Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
The first lifeless body lay draped half across the muddy road, the pouring rain already working to wash away the brutal evidence of the ambush.
I should never have sent her away. His chest tightened painfully as his massive warhorse reared at the sharp, metallic scent of fresh blood thick in the cold air.
"Douglas, secure the perimeter immediately," Finn commanded, his voice coming out far lower and much more shaken than he had ever intended.
Douglas dismounted swiftly beside him, his rugged face hardening into a mask of pure stone as his sharp gaze swept over the two fallen guards near the overturned carriage. The rain darkened the earth, turning the pooling blood into slick, crimson streaks running helplessly toward the shallow ditch.
"They are all dead, me Laird," Douglas stated grimly, his voice carrying clearly over the steady patter of the falling rain.
Finn pushed himself up from the wet ground without bothering to answer, hurrying desperately toward the ruined carriage where the torn door hung uselessly off its iron hinges.
He climbed inside the shadowy cabin, his eyes sweeping over the scattered wool blankets and the delicate silk ribbon fluttering helplessly in the bitter wind.
"Claire!" Finn roared into the dense, surrounding forest, his desperate voice echoing wildly against the ancient pine trees.
Please be gone, please have escaped into the woods, he begged silently, jumping back down to the muddy road to search for any sign of her among the scattered debris.
"They took her," Douglas announced quietly, stepping out from the opposite side of the carriage with a profoundly grim expression.
Finn looked at his oldest friend, the terrible words completely refusing to settle in his rational mind as he stared at a torn piece of fabric snagged on the broken step.
"Nay, search the perimeter again," Finn denied the terrifying reality, shaking his head stubbornly against the freezing rain.
Douglas held his ground, his broad shoulders squared against the driving storm as he looked upon his Laird with deep, unspoken pity.
"We already have, Finn. They took her," Douglas repeated softly, dropping his formal title in the face of such absolute tragedy.
A soft sound drifted through the heavy rain, prompting them to follow the tragic sobbing through the flattened, bloody grass until they reached a waterlogged ditch. Curled tightly into herself and shaking violently against the freezing downpour was Claire's loyal maid.
"Molly," Finn called out gently, slowly dropping to one knee in the freezing mud right beside the trembling woman.
The older woman flinched violently at the sound of his voice, her woolen skirts completely soaked with rain and her pale cheek horribly streaked with bright crimson blood.
"It is me, Molly. Ye are completely safe now," Finn assured her, keeping his tone as steady and calming as he possibly could.
Slowly, her wide, terrified eyes finally focused on his familiar face, and the sheer relief that washed over her features absolutely broke his heart.
"Me lady... they took me lady," Molly sobbed, her voice cracking beneath the immense weight of her crushing grief.
Finn gently placed his large hand over hers, offering a silent, grounding strength even as his own world fractured completely into a thousand jagged pieces.
I swear I will hunt them down and skin them alive.
"I ken, Molly, but tell me, are ye badly hurt?" Finn asked, needing to ensure the loyal maid would survive the brutal aftermath.
She shook her head weakly, swallowing hard as she tried to force her frantic, shallow breathing to slow down into a steady rhythm.
"I daenae think so, me Laird," Molly whimpered, wrapping her arms tightly around her own shivering torso.
Finn rested one warm, calloused hand lightly against her trembling shoulder, anchoring her to the present moment while Douglas stood guard over them both.
"What happened here, Molly? Tell me exactly what ye saw," Finn requested softly.
She drew a ragged, shuddering breath, her fingernails digging painfully into her own arms as she forced herself to recount the nightmare.
"How many of them were there?" Douglas pressed gently, knowing Finn was entirely too furious to ask the vital tactical questions.
Molly wiped her nose with the back of her bloody sleeve, her eyes darting nervously toward the dark, looming trees as though the attackers might suddenly reappear.
"Eight... maybe nine heavily armed riders," she answered shakily, her voice barely audible over the relentless drumming of the rain. "They attacked so quickly. The guards never had a chance."
Finn lowered his dark head, the crushing weight of his monumental failure pressing down upon his broad shoulders like a physical, suffocating burden.
I failed her. I sent her right into their bloody trap.
"And Claire? Did they hurt her?" Finn demanded, his voice dropping into a lethal, terrifying growl.
Molly looked up at the fierce Laird, and for the very first time since they had found her hiding in the ditch, a fierce, protective pride bloomed brightly in her eyes.
"Me lady fought them like a wildcat," Molly declared proudly, lifting her bruised chin.
Finn blinked in genuine surprise, his dark eyebrows drawing together in complete confusion as he tried to picture his delicate Claire physically battling armored mercenaries.
"What do ye mean, she fought them?" Finn asked, entirely desperate for every single detail of her bravery.
Molly's voice grew remarkably steadier as she fully embraced the empowering memory, completely forgetting her own pain to properly honor Claire's fierce, unyielding resistance against the massive men.
"She struck one of them hard with the heavy brass lantern, she elbowed another right in the ribs, and she viciously bit the man holding her!" Molly recounted fiercely.
Despite the absolute, devastating tragedy completely surrounding them, the very corner of Douglas's rugged mouth twitched upward in a fleeting, immensely proud smile.
"She told me to run and save myself, but I wouldnae leave her," Molly continued, fresh tears finally spilling freely down her face once again. "They had to drag her away."
Finn gently pulled the sobbing woman into a brief, comforting embrace, his own heart shattering completely at the vivid, agonizing description of Claire's terrifying ordeal.
My brave, wild lass. Just hold on.
"Which way did they take her, Molly?" Finn demanded softly, his entire body going terrifyingly still as he fully embraced the cold, lethal mindset of a predator.
Molly suddenly grabbed his wet sleeve with surprising, desperate strength, pointing a trembling finger toward a narrow break in the dense, towering pines.
"They went exactly that way! They took her straight into the deep woods!" Molly shouted over the falling rain.
He crossed the distance to his waiting warhorse in three long, impossibly fast strides, pulling his massive frame effortlessly up into the leather saddle with fluid grace.
"Finn," Douglas said simply, stepping forward to catch the wet leather reins for only a brief moment.
The two lifelong friends locked eyes through the freezing downpour, a silent, profound understanding passing perfectly between the two hardened Highland warriors.
"Go now. I will secure the wounded, gather the men, and follow yer trail. Bring her home," Douglas ordered his Laird fiercely.
Finn ruthlessly dug his sharp heels into the powerful horse's sides, completely ignoring the muddy chunks of earth tearing away beneath the heavy hooves.
"Hold on, Claire, I am coming for ye," Finn whispered fiercely into the howling wind.
The heavy rain drummed relentlessly against Finn's broad shoulders as the stallion thundered recklessly across the winding, dangerous Highland trail.
I will slaughter every last one of them, he vowed silently, completely ignoring the sharp pine branches viciously whipping across his exposed face.
"Faster," Finn commanded the beast, refusing to let the treacherous terrain slow their desperate pursuit.
The muddy road quickly vanished completely beneath the looming trees, replaced by little more than a narrow, winding deer path snaking dangerously between the massive pines. The recent rain had softened the earth, turning it into a patchwork of mud and exposed roots.
"A man leaves a trail whether he kens it or nae. Ye only have to learn how to properly listen," Finn recited his late father's oldest tracking lesson aloud.
He carefully observed the muddy ground, quickly spotting a set of fresh, incredibly deep horseshoe prints carved heavily into the wet earth that had not yet filled with rainwater.
"Just hold on, lass, dinnae give up," Finn muttered to himself, his eyes scanning the dense undergrowth for any further signs of their passage.
The winding path curved sharply around a dense, overgrown stand of white birch trees, revealing a large, vibrant green fern lying completely crushed and leaking sticky white sap.
"I have ye now," Finn growled darkly, pushing the exhausted horse even harder up the steep, muddy incline.
The ancient forest grew significantly thicker, completely swallowing what little grey daylight still remained and plunging the woods into a deep, unsettling twilight where mist drifted like ghosts between the trunks.
"I am coming, Claire," Finn whispered again, though the desperate words were instantly swallowed by the relentless sound of the falling rain.
A massive black raven suddenly burst from the dark trees directly ahead of them, its wings beating wildly and causing Finn's tense horse to toss its head violently in surprise.
"Easy now, steady," Finn instructed the stallion softly as they waded into a freezing, rushing stream.
He actually smiled a terrifying, grim smile when he spotted exactly where a panicked hoof had carved a deep, undeniable gouge straight into the soft hillside on the opposite bank. Water hid tracks, but not all of them.