"Damnation! I was supposed to be protecting her," Colin muttered through clenched teeth, enraged at himself.
"You did, as best you could," Rusty said.
Nay, Colin felt like a grand failure for botching this mission. He shook his head, realizing how deeply he cared for Kristina. To imagine her at Holme's mercy gutted him. If Holme hurt or killed her, Colin would never forgive himself.
A distant yell drew Colin out of his self-castigation. He paused to listen, his gaze scanning the pine forest. Someone was calling his name. 'Twas a man's voice.
He turned around. "Listen. Someone is yelling my name from back there, behind us."
"Might be Chief MacDonald or another man from the keep," Warton said.
Aye, naturally, Neacal would either come searching for him or send someone. Amid the dusky gloaming light, they slipped back along the path to the edge of the wood. In the distance, several kilted men on foot, swords in hand, walked briskly. Some trotted. Finally, he recognized two of his own men and a few of the MacDonalds.
"Over here!" Feeling relieved, Colin waved, wondering who the rest of the men were. They had to be allies.
The newcomers increased their pace, drawing nearer through the boulders and gorse bushes. Now, he recognized the imposing, dark-haired man at the forefront, though he had not seen him in at least a decade.
"Colin Cameron?" the man asked.
"Aye."
"Saints! We've been searching for you since last evening. I'm Cyrus, chief of Clan MacKenzie."
"I remember. We met about ten years ago. Good to see you again." He gave the man a warrior handshake, recalling that Neacal had said his sister had married Cyrus's brother.
"Neacal was concerned about you and the lady. We volunteered to find you and escort you back to the castle. What happened to you?" Cyrus frowned.
Colin touched the sore gash on the side of his forehead. "Blackburn's man, Red Holme, knocked me into the river and abducted Lady Kristina. We're following his trail. He has four or five men with him and they've been riding horses for the last two hours. We found the place where they met up, back there. Thankfully, over this rough terrain, they must go slow." He turned to the man beside him. "This is Rusty Cameron, a skilled tracker."
Cyrus shook his hand. "This is my younger brother, Fraser." Cyrus motioned to a dark-haired, blue-eyed man in his mid-twenties. Colin shook his hand.
"We have eighteen more men with us," Fraser said.
"I'm thankful all of you came." Colin greeted the Camerons who had stayed back at the castle and the MacDonalds, then met more of the MacKenzies.
One of his men, William Cameron, glanced around, then asked, "Where are Tom and Patrick?"
Colin, once again, felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. "We think they were ambushed by Holme and his men, and we've not seen them since."
"Damnation! We have to get these bastards," William growled.
Colin nodded. "Let's go."
After some of the newcomers shared their dried venison with Colin and his four men, they quickly followed Rusty into the wood as he began tracking the outlaws again.
"Earlier, we saw one of the enemies, dead near the cave's entrance," Cyrus said, keeping pace beside Colin.
"Aye. We were hiding in the cave when they attacked at dawn. When one of their men went down, Holme and two others fled. We discovered that he must've had one of his men slip the horses around the back side of the mountain. That's where they met up."
"What of the lady? Is she unharmed?" Cyrus shoved a pine branch aside.
A sense of dread settled over Colin. "When last I saw her she was. But it guts me to imagine what Holme might have done to her by now."
"We'll find her."
After they'd traveled for several more miles, mostly walking at a brisk pace, sometimes sprinting, gloaming was turning to darkness.
Colin's stomach knotted with fear for Kristina. He had to find her before dark.
