Chapter 33
Long tree branches slapped at her arms as she pushed deeper into the woods. The morning mist hung over the field ahead like pale cloth, and wet pine slipped through her cloak. The chill seeped into her skin, so she pulled the hood close and kept moving, her breath short and sharp.
“For Stella,” she whispered. “For Stella. For Stella.”
Saying it steadied her feet. Running felt like the only thing that made sense. The letter had told her to go, and her fear had agreed, and her love for the baby had given her the strength to move.
The track sloped downward, and the ground turned slick. Her boots slipped. She fell to her knees and caught herself with both hands. Tree bark bit into her palms, and mud smeared her skin. She hissed anyway, rose to her feet, and wiped the muck on her skirt.
“On,” she told herself. “On.”
A gap opened between the trees, and from the far side, she could hear the familiar sound of wooden wheels rolling across stone. A carriage. Perhaps that might help her get as far away from MacLeod Castle as possible.
The small carriage came into view soon, rattling along a road that cut along the edge of the wood. Two men sat inside with their coats up to their ears and their hats pulled low. Their breaths plumed in the cold air.
She waved both arms. “Please. Stop. Please.”
The driver pulled the reins almost as if he had to do it at the very last minute. The horse stamped, and the wheels skidded until they stopped.
The closer man leaned out. He had wind-reddened cheeks and honest eyes. “What troubles ye, lass?”
“I need help,” she said, her voice shaky. “Please. Take me to the nearest village. I can pay ye. Just take me there.”
She knew how she must look. Hair loose and wet at the ends, cloak wrinkled, hands scratched. Her voice was thin as well, but something on her face softened the first man.
“Aye, climb in,” he urged, scooting over to make space and holding out a hand.
The second man squinted at her and leaned closer, peering through the damp air just as she lifted a foot.
“Wait,” he said. “I ken that face. Ye’re Laird MacLeod’s bride.”
Her stomach dropped. “I—”
The first man’s hand wavered and fell back to his knee. He looked past her into the trees, as if the Laird himself might step out of the pines at any moment.
“Nay,” the driver grunted, tugging the reins again. “Nay, we arenae getting involved with him.”
“Ye need to step back,” the other added in a quivering voice. “We want nay trouble with the Laird.”
“Please,” Emma said. “I am begging ye. I need only a short ride. There is danger. Ye daenae ken what is at stake.”
They looked at her with a pity that made no difference. Fear had already decided for them. The horse lurched forward. Leather creaked, and the wheels bit into the dirt. Both men lifted their hands in a helpless apology.
“Forgive us,” the driver called. “I hope someone much more generous steps forward, me Lady.”
The carriage rattled away, and the road swallowed it.
She stood in the middle of the track with her arms hanging at her sides and her breathing unsteady. Hope fled through the trees, and the quiet rushed back in.
A sound came from behind her. Slow. Even. The sound of two gloved hands meeting and parting.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Every hair on the nape of her neck rose, and she turned around.
Arthur stood a few paces away in the open space between the woods and the road. His cloak hung straight and dark, and the cold morning mist glistened on the tips of the grass behind him. He wore a small, pleased smile that sat wrong in so many ways.
“Ye made a wise choice, leaving the castle.” His tone was almost kind. “I wasnae certain the letter would be enough to move ye.”
Her mouth went dry. “It was ye.”
“Aye.” He did not blink. “I wrote it.”
“Why?” The word came on a breath. She planted her feet because the ground tilted beneath her. “Why would ye do this? Why frighten me from me own door? Did ye nae want someone who loves Stella? Someone who will care for her?”
Arthur studied her as if weighing a measure of grain. The warmth left his eyes. “Nay. The only person meant to raise that child is dead. Me Moira. Ye cannae take her place.”
Her hands curled inside her sleeves. “I am nae trying to take anything from ye.”
“Aye, ye are,” he countered. “Ye are taking a life that should have been me daughter’s.
Ye are taking our name from her grave and slapping it on yer own.
The castle will cheer ye on, and the child will call ye Maither, and every laugh in that hall will be a nail in the coffin that holds what is left of me daughter. ”
“That isnae fair,” she protested. “Nor true. I have only ever held the bairn kindly, and I will keep holding her kindly. I never asked for this. I never asked for any of it.”
“Life seldom asks,” he said. “It takes. Then it leaves the rest of us to live without what it took.”
He stepped forward, the wet leaves squelching under his boots. His cloak fluttered, and a shape at his side caught light.
“Stay where ye are,” Emma ordered.
She did not raise her voice. She could not spare breath for shouting.
Arthur kept approaching. “The woods are empty at this hour,” he said. “The men are in the hall, and the women are at their tables, and the guards are watching the main road. Nay one will hear ye. Nay one will see us.”
“Arthur,” she said. “I am begging ye. Daenae do this.”
He drew his sword. The blade slipped out of its sheath with a low hiss. A ray of weak morning sun slid along it, but then the cloud covered the sun again, and the gleam went out.
Emma took a step back, her heel scraping the soft soil and her shoulder brushing a wet branch.
“If ye care for Stella, ye will stop,” she tried. “If ye harm me, ye harm her. She needs me.”
“She needs her maither,” Arthur countered. “And her maither is gone.”
“She needs peace,” Emma insisted. “Whatever ye think of him, Jack would spill every drop of blood he has to keep her safe. Ye ken that.”
“Aye,” Arthur acknowledged. “He would. He would also take when rage asks it of him. He took from me once. He will take again.”
“He said she tried to kill him.” The words left Emma before she could choose a softer path.
His lips flattened. “He told ye a tale that kept his hands clean.”
“He told me a truth that cost him,” she shot back. “He didnae want to say it, yet he did. I heard nay pride in it.”
Arthur’s eyes did not soften. “He is skilled at speaking what others wish to hear.”
“I am nae a fool,” she said. “I see him as he is.”
“Then see this.”
He advanced another step. She edged backward and felt her knees weaken.
Arthur was right about one thing. There was no one else around. No one was coming to her rescue. She must find a way to escape this situation on her own.
“Daenae come closer,” she warned. “If ye do, I will scream. Someone will hear me.”
She didn’t believe it, of course, but she had to do something. She had to find a way to stop Arthur from killing her.
“Nay one will come,” he drawled. “The funny thing about a wedding is that it makes everyone deaf, even if the wife is missing.”
“Why me?” she asked, stalling. “Why nae go to Jack and speak about what bothers ye? Why nae ask for time with the bairn? Why nae ask for a say in her life? I could give ye that. I would go with ye this very hour and ask it of him.”
“A say,” he repeated softly. “Is that really all ye think I deserve? A say in me granddaughter’s life? After her faither sent me nothing but a letter?”
“I am begging ye, Arthur,” she pressed. “I am standin’ here, asking ye to let this pass.”
“Unfortunately, lass…” His voice turned almost gentle, and that gentleness made her blood run cold. “Ye cannae leave these woods alive.”
He lifted his sword until the tip stood level with her face.