Chapter 12 #4
The marsh was a perilous tract of land that cradled a bend in the burn near the northern edge of the forest. In most places, the mud was simply a thick ooze that sucked at the horses’ hooves.
But in others, the mud was a deep bog that could swallow a man whole.
They picked their way carefully through the marsh for hours, searching for any sign that Daniel and Jamie had passed that way.
Twice they spied hoofprints in the mud .
. . only to lose the trail when the water deepened.
Aiden split up his men to cover more ground.
He sent Cormac to the east and Hamish to the west, while he continued to ride north.
He combed the marsh through and through, mowing down sheaves of dried reeds as he went, but he failed to find the wretched cur.
When Cormac and the others rejoined him, they reported similar failures.
The late-January sunset was one of the prettiest Aiden had ever seen, but he could not summon a single ounce of pleasure over the glorious splashes of orange and purple that colored the sky.
Jamie was out there with a man ruthless enough to run his accomplice through and leave her for dead.
All Aiden could do was pray the lad proved useful enough to be kept alive.
He returned to the hill fort with a knotted gut and a fiery determination to track down his nephew simmering in his veins.
A candle was still burning in Niall’s hut when Aiden entered the close. He prayed that meant what he thought it meant—that Isabail yet lived. Niall was standing outside the door, and as Aiden approached, he stepped into his path.
“Did you recover the treasure?”
“Nay.”
Niall gave him a level stare. “Ana has expended extraordinary effort to keep this woman alive. To what end?”
Aiden settled back on his heels. Isabail had lain close to death for hours, and it pained him to know she’d fought that battle without him at her side. Right or wrong, he’d come to care for her.
He released a heavy sigh. “She made an error in judgment aligning herself with de Lourdes, but no one deserves to be run through. Least of all a woman.”
“She betrayed us.”
Although his brother’s accusation echoed the ache in Aiden’s gut, he shook his head. “Reserve judgment. We’ve not yet heard the tale from her lips.”
“She led him to the tomb.”
A difficult statement to refute. “Whatever the facts, her fate is mine to decide, not yours.”
Niall studied him for a long moment, then stepped aside.
Aiden entered the roundhouse.
His eyes took a moment to adjust to the light. Ana was crouched over the pallet, spooning broth into Isabail’s mouth. Both women looked up as he crossed the wooden floor.
“Did you find them?” Isabail asked.
“Nay.” He gave Ana a pointed stare, demanding that she give them some privacy.
With a reluctant frown, Ana put the bowl aside and vacated her spot next to Isabail.
Aiden hooked a three-legged stool with his boot and drew it over to the bed.
He sat, but avoided meeting Isabail’s eyes.
He had trouble looking at her face and seeing anything other than his sweetly beguiling lover.
“Daniel successfully eluded us in the marsh,” he said.
“We were unable to catch him or recover his trail on the other side.”
“Poor Jamie. He must be so frightened.”
“Indeed.” Her sympathy for the boy shook his resolve, but gaining the truth was paramount. He pressed on. “Are they headed for Lochurkie, Isabail?”
She frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Aye, you do. You know him better than anyone. Where will he go now that he has the necklace?”
Her lips twisted. “Apparently, I did not know him as well as I thought I did.”
The acknowledgment of their closeness stabbed him deeply. “He betrayed you,” he said with a sharp nod. “But your knowledge of him still exceeds that of anyone else. In all your conversations, did he ever give a clue where he might go?”
She closed her eyes, and for a moment Aiden believed that there would be no answer, but she finally said, “Not Lochurkie. There’s nothing for him there but bitter memories.”
“Then where?”
“I suppose he might return to the Continent,” she said, doubt tugging at her words. “But he is a third son, and my understanding is that there was some sort of trouble and he is no longer welcome in Bigorre.”
Aiden waited, but impatience clawed at him. He was a man of action, not a man of softly spoken words. He needed answers.
Her eyes popped open. “There is one place where he might go. . . .”
“Name it,” he demanded.
“My dower estate, Tayteath. It lies on the eastern coast, six leagues south of Arbroath.”
“Quite a distance,” he said. “Why would he go so far?”
“He and my brother spent a month there every spring,” she explained. “He knows the castle well, and my retainers know him. He could settle there for some time without suspicion. If not there, then I have no idea where he would go.”
Aiden sat back. If they pushed hard, they could make the coast in two days. But if de Lourdes wasn’t there, it would be a wasted two days. “What does he intend to do with the treasure?”
Isabail licked her very dry lips. “He told me it would enable him to right a grave injustice. He suggested he had a contact in the king’s court who could help.”