older woman’s body, they made very slow progress.
The weather was unforgiving. Few people dared to cross the Red Mountains in the winter, and Isabail got a bleak taste of why.
Although the sky began to lighten with the impending day, the winds picked up and the snow changed from soft flakes to hard pellets.
It stung their faces and snatched their breaths away.
Unable to bury her hands in her cloak because of her hold on Muirne, Isabail’s fingers first reddened and then turned white.
She could no longer feel her fingers or her toes.
Yet she fared better than Muirne.
Her maid’s cloak was woven of much thinner wool than Isabail’s, and she had no fur bundled about her shoulders. By the time they made it to the tree line, Muirne’s lips were blue and her usually rosy cheeks were pale as parchment.
“I cannot go on,” she murmured, sinking to her knees in the snow.
Isabail prodded the other woman. “You must. If you stop here, you will surely die.” She glanced around, hoping to spot the stone circle, but saw only a glaring sea of white. Had she wandered from the path to the bothy? “It’s only a few more feet,” she lied.
Muirne shook her head. “I cannot do it.”
Exhausted and thoroughly disheartened by the way the fates had played with her attempt to escape, Isabail flopped into the snow next to her maid and huddled against the wind. “Seems rather unfair, doesn’t it? To escape one death only to meet another?”
Tears sprang to Muirne’s eyes. “I’ll never see my Fearghus again.”
A pang rippled through Isabail’s chest. Muirne’s bitterest regret at this dire moment was failing to see her beloved husband one last time.
Isabail had no similar yearning to latch onto.
Her brother was dead; her parents, too. And she’d outlived her husband, who’d died of a festered wound only a year after they’d been wed.