Chapter Nineteen
Fear for Kristina's life driving him forward, Colin dashed to the edge of the ravine where the waterfall plummeted downward. A small brown wooden boat lay splintered on the giant rocks. "God's blood!" His stomach aching with dread, Colin clambered and slid down the snowy embankment, his friends following.
"Kristina!" He waded into the icy water up to his thighs, his eyes scanning the rocky area for any sign of her. He saw nothing, no broken bodies, no clothing. But she could be underneath the water or already washed downstream.
Dear God, nay!
Even though the river wasn't in spate, a hard rain had fallen a few nights ago, and the water roared where it crashed onto the rocks. The rushing current would be strong enough to wash away any sign of her in minutes. He stared downstream, unsure whether to go farther southwest and look for her there or search here. Hell, he couldn't even think. Fear for her life had him near paralyzed.
Two of the MacKenzie clansmen shouted from the cliff above them on the opposite side of the river. They waved and yelled but Colin could not understand their words amid the thunderous waterfall. They motioned for them to come. Had they found Kristina?
Please, God, let her be all right.
Colin and the rest of the men climbed the bank.
"We found sign of horses in the wood," one man shouted, then pointed to a copse of trees about thirty yards away.
"Thank God." Colin leapt into his saddle. The others followed suit and they all carefully rode across the river at a wide, shallow point.
Once they were away from the noisy falls, 'twas easier to hear the MacKenzie clansman.
"First, we noticed the disturbed weeds and grass beside the river, then we followed the footprints through the snow to the wood, where we found tracks of four or five horses and piles of dung."
On horseback, they dashed toward the wood. After drawing up abruptly, Colin leapt off the horse.
'Twas true, the black dirt and leaves were kicked up. The men had tried to cover the horse dung with leaves and pine needles, but it hadn't worked. They must have been in a hurry. "Looks like the horses were held here for a few hours," Colin said.
Cyrus nodded.
"The horses ate here." Ralston pointed at the short-cropped grass at the edge of the wood where the snow had been nosed aside.
"Do you think 'twas Holme's men?" Cyrus asked.
"Aye. Let's follow them." Colin mounted again.
They trailed the tracks from the wood onto a narrow, muddy wagon road between hills, then increased their speed to a gallop. They couldn't be far behind Holme and his men, maybe a half hour.
He prayed Kristina was alive. But what if Holme had already injured her again, like last time?
***
Gripping the bridle in one hand and Kristina with the other, Red Holme kicked the horse into a full gallop along the muddy road flecked with small patches of snow. The wriggling lass was still wrapped in the sooty canvas and lying across his lap. He'd heard men's shouts behind them at the river. The Camerons were giving chase, damn them! He'd hoped they would all be burned to ash by now, or at least delayed by the crashed boat in the river.
Holme had to take Kristina farther away. If he could get her back to Stirling, she would be much easier to hide at a run-down inn on the outskirts. He was friends with one of the proprietors who would not report him for keeping a lass against her will. He grinned. Then he could enjoy her under him for days. But they were still a few days' ride from there.
At the moment, Holme and his men were coming upon a whitewashed stone kirk and a wee village too small to hide in. Anyone who saw them here might give the Camerons information.
Abruptly, Holme's horse slipped in the mud and snow, stumbled and careened onto his side, falling and tossing Holme and Kristina to the ground.
"Damnation!" Holme roared, pain blasting through his left knee. He hoped it wasn't broken.
Although his knee had struck a rock at the side of the road, Kristina had broken most of his fall.
His four men turned and cantered their horses back. "What happened? Are you hurt?" Dobson asked.
Holme cursed again and pushed himself to his feet. He limped forward, testing out his knee strength. He'd have a large bruise, no doubt. "I'll live," he grumbled. "Catch the horse and see if he's injured," he ordered. After falling, the horse had bounded to his hooves again and trotted several yards away.
Scroggie caught Holme's horse and led it back, then examined the horse's hooves. "He's thrown a shoe."
