Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Roy found the first scrap of Donaldina’s gown beneath a thorn bush. It was no larger than two fingers laid together, dark blue wool caught upon the hooked branches where the path narrowed between the trees. He drew the cloth free and closed it within his fist.
She had left it deliberately.
The knowledge steadied him more effectively than hope. She was frightened, perhaps injured, certainly surrounded by armed men, and still she possessed enough presence of mind to mark the road.
Roy urged his horse onward. The kidnappers’ trail moved north through the forest, away from the wider tracks and deeper into ground where fallen leaves concealed all but the freshest signs of passage. Moonlight scarcely reached beneath the branches.
Roy followed what others might have missed: a branch broken at shoulder height, mud disturbed where several horses crossed a stream, fresh marks carved into the soft bank by a hoof shod unevenly upon the left side.
Every sign carried her farther from him. Every sign brought him closer.
Behind him, the sound of approaching riders finally disturbed the night. Roy turned with his sword already half drawn before Hamish emerged between the trees, followed by Malcolm and eight men wearing the colors of both clans.
Hamish reined in sharply. “Ye might have waited.”
“They didnae.”
“We brought every rider able tae follow without breaking his neck.”
Roy looked over the men. MacIver and MacNicol warriors sat side by side, their faces grim beneath the moonlight. No one questioned whose lady they pursued.
“Cormac will expect the roads tae be watched,” Malcolm said. “He will have taken her somewhere hidden.”
Roy opened his hand and showed them the torn wool. “She is guiding us.”
Hamish looked at the cloth. “Then we follow.”
They continued without torches. The woodland grew denser.
Branches dragged against Roy’s shoulders, and roots made the horses stumble where the ground rose steeply.
Twice they found more fragments of blue cloth.
The second had been pressed beneath a stone at a fork in the trail, too deliberate to be mistaken for chance.
Roy imagined Donaldina tearing at her gown while bound before Cormac, risking punishment each time she let a scrap fall.
Fear became rage. He held it tightly. Rage was useful only while governed. Cormac believed he would rush blindly wherever her trail led. He would expect force, fury, and a frontal attack.
Roy intended to give him all three, but not where Cormac expected them.
The trees opened without warning upon a narrow clearing. Roy halted beneath the shelter of the final pines. An abandoned hunting lodge crouched beyond them, its stone walls dark with moss. Weak firelight escaped through a crooked shutter. Horses stood tethered near the southern wall.
Two armed men guarded the entrance. Another moved past the eastern window. Roy counted shadows, exits, and distances. A low storehouse leaned against the rear of the lodge, its roof half collapsed. Beyond it, a narrow door stood concealed beneath trailing ivy.
Donaldina was inside. He did not require proof. Every instinct he possessed knew it.
Hamish dismounted beside him. “How many?”
“At least six outside. More within.”
“Cormac?”
“Alive,” Roy said.
It was not certainty. It was a promise.
He divided the men quietly. Malcolm took three MacNicol warriors toward the western side of the clearing. Hamish led the others around the eastern trees.
“When the front guards move,” Roy whispered, “make enough noise tae convince every man inside that an army has arrived.”
Hamish glanced toward the rear door. “And ye?”
“I will be where they are nae looking.”
“Me laird…” There was warning in his voice.
Roy met his gaze. “Bring her out if I fail.”
Hamish’s expression hardened. “Dinnae make me explain such foolishness tae her.”
Roy slipped between the trees before he could answer.
He reached the rear wall as a shout broke from the front of the lodge.
Steel rang. One of Hamish’s men overturned the tethering rail, sending frightened horses surging across the clearing.
Men shouted orders. The front door opened, and armed figures rushed toward the disturbance.
Roy reached the rear entrance. The door resisted once before giving way beneath his shoulder. He entered into darkness. The passage smelled of damp timber, old ash and unwashed men. A guard turned from the main room, startled by the movement.
Roy struck him before he could call out. The man collapsed against the wall.
A woman screamed beyond the doorway. He knew that voice.
He crossed the passage in two strides, only to find Donaldina standing beside the hearth. Her hair had fallen loose, and blood marked one corner of her mouth. Cormac held her by the arm, attempting to drag her toward an inner door while two of his men struggled to bar the front entrance.
Donaldina twisted against him. Cormac raised his hand.
Roy attacked without a second thought. He struck the first man across the jaw with the hilt of his sword, sending him backward into the firewood. The second turned too slowly. Roy drove him against the table and swept his blade from the man’s grasp.
Cormac released her, drawing his sword. Their blades met with a crash that filled the lodge.
“MacIver,” Cormac spat.
Roy forced him backward.
“Ye sound surprised.”
Cormac recovered and struck low. Roy turned the blade aside. Steel scraped against steel, sending sparks into the smoky air.
Behind Cormac, Donaldina backed toward the wall. Her bound hands searched blindly until they found the iron poker beside the hearth.
One of Cormac’s men rose from the floor. Donaldina struck him across the temple. The man fell again. Even then, Roy nearly smiled.
Cormac drove forward. His shoulder struck Roy’s chest, forcing him into the table. Parchment, cups and a lantern crashed to the floor. Flame caught upon spilled oil.
The fight carried them across the room. Cormac fought without elegance, driven by the desperation of a man who knew every future he had imagined was collapsing around him.
He slashed at Roy’s face, but the latter ducked, driving his elbow into Cormac’s ribs, and forcing him against the inner wall.
For one instant, fear entered Cormac’s eyes.
Then the burning lantern split beneath his boot.
Oil spread across the floor, carrying flame over the dry rushes in a bright, ravenous sheet.
Cormac kicked the table toward Roy and fled through the inner door. Roy shoved the timber aside and followed into the night.
Cormac reached the rear clearing, where three surviving men waited with horses. Malcolm’s warriors appeared between the trees, but one of Cormac’s archers loosed an arrow toward them, forcing the men back beneath cover.
Cormac caught the pommel of his saddle, but Roy reached him before he could mount. He seized the back of Cormac’s coat and dragged him sideways. Cormac’s boot slipped from the stirrup. The horse reared, striking at the air as Cormac twisted and slashed blindly with his sword.
Roy turned the stroke. Steel rang in the clearing. Cormac stumbled against the horse’s flank. Roy drove him backward, struck the sword from his hand, and raised his own blade.
A single downward stroke could have stopped it, but suddenly a loud crack came from inside the lodge.
Flames quickly engulfed the roof supports.
Roy watched through the open doorway as a burning beam fell across the back passage.
Outside, Donaldina fought against the ropes on her wrists.
Smoke enveloped her. Fire moved swiftly across the floor toward the overturned chair next to her skirts.
She coughed, doubled over, and vanished behind the thickening smoke.
Cormac was still beneath Roy’s sword. Donaldina had only moments.
Roy turned away from him, and Cormac scrambled into the saddle.
His last rider slashed through the picket rope as he passed, sending the remaining horses bolting riderless into the forest. Roy did not watch them go.
He ran into the lodge. Heat struck him with the force of an opened furnace.
He pulled his coat across his mouth and forced his way through the smoke.
“Roy!” Her voice came hoarse and frightened from the smoke.
He found her on her knees, pulling uselessly at the rope around her wrists. Fire consumed the overturned table beside her. Sparks rained from the rafters, catching in her hair and upon the shoulders of her gown.
Roy dropped beside her and cut through the ropes. They fell from her wrists.
Donaldina looked at him with doubt, as if unsure he was real.
Suddenly, her composure broke. She moved closer, pressing into him.
Roy caught her tightly against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and she tucked her face to his coat, trembling with each breath.
Roy held her firmly, worried he might harm her, but he couldn't loosen his hold.
His hand moved over the back of her head, feeling the loose strands of her hair beneath his fingers.
“I knew ye would come,” she whispered.
The faith in those words wounded him more deeply than doubt ever could have done.
Roy pressed his mouth against her hair, then lifted her before she could object and carried her from the lodge.
Donaldina objected as soon as she recovered sufficient breath.
“I am capable of mounting me own horse.”
“I didnae say ye were nae.”
“Then put me down.”
Roy continued toward his stallion. The clearing swarmed with men tending wounds, securing prisoners and beating sparks from their cloaks. Smoke rose behind them while flame pressed against the hunting lodge’s broken windows.
Her glare lacked its usual force. Weariness hollowed the skin beneath her eyes, and bruises were already darkening along her arm. Roy’s anger returned with such force that he nearly turned toward the prisoners. Donaldina touched his shoulder. The movement was small, but it brought him back to her.
Roy lifted her onto his horse, then mounted behind her. He drew his cloak around them both and placed one arm securely across her waist.
“I can ride beside ye,” she insisted.
“Tomorrow.”
Donaldina let out a frustrated sound, though she no longer attempted to dismount. They left the clearing before the lodge roof collapsed. The forest received them in silence.
Roy kept the stallion at a steady pace while Hamish and the others followed at a respectful distance. Moonlight silvered the branches overhead. The only sounds were hooves upon damp earth, the creak of leather and the wind moving through the trees.
Donaldina sat stiffly before him. Roy could feel the effort it cost her.
She would not tremble before Cormac. She would not weep before his men. Now she resisted even the comfort of leaning against the man who carried her home, as though exhaustion were another enemy to be defeated through pride.
Roy kept his arm around her. He said nothing.
Gradually, the rigid line of her back softened. Her head lowered. Her breathing became slower. When they emerged from the forest onto the open moor, the wind struck them without the shelter of trees. She shifted closer beneath his cloak, and he tightened it around her.
A little later, the horse descended a rough slope. Donaldina leaned backward for balance. She did not straighten again. Her body settled fully against his chest, her head resting below his shoulder. The trust of it stole the breath from him.
Roy’s arm tightened instinctively around her waist. He drew her closer until no space remained between them. Donaldina became still. She was awake.
The knowledge moved through him with dangerous warmth. He could feel every breath she took, every slight movement of her body against his. Damp strands of her hair brushed his jaw. Beneath his hand, her waist seemed impossibly slight after the violence required to recover her.
Roy forced his grip to loosen. Donaldina’s hand came to rest upon his forearm. She did not move it away.
They rode on beneath the dark sky, saying nothing. The moor stretched before them, silvered with frost and moonlight. Far in the distance, Dun Ard’s watch fires burned upon the cliffs.
Home.
Roy looked down at the woman resting against him. He once believed home was a stronghold, a boundary and a name carried through generations.
Now it breathed quietly within his arms.