Chapter 19
Elodie had never realized how oppressive the dark could be.
The Murdochs’ camp was quiet. Men spoke in low voices around a central campfire. Horses stamped occasionally on the edge of camp. Somewhere, an owl called from deep within the forest. A heavy watchfulness hung over everything, anticipation like the air before a storm.
Elodie sat on a folded blanket beneath a huge pine tree, hugging her knees.
Nobody had tied her up and she supposed she ought to be grateful for that.
Despite the Murdoch’s assertion that she was a ‘guest’, she knew the truth.
She was a prisoner. A hostage. A surety that Ronan would do what they wanted.
Ronan. Had he made it back to their people? Had he got Morag safely away?
She closed her eyes, drew a deep, steadying breath.
She felt completely, utterly alone. She might be surrounded by people but that made no difference.
They were enemies. She had no doubt that they would harm her if it suited their purposes.
That thought made panic well up inside her like bile and she had to swallow a few times to squash it.
A broad-shouldered guard sat against a nearby tree with a musket resting across his lap.
Every so often he glanced her way to remind her he hadn’t forgotten she was there.
She might not be tied up but she knew her guard wouldn’t let her take five steps before he stopped her.
She’d considered making a run for it three times already.
Each time she’d counted at least a dozen armed men between herself and the woods.
No. Running blindly would only get her caught. Or killed.
Instead, she forced her thoughts to Ronan.
She pictured the determined set of his jaw when he’d left the clearing with Morag.
He would come. She knew he would. Despite herself, she felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Only a few weeks ago she’d never heard his name. Now she trusted him with her life.
How had that happened? She didn’t know. She only knew that she trusted Ronan Campbell more than she’d ever trusted anyone.
A rustle of skirts interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see Lady Alana Murdoch approaching carrying two wooden cups. Unlike her husband, Alana wore no obvious weapons, although somehow that made her seem even more dangerous.
She smiled pleasantly although it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I thought ye might appreciate something warm.”
She held out one of the cups and Elodie accepted it cautiously. It smelled faintly of herbs. “Thank you.”
Alana lowered herself gracefully onto a nearby log. For several moments neither woman spoke, but Alana studied Elodie intently. Finally, Alana broke the silence.
“Ye intrigue me.”
Elodie swallowed thickly, uncomfortable under the other woman’s scrutiny. “Oh?”
“Aye. Ye aren’t what ye pretend to be.”
Elodie’s stomach tightened. “I don’t know what you mean.”
The older woman cocked her head. Even in the midst of a woodland campsite, she looked well-groomed and regal, with not a hair out of place. “Ye carry yerself like a noblewoman, like someone accustomed to giving instructions.”
“So?”
“Yet ye dinna speak like one. Ye speak strangely. Ye use words I’ve never heard.” Alana’s gaze sharpened. “Where are ye from?”
Elodie hesitated only for a heartbeat. Think. Think. Think. “I’m from the south.”
Alana smiled faintly. “The south is rather large.”
“My father held lands there.”
“Which lands?”
Elodie stared into her drink. She knew instinctively that Alana wouldn’t be put off by the vague explanations that had sufficed in the Steading.
She was watching her with the intensity of a predator watching its prey.
She knew without knowing how that it would be extremely dangerous to let this woman learn the truth about her.
She thought furiously, trying to come up with a lie that would suffice.
“I’d rather not say because I’m trying to forget them.”
Alana waited. Elodie let out a long sigh. “My father arranged a marriage. To a man three times my age.” She was surprised at how easily the lie tripped off her tongue. “I refused.”
Alana raised one elegant eyebrow. “So ye ran?”
“Yes.”
“And somehow found yerself at the Steading?”
“That’s right. I was lucky.”
Alana said nothing, just watched Elodie with a disconcertingly direct stare. “I hear Ronan Campbell is an excellent blacksmith.”
Elodie blinked at this sudden change of subject. She examined Alana’s words, trying to find some hidden meaning or some way in which answering might be dangerous. But she couldn’t find any. “Yes,” she answered. “He is.”
Alana nodded as if this answer satisfied her. She began asking innocent-seeming questions about the life of the Steading and the conversation drifted elsewhere. Or seemed to. Alana had an unnerving habit of asking apparently harmless questions before suddenly circling back.
“So yer father arranged yer marriage?”
“Yes.”
“What was yer intended husband’s name?”
The question caught Elodie off guard and she hesitated for a fraction of a second before blurting the first name that came into her head. “Malcom MacAskill.”
The lie was obvious. Alana noticed. Of course she did. A faint smile tugged at her lips but instead of pressing further, she simply nodded.
“I see.” She rose smoothly to her feet. “I hope ye sleep well.” Then she walked away into the darkness without another word.
Elodie watched her go, feeling like she had failed some sort of test, even though she had no idea what that test was.
The hours crawled past. The camp grew quieter.
Men stretched out beneath blankets. Her guard yawned and shifted against his tree.
Elodie watched him from the corner of her eye whilst pretending not to.
Slowly, his eyelids drooped. His head nodded once.
Twice. Then finally, his chin settled onto his chest.
She waited another full minute. A soft snore sounded from his direction.
Elodie rose very slowly to her feet, groaning inwardly at the pains in her legs from sitting still for so long.
She tried not to make a sound but even the slight rustling of the grass as she rose felt deafening.
Once on her feet she froze, staring at her guard.
He made no movement. Another snore drifted through the darkness. Elodie took one careful step. Then another. Her heart was thundering in her chest now and any moment she expected to feel a hand on her shoulder or a shout for her to stop. But nothing came.
Creeping through the dark, she reached the nearest wagon and ducked down behind it.
She had to fight the urge to bolt, to give into her terror and flee into the dark.
But she knew that would be a mistake. Running would attract attention and get her caught.
Instead, she forced herself to creep slowly, carefully, from shadow to shadow.
She ducked behind a tree and looked around, trying to get her bearings. She was beyond the firelight now and it took a while for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did, she realized she’d reached the perimeter of the camp. She also realized that it was guarded.
She spotted eight men positioned around the camp, all awake and alert unlike her own guard. She’d never make it through unseen.
Voices drifted through the darkness and she recognized Henry Murdoch’s deep tones. Keeping low, she edged toward the voices, near the campfire in the middle of camp. Lord and Lady Murdoch stood beside the fire with a rough map spread across a barrel.
“Campbell will come,” Henry was saying. “Ye know he will.”
“And afterwards?” Alana asked.
Henry smiled. “Afterwards we take what we’ve earned.”
Alana tapped the map and then nodded. “Bryce Campbell first. Like we agreed. I want to watch that bastard die slowly for what he did to us.”
Elodie was shocked by the coldness in her voice.
Her husband nodded. “Aye. Bryce Campbell first. And then the others.”
“And if Ronan doesnae fall into line?”
Henry shrugged. “Then we’ll deal with him. After he’s killed Bryce for us, he will have fulfilled his uses. If he joins us or not, either way, his lands become ours, along with the Steading. Then we’ll finally have the secure base we need where the crown’s soldiers canna find us.”
Alana nodded thoughtfully. “And his people?”
“The fighters are useful. We’ll conscript them.”
“The women and children?”
“Useful in other ways.”
Alana laughed. “Oh, ye are ruthless, my love.”
“Ruthless?” Henry replied with a smile. “I prefer to call it pragmatic.”
Cold spread through Elodie’s veins like iced water.
We’ll deal with him. Their offer of alliance was a sham.
They wanted only to use Ronan’s bitter rivalry with his brother to get vengeance on Bryce, and then they would seize his lands, enslave his people.
And Ronan himself? It was clear what they would do to him.
The panic rose up inside her again and this time she couldn’t tamp it down. Ronan. Oh God, Ronan! As quietly as she could, she backed away, fighting with all her strength not to give into her terror and make a run for it.
But as she reached the outskirts of camp, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She turned and ran into the trees.
She almost made it. Almost. She darted through the undergrowth, not caring if she made a racket, knowing only that she needed to get away. Had to get away.
Then a hand seized the back of her dress and she cried out as she was jerked backwards.
“What’ve we got here?” A man’s face hove into view through the gloom, grinning unpleasantly. “Where do ye think ye are going?”
He tightened his grip and Elodie twisted violently. “Let me go!”
She stamped on his foot and he swore, his grip loosening just a fraction.
Elodie took advantage of the lapse to spin and bring her knee upward with every ounce of strength she possessed.
She was rewarded with a grunt and the guard making a strangled noise.
For one glorious second she thought she’d won.
Then rage replaced pain in the guard’s expression.
“Ye little—”
He slammed her backwards against a tree, the impact driving the breath from her lungs. His forearm crushed across her throat and she clawed at him desperately.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t— Panic surged and she kicked, thrashed, struggled. Nothing worked.
His face loomed closer. “I ought to—”
Something suddenly moved in the darkness behind him. There was a dull crack and the guard’s eyes rolled backwards. He collapsed like a sack of grain.
Elodie staggered, coughing. Ronan stood over the unconscious man, his eyes burning with fury. The dagger in his hand flashed as he stepped up and raised it above the unconscious man.
“No!” Elodie caught his wrist.
Ronan looked at her. “He hurt ye. I’m going to kill him.”
The cold fury in his voice frightened her. She squeezed his wrist harder. “Please. Don’t. “
For several endless seconds he remained perfectly still. Then slowly, reluctantly, he lowered the blade but the fury in his eyes didn’t ease. “Elodie,” he breathed, the words sounding like a promise.
The relief that swept through her at the sight of him was so strong it made her legs go weak. She was dreaming. Surely she must be dreaming. But no. He was here. He was real.
He clasped her arm to steady her. “Are ye hurt?”
She shook her head but he searched her face anyway, her neck, her arms, her shoulders. Making certain. Only when he seemed satisfied did he nod.
“We have to go.”
Shouts erupted behind them.
“She’s gone. Search the camp!”
“So much for leaving quietly,” Elodie muttered.
Ronan nodded. “Aye.”
He took her hand and led her quickly and silently through the darkened woods, following a path that only he could see.
Elodie clung to him, making not a sound, hardly daring to believe that he was real.
Behind them, the camp was in an uproar, shouting and crashing coming from that direction.
Ronan ignored it all, leading her unerringly onwards.
Finally, they emerged into a moonlit clearing and found Angus tied to a tree, Bran and Skye tethered nearby. The dogs began whining in greeting but fell silent at a curt command from Ronan. The horse lifted his head and gave a soft nicker of recognition.
“Good lad,” Ronan whispered. “Quietly now.” He untied the reins in one smooth movement and then untethered the dogs as well.
He knelt and cupped his hands, indicating for Elodie to mount.
Elodie placed her foot in his hand and he lifted her effortlessly onto Angus’s back.
He climbed up after her, settling himself in the saddle behind her.
His arms came around her to gather the reins, the familiar warmth of him helping to steady her racing heart just a little.
“Hold on,” he said by her ear.
Behind them came the sound of men crashing through undergrowth.
“There!”
“Stop them!”
A musket fired. The shot splintered bark somewhere behind them.
Ronan booted the horse and Angus sprang forward.
Elodie clung onto the saddle horn for dear life.
The world became flying branches and pounding hooves as they exploded through the dark, Bran and Skye just rippling shadows to either side.
Ronan guided Angus sharply downhill and suddenly the horse splashed into icy water. Elodie gasped as it flicked up to drench her ankles. They had descended into a narrow stream, barely wider than the horse himself and deep enough to reach just above Angus’s knees.
Ronan turned upstream and Angus began walking through the flowing water, Skye and Bran following.
“They canna track us this way,” Ronan breathed by her ear. “No tracks to follow and the stream washes away our scent.”
Elodie glanced back. Already the current was swallowing the churned mud left by Angus’s hooves. The dark forest closed around them and the shouting behind grew fainter and fainter until it disappeared altogether. Now only the sound of running water and her own panicked breathing remained.
Elodie sucked in deep breaths through her nose and leaned back against Ronan. I’m safe, she told herself. He came for me.
Of course he did. She’d never doubted it.
Now all they had to do was get out of this alive.