“What do ye mean to do with him?”
Alasdair rarely lost his patience with me but exhaustion made him irritable.
“Even a man as foolish as him wouldna dare to step back into Conall territory after this night. There is no need to see him all the way to the next territory. I need to rest. I havena slept in days, and there is still much on my mind. We will bid farewell to Rab here.”
The fear in Rab’s expression was evident. Alasdair was right. Rab would never again cross over into my father’s territory.
Tightening his grip on Rab’s arm, Alasdair leaned in close, his voice a growl as he spoke directly to the thief.
“Had I allowed my father to do as he wished, ye would have had no hope for a future. Doona steal from another. See this as a chance to live a better life. And hear this—if word of what ye know about my sister spreads throughout this land in any way, I shall kill ye with my own two hands.”
Pledging to change his ways and keep my secret, Rab ran away the moment my brother released his grip.
“Ye’ve more of Father in ye than ye show. Ye frightened even me.”
Pulling a blanket from the top of his horse, Alasdair spread it on the ground and moved to lay on it. I could see from the weariness of his steps, he would be asleep within moments.
“Good. I meant every word. There is nothing in this world I wouldna do to protect ye, lass.”
While Alasdair slept, I led each of the three horses to the small stream just beyond the forest clearing. More accustomed—thanks to my nights reading Grier’s books—to being up until dawn, I wasn’t as sleepy as my brother. I was, however, stiff and sore from riding through the night. Walking over to Cadha, I opened my pack to search for my own blanket in the hopes that I might spread it on the ground and rest my body for a while. My blanket was nowhere to be found.
“Are ye hiding it from me, Cadha? Or did Rab manage to take off with it?” Cadha neighed, and I took a moment to stroke her before moving over to Alasdair’s horse. In the haste with which we left the castle, I assumed some of my belongings had been placed on one of the other horses.
As I reached inside Alasdair’s pack, a small piece of parchment fluttered to the ground. Bending to pick it up, I struggled to make sense of the nearly unreadable hand. Slowly, I pieced the words together as my hands shook.
I found the home of the lass ye seek. I regret to inform ye of her recent death. Her home was set aflame by the laird of Kentrich territory. He believed her to be a witch. She perished in the fire.
I could think of only one person Alasdair would have gone in search of who would be accused of witchcraft. Alasdair’s troubled expression suddenly made sense.
He believed Grier was dead.
I knew without doubt that she was not.
Chapter 6
Alasdair slept until midday. While I napped briefly, I spent most of my time impatiently tending to the horses. I wouldn’t wake my brother—not when it was so clear how desperately he needed the rest—but it took every bit of willpower I possessed to keep from doing so. There were so many things we needed to discuss.
When at last I heard him stir, I left the horses and carried the small piece of parchment over to his blanket and plopped down in front of him, waving it in his face.
“Is Grier the lass to which this man refers?”
Still not fully awake, Alasdair stretched his exceedingly long legs and slowly pulled himself up to a seated position. His light brown hair fell in a mess of lovely waves around his shoulders. It was no wonder the female servants of the castle doted on him. Their ridiculous behavior made me hope I would never meet a man that turned me into such a fool.
After a few blinks, Alasdair seemed to realize both what I’d said and what I held in my hand. Regret etched his face as he spoke.
“Where did ye get that? ’Tis not the way I wished ye to learn of her death, lass. I’m so verra sorry.”
I wanted to be certain before I said what I intuitively knew. I repeated my question.
“So Grier is the woman mentioned in this letter, aye?”
His eyes downward, Alasdair nodded.
“Aye, lass.”
Waving the parchment excitedly, I smiled and laid it down in front of him.
“Whoever wrote this is wrong. Grier is no more dead than ye or I.”
