Chapter Thirteen
Anna sat on the stone behind the outcropping after Neacal left. 'Twas so hard to remain still. She wanted to go charging after him and help him in any way she could. Or just make certain he was all right. But he'd ordered her to stay seated here. She couldn't even pace. Visibility was poor and she might trip on the rocks or make noise. Her legs were twitchy with restlessness.
"Hurry, Neacal," she whispered.
Dunn panted behind her so she wasn't completely alone. She was thankful for the giant dog's company.
She prayed for Neacal's safety for what seemed like hours in the darkness. Dunn whined softly from time to time. Obviously, he was worried about his master. "Shh." She stroked the dog's coarse fur. "He will return soon," she whispered. "Please, God, let it be so."
'Twas all her fault. She should've never involved Neacal. But she hadn't exactly forced him into this. He'd wanted to escort her to the village, and then he'd fought off her attackers. Aye, indeed, she was to blame. Now, she knew she should've never left the castle, but she had thought the risk of discovery was greater there. She couldn't have imagined all this would happen.
Heavens, what was she going to do? What if Blackburn's garrison killed Neacal? How could he possibly fight that many men and win?
Dear God, please keep him safe.
She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.
A pistol shot echoed between the mountains.
Her heart leapt into her throat and her breath halted. "Neacal?" she whispered and jumped to her feet. Had he been shot? She well knew he'd had a bow and arrows, but no pistol. 'Twas enemy fire.
Praying that Neacal was uninjured, she crawled through the rocks and bushes toward the edge of the outcropping to determine whether she could see anyone, while staying out of sight.
Meager dawn light filtered in through the gorse bushes and bracken fronds. Should she go search for him? What if he needed her help?
On the other hand, if he was well and she walked into danger, she could put him at risk. Just because a pistol had fired did not mean he'd been hit… but she needed to be sure.
She slipped further from the hiding place and peered through the ferns but could see naught. Nor could she hear anything more.
Dunn crept forward too, nudging underneath her arm.
"Stay, Dunn," she whispered, then grasped hold of his collar, lest he take off at a lope. Not that she could hold him if he chose to disobey her. Neacal would never forgive her if she let his best friend charge into danger. Nor would she forgive herself.
She smelled the smoke of the burning cottage. She and Neacal could've easily died there. A chill slid through her.
Pushing herself up slightly, she looked over the thick growth of bracken on the hillside. She saw no movement. Except for the occasional bird, all was silent.
"Where is Neacal?" she breathed.
Dunn sat beside her, sniffing the air. He gave a soft woof.
"Shh. Quiet."
The dog eyed her, then remained silent. He was such a good lad. She waited, clasping his leather collar, until she thought she would go mad in the extended silence. Her eyes scanning the dark hillsides in the dawn light, she saw nothing. What if Neacal needed her help? What if he'd been shot? She could wait no longer. She had to go find out.
Hanging onto the dog's collar, she tried to lead him. Instead, he led her up the hillside and behind more bushes. "Wait," she gasped, trying to keep up. "Stay, Dunn," she whispered once he stopped.
He glanced at her and whimpered, then peered through the bushes and gave several loud sniffs. He turned back quickly and licked her cheek before she could duck out of his way. Then he leapt up and started pushing through the prickly gorse bushes.
"Dunn," she muttered quietly through clenched teeth and tugged at his collar. "Stop. Halt. Stay," she said firmly. But he did not listen to any of the commands. He yanked her into the prickly gorse bushes. When the wicked thorns stabbed into her hand, the shock of pain forced her to release her grip on him.
Blasted dog! "Dunn, come back," she said in a loud whisper. She dared not yell at him, for one of the clan would be sure to hear her.
"Oh, saints preserve me," she breathed, trying to follow as best she could but, nay, she would have to take a different route unless she wanted to crawl on her belly like the dog and get half her hair yanked out by the spiny bushes, her skin scratched and her clothes ripped. Neacal was going to be furious; she'd allowed his dog to run into danger.
After circling back, she found a more open route behind the bushes. Crouching low, she rushed forward, then peered at the landscape below. Smoke rose from somewhere in the distance. After proceeding further, she finally saw the bare stone walls of the burned out shieling. The roof was gone. A pang of loss struck her. She and Neacal had spent a wonderful night there. Gone forever. And then she saw what appeared to be bodies lying in the grass near the shieling. Were they injured or dead? Icy fear sliced through her. Was one of them Neacal?
If he was dead, what would she do? How could she go on?
