Startled, Alpin glanced up from his empty cup to see the two outlaws he'd hired earlier. They had stolen Torr's horses? "Let me see them."
"Come," the scruffy man motioned and headed outside with his friend or brother. He had not asked their names nor given his.
Outside in the torch-lit darkness, Alpin saw they were indeed the horses Torr and his wench had ridden out on that morn. A large, fractious warhorse and a smaller, skittish mare.
"We want the rest of our pay," the shaggy outlaw said.
Damnation, Alpin had already given these two rascals all the money he wanted to part with.
"These are nay our horses!" Alpin growled.
"You're mad! These are the horses you described," the man bellowed. "A giant black horse and a wee chestnut mare."
Alpin shook his head. "I've never seen these horses before. Sell them. I'm certain you'll get a king's ransom. I'll find someone else to retrieve ours. I certainly wouldn't wish to be caught on stolen horses. That one there looks fine enough to be a laird's." He pointed at the warhorse. "What did the man look like you stole these from?"
"'Twas nay a man but a lass who had three horses. The white one was too vicious to capture."
Realizing he was describing Torr in kelpie form, Alpin smirked. "Proof these are someone else's horses. We had no white one."
"Release them," the outlaw told his accomplice, then quickly turned back and smashed his fist into Alpin's stomach. All the air whooshed out of his lungs, and he doubled over in severe pain. The bastard brought his knee up, striking Alpin's chin and jarring his head. Halfway knocked out and drunk besides, he toppled backward. The knave cut the leather sporran from his belt and fled with it. Alpin scrambled to his feet and stumbled forward in an attempt to chase after them. Dizziness assailed him. He swayed sideways and fell again. A throbbing ache radiating through his head and another in his stomach, he crawled toward the tavern door. This was all Torr MacElrath's fault... and Gavin's. Alpin ground his teeth. He would see them both dead for all the pain and trouble they'd caused him.
***
WHEN CATRIONA OPENEDher eyes well after daybreak, Torr, in human form, sat on the large stone watching her. "A good morn to you," he said.
"Good morn." She sat up, startled to remember she'd slept here on the ground all night. "Did you find our horses?"
"Nay. I cannot leave you here alone." His tone was a bit surly.
Hating to be a burden, she shoved to her feet. "I'll help you find them."
He shook his head and stood. "We're short on time. 'Tis only a wee distance to Kincreag Castle, most of it by ferry."
"Oh." She did hope to find Elsea as soon as possible and let her know Brodie wished for a reconciliation. Mayhap he didn't realize that yet himself, but he would soon.
"After we return to Blacktower, I'll get some of my clansmen to help me search for our mounts," Torr said. "The highwaymen will probably try to sell them in the nearest town, but no one will want stolen horses. 'Tis a hanging offense to be caught with them."
'Twas true. Catriona had become attached to Rosie in such a brief time. She prayed no one would hurt the sweet mare.
They broke their fast with the remaining bread and cheese as they walked to the ferry, just over a mile away. Cat wallowed in memories of the night before, her fear and alarm when the outlaws had charged into camp, determined to steal her along with the horses. She was so thankful when Torr had stormed out of the forest to protect her and drive the vile ruffians away.
Goodness! Even though he was beautiful, Torr, as a kelpie, was one of the fiercest creatures she'd ever beheld. She was certain he could hurt or kill an enemy easily with his massive hooves. 'Twas annoying they couldn't have hunted down their horses the night before. But she supposed Torr was right—they needed to complete their mission first. If Elsea agreed to travel with them to Farspag, mayhap she could borrow horses for all three of them from her clan.
When Cat and Torr emerged from the wood and approached the enormous loch, the blustery wind flung the hood of her cloak back. Shivering, she yanked it into place again.
At the dock, they climbed aboard the ferry—a twelve-oaredbìrlinn,far larger than the wee, two-oared wherry she had taken days ago.
As they set out, Torr and Cat took seats while the oarsmen rowed and sang their song. Snuggling close to Torr, she enjoyed the men's deep, rhythmic chorus which helped them to coordinate their strokes. 'Twas mesmerizing, and Torr's arm around her was a dreamy comfort. Despite the turbulent, dark water beneath them, she felt safe and protected.
With a startling jolt, the bìrlinn tilted and rocked to the side, knocking Cat sideways. She shrieked.
Torr tightened his hold. "What the devil was that?"
The boat tossed to the opposite side as if a whale rolled beneath the hull. Cat capped a hand over her mouth, forcing herself to keep silent.
"The loch monster!" one of the oarsmen shouted. "I saw it!"
Unable to believe her ears, Cat gasped and glanced at Torr, wondering if he thought 'twas true.
