Gillian’s confidence eased some of Isobel’s fear. “How long will it take?” she asked, as they started down the other side of the mountain.
“If we don’t stop unless absolutely necessary, a day and half—maybe two days. But it will take them three or more if they’restopping to rest the horses and sleep. Fash not, Isobel, he’s going to Wyndyburgh, not Hawkirk. We’ll reach him in plenty of time.”
Isobel nodded, but didn’t share her sister’s confidence. She needed to touch the ring again, to see what else she could discover. Already she had a sense that time was running out and that there was something more that she was not seeing. But she could think of no reason why Philip would be anywhere near Hawkirk when his destination was so much farther east.There was still time.
They did not stop riding through the night. When the blush of dawn lightened the sky, Gillian said, “I have to stop—just for a moment.”
They hobbled their horses at a cluster of bushes. When Isobel emerged from the bushes she rubbed her aching belly. They’d brought very little food and water, and so would have to ration themselves. Gillian, however, had a good deal of coin, so when they reached a village that evening, they were able to eat a decent meal at the tavern.
“We should stay the night here,” Gillian said. She was exhausted, her dark curls springing free from her tight coiffure. “We’re two lone women, and this is the only weapon I have.” She held up the small sharp knife she used to cut her meat.
They did need to rest. They’d ridden all day and the night before. They couldn’t continue running the horses at that pace—even the gray was showing signs of fatigue. Isobel gripped her own knife with impatience but nodded her assent.
That night she touched the ring again, with fear and apprehension, but also with determination to squeeze every bit of information out of the vision that she could. She knew what to expect this time and was prepared. So was Gillian, who sat close.
But there was nothing more to see. Isobel emerged from thevision with tears streaking her face, unable to understand how or why such a thing could happen.
“He’s not a witch,” she whispered to Gillian, as they lay on the narrow straw-filled tick, arms around each other to keep warm.
“It doesna matter,” Gillian said softly. “Half the village saw him with you, protecting you, and it was clear to them that youarea witch.” Isobel had told her what had happened in Hawkirk and how they’d escaped. “Many people have been burned these past years for nothing more than consulting witches.”
Isobel knew that was true, but could not think of it. It made her sick that mere association with her could be someone’s death sentence. She had known it, but it had not been real to her until now. More tears leaked from her eyes as she wondered if the burned corpse in the vision was Stephen, or even Fergus, who must surely be making his way to join them. Philip had left instructions for Fergus to follow at both Sgor Dubh and Lochlaire. He could be following them straight to his own death.
Gillian hushed her, whispering softly and telling her she must sleep or she’d not be able to stay in the saddle on the morrow. Isobel did sleep, but her dreams were filled with nightmares and burnings, and this time it was she who was strapped to the stake, her neck bruised from being strangled. But she wasn’t dead, and the fire surrounded her as it had her mother as she screamed and screamed.
It took them three days to reach Wyndyburgh. It looked just as it had in her vision of Effie, with the added odor of rotting garbage and horse offal filling the streets. Isobel dismounted and led Jinny through the narrow streets as if in a trance, Gillian close behind. She stopped before a small house, packed in close with its neighbors.
“He must’ve been here by now,” Isobel said. “He might even be in there now.” Her heart sped with hope at the thought, and she shoved Jinny’s reins at Gillian.
She knocked on the door and suddenly became aware of her appearance. She’d not even bothered to tidy her hair when they woke that morning, and hadn’t washed since the previous day. Her gown was travel-stained, and she probably smelled awful.
The door swung open, and Philip’s sister stood before her, her stomach huge with child. She wore an apron over her dress and her hair was tucked up under a white, starched cap. She was wiping her hands on an old towel. The scents of fresh bread and roasting fowl drifted from the open door.
“Aye?” Effie said, inspecting Isobel curiously.
“I’m looking for a man. Sir Philip Kilpatrick. He was coming here to see…you…” As soon as Isobel said Philip’s name Effie’s large dark eyes widened with dismay.
“He’s not here, Miss, and God willing he’ll not be back.” She started to shut the door, but Isobel put up her hand, stopping it midswing.
“But he’s been here?”
She looked Isobel up and down, her mouth pinched in a way that reminded Isobel of Mairi, then she nodded reluctantly. “Aye, he was.”
“Do you know where he is now?”
“No.” She tried to shut the door again, but Isobel was bigger than the diminutive pregnant woman and kept pushing against the door.
Isobel was very confused, but it was becoming clear that thingshad not gone well when Philip had found his sister. “What did he say to you?” she asked.
“I’ll not speak of it. I wish you’d go.”
“He said that you were his sister, Effie Kilpatrick, didn’t he?”
“I am Summer Cooper—no Highlander, as you can see for yourself. Now go, before my husband comes home.”
Isobel’s heart sank as she stared at Philip’s sister. And itwasPhilip’s sister, Isobel knew it. “Did you say that to him?”
Effie finally quit trying to close the door. “Aye, I did, and when he insisted, I asked him to go away and not return. I’m telling you the same. Effie Kilpatrick is gone.”
