One of the wicked gorse thorns stabbed into his finger. He swore profusely and stared down at his bloody finger.
"Bastard Camerons," he hissed, clenching his teeth against the pain, hating them more and more each day. "Cut the bushes out of there," he ordered Dobson and Robertson.
Holme smirked when he remembered where the clan was now, in the kirk at the chief's funeral. He'd watched the funeral procession from a distance and determined this was the best time to find the secret passage among the thick, thorny vegetation and vines.
They had already stolen a small boat and concealed it beneath a heap of dried bracken ferns near the river. That way, they could hide their horses farther away, but still escape quickly.
A half hour later, most of the prickly bushes lay aside, exposing large stones. He remembered when he and his few remaining clansmen had slipped back and concealed this gate many years ago, hoping to prevent the Camerons from using it as escape route if they ever decided to lay siege to the place. Now he could use it in reverse to attack from the inside, if the gate and lock had rusted into oblivion in the last decade.
"Move the stones," Holme commanded, annoyed this was taking so long. They had to finish before the funeral was over or risk being seen.
Fortunately for the two men, removing the rocks was fairly easy, as most of them rolled or slid away with minimal effort. Once the rusty, three-foot-tall gate was exposed, Holme grabbed the iron bars and shook them, yanked at them, but the gate didn't budge. He growled a curse and looked at the latch through the bars. It held firm, and he saw no way to open it from the outside. Designed as it was, as an escape route for the chief if the castle was under siege, the gate's latch only opened from the inside.
Holme stood. "We'll come out this way, but we must get into the castle another way."
"But how?" Dobson asked. "'Twould be suicide to approach the portcullis if Colin Cameron sees you."
His canny mind spinning, Holme grinned. "I have an idea."
***
During the second day of their journey, Kristina had been chilled for many hours. The weather had turned colder, and the wind blew harder. She had even seen a few snowflakes, but they melted once they reached the ground.
They were fortunate in that Cyrus MacKenzie and his brothers, Fraser and Shamus, along with all of their guards and clansmen had wanted to accompany them. Ralston also journeyed with them, but Neacal continued to keep their half-brother at a distance and guarded at all times. Ralston had caused no trouble, and Kristina wondered when Neacal would begin to trust him.
Maili rode beside Kristina and Anna, in the midst of all the men. Tavia, her helper, and three maids also accompanied them, for they knew not how long they would stay at Rhodie. In the event anyone was hurt in an ambush or battle with Holme, Tavia would help them to the best of her ability. The length of their stay would largely depend upon the weather and how quickly Holme was captured. She did not imagine Colin or Neacal would give up before the murderer was behind bars or dead. The MacKenzies seemed equally determined to nab him and his band of outlaws, as did Ralston.
After the ferry had taken them to Glenfinnan, they stayed the night at the inn, then rode out the next morn. Neacal predicted they could make it to Rhodie before dark despite the snow flurries. In truth, she did not mind the journey. She simply relished every moment of observing things she hadn't in a long time. She had not seen sunlight or snow in over two years. She was thankful for being able to view every single thing, even though all was blurry at any distance.
When they stopped in a shady wood, she marveled at the lush green moss covering the gray rocks and tree trunks. 'Twas like an enchanted fairy wood.
When next they halted to rest and water the horses, they were in a glen by a loch. She noticed purple flecks among the tan grasses. She stepped closer and crouched to see what they were.
"Look, Anna. 'Tis heather!" Kristina pointed at the few sprigs of the late-blooming flowers. She had not thought to see them at this time of year.
"Your favorite. How lovely. I'm so glad you can see them now."
"Aye." Kristina knew she was probably acting like a wee bairn, but she could hardly contain her joy over being able to see. The wee pinkish-violet blooms were so dainty and delicate. If only she could see this whole hillside of heather in full bloom, she would probably weep with joy. She would never take her vision for granted again.
After riding for a while longer, she noticed something large, shadowed and blurry looming up beside them. She squinted. "Good heavens. Is that a mountain?"
Riding in front of them, Neacal turned back and said, "Aye. 'Tis Ben Nevis. The top is already white with snow."
She'd heard of it—the tallest mountain in Scotland.
Despite being glad about the return of her vision and seeing things she had never seen before, she knew Colin was living in the pits of despair. She wanted to embrace him and give him comfort so badly. She hoped he would be pleased to see her and to learn her vision was coming back.
What if he was angry instead? What if he could never forgive her?
***
Colin drew up near the wood and dismounted, following the wee terrier again. The rest of the men in his party halted, too. His breath fogged in the falling temperatures. Frustration quickening his steps, Colin strode forward, searching the light trace of snow on the ground. His boots crunching on the half-frozen leaves, he slipped into the wood, looking for any sign Red Holme had been here recently. But he saw naught, and the terrier kept moving quickly, nose to the ground.
Damnation. Where was Holme hiding? He was sure the bastard must be thrilled if he'd learned Colin's father had succumbed to his injuries and died. Had Holme slipped around to the grave and danced upon it? Did he still want Colin dead, or was killing the chief enough revenge to satisfy him?
Colin shook his head, doubting Holme would stop his quest of vengeance until Colin and maybe even his brother were dead. How could the whoreson be so elusive of a sudden? He must have one hell of a hiding place. Didn't matter. Colin would be damned if he was giving up finding the murderer. He owed it to his father. 'Twas the final thing he could do for him—bring his killer to justice.
Footsteps approached upon the crusty, snow-covered leaves. He glanced around to find Bryce moving toward him.
