Chapter 10
Catriona ran faster, sprinting past the servants and toward the village. Shouting men followed. She glanced back to see two guards with torches outside the walls.
Oh, dear heavens!
Her heart raced, and her throat burned. Facing forward again, she hurried toward the small forest behind the village. "Torr?" she called. "Where are you? Torr!"
A white horse emerged from the trees and galloped toward her, carrying a dangling object in his mouth. He halted and dropped the satchel at her feet—his clothing, sword, and the leftover supplies.
She picked it up and looped it over her neck and shoulder. "We must hurry! They're chasing me. They think I cast a spell on Elsea."
He nickered and nudged her with his nose.
"You're too tall. I can't get on your back."
He trotted to a boulder and waited. Thankful he'd understood, she climbed astride his bare back and grasped handfuls of his long, white mane. He launched forward into a swift trot, his large hooves pounding across the earth. The wind snatched the cowl from her head, and her hair came loose.
She glanced back, seeing the torches wavering in the distance. "They're following!"
The shouts of Elsea's clansmen echoed from behind.Hurry, Torr!
In kelpie form, he laid his ears back and kept his gallop steady through the gloaming.
When Catriona lowered herself over his neck, the night wind seemed strangely warm. He veered off the road. She feared his hooves would tangle in the heather of the soggy moor.
"Where are you going?"
She didn't expect him to answer, but when the loch gleamed in the moonlight ahead, she wondered why he was headed straight for it.
"You're not going to jump in there!"
He made no sound, nor did he change his speed. The yells grew louder behind them.
"What if the loch monster should return?" That hag Wilona could easily devour her. Besides, she hated being immersed in cold water. She wished Torr could talk to her. Did he even understand what she said? Had he gone mad?
He launched himself from the bank, spawning terror within her. She held her breath as they dove into the depths. The icy water enveloped her. She fisted her hands onto his thick mane, but the water lifted her off his back. Needing more security, she wrapped an arm around his neck and prayed he was a skilled swimmer.
The water roared in her ears, then drained away. Their heads rose above the water's surface, and she dragged in a giant gulp of air.
He swam, his legs paddling wildly, toward the opposite end of the loch. They moved swiftly. She didn't want to imagine the depth of the water beneath them.
Several minutes later, his hooves touched the bottom, then he climbed the bank. She was too busy thanking God for her life to wonder why she wasn't chilled to the bone.
The torches of their pursuers glowed like tiny sparks at the opposite end of the loch.
On land now, Torr continued his breakneck pace, galloping across fields of oat stubble and soggy, heathered moors that stretched between craggy mountains. He jumped dry stone dykes and thundered past startled herds of cattle and sheep.
When she glanced back through the darkness, she saw no torches.
They had left the MacAuley clan far behind, but they believed she was Torr's wife. And they knew where he lived. Would they show up at Blacktower tomorrow to capture her and charge her with witchcraft?
She couldn't worry about that now. It took all her concentration and strength to hold on.
She had never ridden a horse who could gallop so fast. But then Torr wasn't a horse; he was a mythical creature. Kelpie legends said they were as strong as ten horses and faster too.
A while later, he slowed to a trot. Why didn't she feel chilled after going under that icy water and riding in the cool wind? The heat from his overworked body radiated upward, but that couldn't account for how she felt comfortably warm, though still wet.
Torr stopped at a stream for a drink of water, then continued traveling for many miles.
