He should be pleased by her withdrawal. At least she didna have the brain of an ass. That honor belonged to him.
“Mon Dieu!”
Colyne turned, startled by the fear in her gaze. “What is wrong?”
Her hand shook as she pointed in the direction in which they were heading. “Look!”
Beyond the next hill, a thick, black column of smoke billowed into the sky.
Dread ripped through Colyne. Stephano! Please, God, nae them. “Wait here!”
She caught his arm. “I am coming with you.”
Furious she’d defy him, he tore her hand free. “You will stay!”
Alesia’s face paled. “What is it?”
He refused to admit his suspicions. If he was right, she didna need to witness the carnage spewed upon the other side of the glen.
She stared at him, her troubled expression breaking down his resistance.
“I will be back.” Before she could offer further objections, he bolted toward the black churning cloud at a dead run.
And prayed he was wrong.
Chapter 4
Marie raced after Colyne, the stench of smoke growing with each step. As she crested a mound, she broke through the trees. Stopped. The horror before her stealing her breath.
Near the base of the angled slope, Colyne knelt amidst the blackened rubble. Bodies lay scattered around him, some butchered, others with arrows protruding from their backs. The cloying stench of charred flesh almost drove her to her knees.
A sob tore free.
Colyne’s gaze riveted on her. His face a mask of outrage and grief, he shoved to his feet.
But his eyes.
Merciful Lord. His eyes held the horrors of a man who’d witnessed too much death.
She wrapped her arms across her chest as her body began to shake.
He stormed toward her, his mail smeared by blood. “I told you to stay!”
“I . . .” The crofter’s hut was engulfed in flames. Livestock lay mutilated in a twisted mass of hides and horror. Not even a lamb was left unscathed. And the people. Her chest tightened with pain. “Who could have—”
“The English.” Condemnation carved through his words like an angry blade. He caught her shoulders.
Instead of shaking her as she’d expected, Colyne drew her against his chest and turned her away from the barbaric slaughter. His body trembled against hers.
“The bastards think they can quell us into subservience,” he rasped, “but they are wrong. Their butchery fuels our hatred.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks as Marie cried, grieving for those slaughtered, for his country under merciless assault, but mostly for him. However much her own despair, Colyne’s must be doubly so.
This travesty underscored her urgent need to reach France. Until she explained that the Duke of Renard was behind her abduction, her father would believe rebel Scots were guilty of the inflammatory act. And Scotland’s future would be in grave danger. Without France’s monetary support, Scotland’s forces would wither.
His hold eased, and then he began to whisper in Gaelic. By their soft flow, they were words meant to soothe, but they spilled out raw with heartache. On a shudder he grew quiet.
Mon Dieu, she must not fail. “I am so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears.
