“Ye cannae talk to it like that,” Maisie protested as she leaned closer to the horse and stroked its neck.
Lavina couldn’t hear what her sister spoke over the wind that wailed like a woman in mourning, but whatever it was, the horse responded.
In a sudden flurry of excitement, the beast picked up its pace. The low-hanging branches of the pine tree whipped at Lavina’s cloak and hair. They felt like blades scratching her skin as the horse charged onward.
The forest loomed on either side of the narrow trail, dense and unforgiving. The moonlight struggled to pierce through the thick canopy above. Twigs cracked beneath the hooves of their mount, but even the rhythmic pounding of the stallion’s hooves could not drown out the pounding of Lavina’s heart.
She clung tighter to her sister. Maisie’s small form shivered before her, wrapped in nothing but a thin cloak.
Lavina’s breaths were shallow and quick, and her fingers were numb as they curled around the saddle’s edge. Her hands were raw from the cold, but she dared not stop. Not now. Not when the fate of her sister—no, their very lives—depended on how far they could ride.
“Lavina…” Maisie’s voice was barely a whisper, lost beneath the rumble of thunder overhead and Lavina’s troubling thoughts.
“Hold on, love,” Lavina murmured into her ear. “We’re almost there.”
But in truth, she didn’t know wheretherewas.
Every shadow in the wood looked like a guard. Every gust of wind whispered of Micah’s wrath. They had sped past the old bell tower an hour ago—or had it only been minutes?
Time was warping around her, drawn tight with dread and tainted with uncertainty. The terrain had grown rockier, more treacherous, and the horse was beginning to tire.
“Oh, please, ye cannae give up now,” Lavina moaned as a bolt of lightning split the sky and illuminated the woods in a ghostly flash.
For a heartbeat, the entire world glowed silver. Then, darkness slammed down once more, thicker and deadlier than before. The heavens opened and spilled their contents over them.
Lavina pulled the hood over her sister’s head and bent low, steering the horse to the left, where she prayed she remembered a path to shelter.
Somewhere to hide. Somewheresafe, out of the rain and out of sight. But where? The moors were hostile to anyone unfamiliar with their secret paths.
“I cannae feel me toes,” Maisie whimpered. “Lavina, we cannae keep goin’ like this.”
“I ken. But where?”
“The ruins? On the eastern border,” Maisie suggested.
Lavina froze. That part of the land butted against McGowan lands, and there was no way in hell she would go near such a place. The mere thought of it caused her blood to run cold.
“We’re nae goin’ to the ruins.”
“Then the mill. If we’re on the western side, we can take shelter in the mill. It hasnae been used in years,” Maisie said, her voice barely carrying over the storm.
The mill. It wasn’t that far now, was it?
“Please let it still be standing,” Lavina whispered, not sure if she was speaking to the Lord or her own desperate heart.
She remembered the stories her father told of a crumbling watchtower hidden near the cliffs at the edge of the Lewis lands. A remnant from long before their time—weathered, forgotten, and possibly shelter enough to keep them alive until morning.
Her prayers were answered a few moments later when she spotted the jagged silhouette rising like a blackened tooth from the hillside.
The stone tower leaned as if it had grown weary of holding up the sky, and one side had collapsed into rubble. A crooked wall still stood, wrapped in moss, as though nature had taken pity on the structure and tried to clothe its shame.
Lavina urged the stallion forward as she tried to tame the wild thumping of her frantic heart, which soared with hope.
The path narrowed as they climbed toward the ruins. The grass was slick under the horse’s hooves, threatening to send the sisters tumbling into the muck and mire.
“Easy there,” Lavina soothed, holding onto the reins for dear life.
The horse’s footing was unsteady, causing her blood to freeze along with the rain. Maisie let out a frightened gasp.
