Chapter Three #2
She swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes tighter, wishing to deny the moment, but she could not ignore the pain shooting through her thighs and hands from gripping her mount so tightly. Wincing, she opened her eyes, seeing the world streak past in a fury.
And she knew it was no dream.
When their pace suddenly slowed, she sat up straight for the first time since Toonan had passed from view. A chill crept up her spine as the warriors leading their party entered the narrow path through Craobh Forest.
Turning in her saddle, she gazed back longingly at the Eastern slope, dotted with stone cottages basking in the late morning sunshine.
Facing forward once again, she glanced up at the leafy branches tangled overhead, blotting out the light.
Her shoulders hugged her ears as shadow closed in around them.
Why had they journeyed into the forest? Why not keep to the main road where it was sunny and easy to traverse?
She sat straighter, her nostrils flared. Why were they fleeing Toonan in the first place? Still, no one had bothered to tell her what was going on.
Turning to look back, she sought her mother’s gaze. Lady Clara sat alert in her saddle, her back straight, her jaw set.
“Mother,” Josselyn began, “please tell me why—”
“Not now,” Lady Clara hissed. “We are in danger. Be quiet and ever vigilant.”
Josselyn drew a sharp breath, then jerked forward, mimicking her mother’s intent pose.
She became aware of the natural choir of the forest—birds chirping, leaves rustling, branches snapping.
Breathless, her gaze was pulled in all directions.
Then suddenly a loud screech sounded deep in the wood.
Josselyn gasped, her heart renewing its thunderous pounding.
Then a blur of shadow shot out between two trees, streaking toward her. She screamed and ducked.
“I’m coming, my lady,” Thane called.
Through the gap between her arms covering her face, she saw Thane circle around and ride back to her side.
“’Twas only a bird.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “Have courage, my lady. I will keep ye safe.”
Gulping for air, Josselyn nodded, wanting to believe him. Slowly, she eased her shoulders down and straightened her back. “I will be brave, Thane. I will try.”
But no sooner had she spoken the vow than a pained gargle rent the air and the lead Fergusson guard fell back off his horse, landing with a hard thud on the ground. She screamed, eyes bulging at the sight of the arrow protruding from his chest. A breath later, the forest erupted around her.
Stewart clansmen poured out from between the trees.
Her horse reared up on its hind legs. She clung to her mount desperately.
When her mare’s hooves touched back down, her heart quaked at the sight of clashing warriors, their swords slashing and their faces twisted with ugly rage.
She closed her eyes to block out the bloodshed.
“Ride!” Thane shouted at her.
But she couldn’t move. She squeezed her horse tightly around the neck, her body frozen with terror. Strangled cries of the dying blasted her ears, forcing fearful sobs from her lips.
“Josselyn,” Thane shouted.
Her eyes flew open. She gaped in horror at an enemy warrior charging at her, his face menacing.
He raised his blade to strike. She crossed her arms in front of her face.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but the agony of death never came.
The clash of metal stung her ears. She opened her eyes to see Thane parrying the warrior’s next blow.
“Josselyn!”
“Mama,” she cried at the sound of her mother’s voice. Sitting straight, her gaze darted in all directions, but panic blurred her vision, catapulting her fear to depths she’d never known. Her mother charged past her, seizing her reins, veering them off the path into a thicket.
“Take yer reins,” her mother cried, tossing them back.
Josselyn fumbled with the leather straps, then bent low in the saddle, weaving through the thick trees after Lady Clara.
An agonizing cry forced her to glance back at the forest path where a Stewart warrior was yanking his blade free from her fallen clansman’s chest. She gasped, realizing Thane was the only Fergusson left standing.
“Run, Thane,” she cried, though he was too far away to hear her plea.
Like all Fergusson men, Thane could wield a sword, but he had the small stature of a clerk. She knew he would never survive against so many. She prayed he would surrender himself, but her heart sank as she watched the Fergusson steward ready his stance, sword raised high.
“Mama, Thane fights alone! We must do something!”
But Lady Clara did not look back. She charged ahead, winding around trees. Branches tore at Josselyn’s hair and cloak as she followed, but still she strained to keep her gaze trained on her beloved clansman.
It happened in a flash.
A Stewart warrior charged. Thane swung his blade.
The warrior ducked, then seized Thane’s wrist and twisted his arm, until he cried out, dropping his sword.
Still, he struggled, swinging his fists, but to no avail.
Within moments, breaths, the warrior had tied Thane’s wrists, tossed him over the back of his horse and rode off with him.
“Spread out! They can’t be far!” another warrior shouted.
“Mama, they’re coming!” Josselyn cried.
“Just stay low and keep silent,” her mother snapped.
Josselyn bent over in the saddle. Winding, jumping, surging forward. Her horse jerked left, then right, then left again. Her stomach heaved. Her chest ached. She buried her face in her mount’s mane, closed her eyes tight against her terror, and held her breath.
After what felt like hours, although Josselyn couldn’t say for sure, her mother’s voice broke through her terror. “’Tis all right, Josselyn. We’ve lost them.”
She didn’t look up or release her grip on her horse’s neck. She dared not move or speak.
“Josselyn,” her mother said, sharply. “Sit up!”
The hardness of her mother’s tone forced Josselyn to jerk upright, realizing for the first time that they were no longer racing for their lives.
Lady Clara’s face was pale and strained, her eyes stricken. “I need ye to be strong, lass.”
“But I’m not like ye,” Josselyn cried. “Ye’re scared of nothing.”
“Ye could not be more wrong, lass, for I am a mother. Ye’ve never known fear until ye’ve had to pray for yer child’s life to be spared. But we are Fergusson women. We are made of stronger stuff than ye know.” Her voice was firm. “Now sit straighter. Take some deep breaths.”
Josselyn did as her mother bade her. She breathed deep and prayed for courage, then breathed out and prayed for strength. At length she opened her eyes. “I will be brave,” she promised, infusing her tone with greater confidence than she truly felt, but that was how faith happened: one had to leap.
They rode until the woods thinned, and rolling moorland once more spread out before them. In the distance, torch fire from a small village beckoned them with flickering light and the promise of food and rest.
“’Tis the village of Beag. We’ll be able to purchase supplies. That is if...” Her mother’s words trailed off as she swung down from her horse to search through her saddle bags.
“Blast!”
“What is it?” Josselyn asked.
“Thane was in possession of our only coin.” Brows drawn, Lady Clara again fumbled through her bags, her movements becoming increasingly frantic. For the first time, since her mother had rushed into her chambers, Josselyn glimpsed fear in her eyes.
“Damnation,” her mother cursed again. “We’ll never make it to the Orkney Islands now.”
“The Orkney Islands! But that is so far. Oh, what are we going to do?” Josselyn sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Her mother turned, giving her a fierce look. “We haven’t time for tears.”
Josselyn swallowed hard. “But...but ye just said that we’ve no coin. Where will we go? How will we survive?”
“I do not ken, child, but whatever we do, I promise ye, it will be hard and dangerous.”
“Nay, mama!”
Lady Clara cupped her cheeks. “But ye can do this, love,” she hissed fervently.
Josselyn trembled, shaking her head. “I can’t.” She jerked away from her mother’s touch.
“Josselyn, look at me.”
She opened her eyes and obediently met her mother’s gaze. “I believe in ye!”
Within Lady Clara’s eyes, Josselyn saw truth. She took a deep breath. “I believe in ye, too, Mama.”
Lady Clara crushed her close. “We can do this.”
Mirroring her mother’s stance, Josselyn straightened her spine and threw her shoulders back. “I am ready. What now? Where will we go?”
Her mother turned resolutely, her gaze transfixed beyond the village to the distant horizon. “We will go where no one will think to look for us—south, to England. Straight into the lion’s den.”