When she saw the lifeless body bound to the stake Isobel’s heart stumbled as a silent scream started in her head until it filled like a storm.
The vision dissipated, and Isobel found herself staring into Gillian’s gray eyes.
“My God, Isobel—you’re white as a sheet.” Gillian dabbed at Isobel’s face with her sleeve. “And in a cold sweat, at that. I had to pry the ring from yer hand. Whatever did you see?”
Isobel couldn’t speak. She couldn’t cry or scream as she did in her head—wailing over and over,no, no, no, no!
Gillian shook her, hard. “Breathe! What is wrong? What did you see?”
Fragments of coherent thought began to return to Isobel’s mind. “They…they left this morning…so they cannot possibly be there—they weren’t even going to Hawkirk. It was the future. It hasn’t happened…yet. There is still time.” She closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. “He’s not dead.Not dead.”
“Who’s not dead?” Gillian cried, her voice taking on a note of hysteria.
“Philip…I…I saw him—strangled…dead—they were going to burn him.”
Isobel clenched her hands in fists until her nails cut into her palms, forcing herself to not to see it anymore. She had to find him and warn him that he must never go near Hawkirk again.I will stop this. I will. It will not be like Benji Attmore.But how? Philip had nearly a day’s head start. But they were probably traveling at a normal pace, stopping to sleep. If Isobel rode hard, not stopping, she might be able to catch them. But she didn’t know which way they had traveled, didn’t even know how to get to Wyndyburgh, where his sister lived.
Isobel grabbed her sister’s hand. “Gillian—you’ve lived in the lowlands for twelve years. Did you know your way around? Particularly in the east—the Lothians?”
Gillian nodded vigorously. “Aye, aye, that’s where I lived—with the Hepburns.”
Isobel stood, dragging Gillian off the bed with her. “Change into something for riding. We must leave now.”
“Where are we going?” But Gillian didn’t hesitate, throwing her chest open and rummaging through it for suitable clothing.
“We’re going to change fate.”
Chapter 21
Isobel and Gillian made it out of the keep with little incident. They left a note for Rose, so she wouldn’t worry. They’d considered bringing her, but decided her healing skills were needed here at Lochlaire.
They were below the castle, in the dank quay with only the sound of dripping water. Fog seeped through the water entrance, winding about them like seeking hands. Half a dozen boats bobbed in the gentle current. There were more, but they wouldn’t be so easily gotten at as these. Isobel and Gillian untied them all, climbing in one, and letting the rest drift away.
They rowed in silence, both of them edgy, waiting for someone to discover them. Soon, they feared. It would be difficult to make it to the shore without someone seeing them from the walls. It was evening and not yet full dark, but they had the fog for cover. If MacDonells were sent after them, they would not make it. They had not the strength of the men, who could easily overtake them. As it was, they were barely out of the arching cavelike water entrance to the castle and Isobel’s shoulders ached. She felt blisters forming on her hands from plying the oars.
The boat glided through the water. They had not lit the lantern on the bow of the boat, but they could see lights twinkling from thecottages near the shore, drawing them near. They had both chosen to wear their dark lowland mantles rather than arisaids. With the hood of her mantle pulled over her head, Gillian’s face was completely hidden from Isobel.
They reached the shore undetected. Isobel removed her shoes, stuffing them in her satchel, and pulled up her skirts, securing them like breeches at her waist. She waded into the water, pulling the boat along behind her until it nudged the coarse grass. They were too far from the small wooden dock and could not pull the boat onto the shore as the men seemed to do so easily, and this irritated her. A sense of desperation infused her. She had no patience for her own shortcomings—it reminded her of the difficulty of the task she’d set for herself, and she could not consider that she might fail.
Gillian hopped out of the boat, and after Isobel had her shoes on again, they hurried along toward the stable. No one was in sight around the building. When Isobel cracked the door she heard the soft nickering of horses and their rustlings about in their stalls. They slipped inside and the warmth from horses enveloped them. A table and stool were near the far double door. A single taper burned and a man, his plaid wrapped around him like a blanket, slept, leaning against the wall, his boots propped on the tabletop.
Isobel saddled Jinny as quietly as possible and led the mare out of her stall. Gillian joined them a moment later, leading the gray Philip had brought for a wedding gift. As soon as it spotted Isobel it tossed its head and snorted testily, pawing the ground. Isobel frowned at her sister. Whyever would she choose that thing when there were much more docile mounts to be had?
Gillian’s eyes shone when she stroked the gray’s neck. “Isn’t he beautiful?” she whispered.
Isobel raised her brows, but there was no time to swap horses, and the gray was already saddled and ready to go. They stared across the stable at the sleeping man guarding the horse entrance.
They couldn’t hope to escape the stable without waking the guard, so they didn’t even try. After heaving off the heavy bar locking the stable’s double door, they both mounted. Isobel spurred Jinny forward, bursting through the doors as the guard woke, falling off his stool in surprise.
And then they were free—the only MacDonell wise to them was the stable guard. He would soon alert the castle, but they had a good head start. They raced across the glen, letting instinct and the horses lead them to the mountain pass. They were halfway to the narrow mountain pass that led in and out of Glen Laire when Isobel finally looked back. It was too dark to see anything, though Lochlaire glowed with torches and she thought she discerned the glare of firelight reflecting off the loch’s surface, moving to shore.
She spurred Jinny faster. The day before she’d been filled with excitement, racing to her home—and now she raced away from it, terrified of being stopped. Stones dislodged and fell beneath the horses’ hooves, but they kept at it, climbing their way to the mountain pass.
Once through the pass, Isobel reined in Jinny. Gillian’s gray stopped beside her, shaking its head and snapping at Isobel’s mount.
“You know which direction?” Isobel asked. “Because we can make no mistakes.”
Gillian nodded. “I remember the route Hagan and I took—and once we reach familiar landmarks, I know the way to Wyndyburgh.”
