Page 410 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Chapter Twenty-Three

A wind kicked up around Iain, but from where he lay in the darkness he couldn’t determine its direction. Speculation as to what ill-mannered spirit had deigned to cross his path seemed answered by a nudge in his side. He slid open an eyelid, then snapped it shut against the bright light that shadowed a dark figure standing over him. He shook his head, willing the ungodly apparition away. Another nudge brought a hard oath from him. Laughter followed, and the vaguely familiar tone of the voice stilled Iain. Christ. To know a son of Satan so well as to recognize his voice must mean he should have given more heed to the priests after all.

Daring another look at his tormentor, Iain blinked his eyes into focus. What he saw once they accustomed themselves to the sun’s bright light shook him far more than if he were standing before the ruler of Hell himself.

* * *

Victoria watched from the hill as men surrounded her husband. Perhaps it had been no accident that she had awakened to discover her horse missing. She needed the animal to reach Fauldun Castle in the ten minutes it would take to ride, instead of the hour it would take to walk. She crouched behind the oak tree she peered around and waited.

* * *

Iain shook his head—hard. The people, the place—the place should have been England with Hockley’s castle in view, not the meadow where the end had begun. He bolted upright, unable to control the shaking in his hands as he turned each one from palm to backside, to palm. His adversaries muttered amongst themselves as, again and again, Iain scrutinized his hands.

“No blood.” He looked up, shifting his stare from one to the other of the men. “No blood, at all.”

Iain jerked his gaze past them and scanned the forest, beginning left, then circling the entire woods. He twisted and looked behind him, but his wild-eyed search found things just as they had been when he and Victoria had fallen asleep. He glanced at the sky.

Had it been but an hour?

Victoria. His gut twisted. Where are you?

“He is touched with the fever,” a man said.

“Get up.” David Robertson shoved Iain with a booted foot.

Iain blinked up at him.

“Are you deaf?” David demanded. Still, Iain didn’t move. David reached down and hauled him to his feet. Surprise twisted his features when Iain didn’t resist. “What trick is this?” the Robertson chieftain hissed.

“Christ,” Iain whispered, “that it be not a trick.”

Was this the dream, or was the place he had just come from the dream?

“Bah!” David growled and shoved Iain in the direction of their horses.

Iain glanced around the meadow once more. How many second chances did a man receive in a single lifetime?

* * *

Victoria pitched forward, the toe of her rullion catching on a rock. Her hands instinctively reached to break the fall. Her body jolted upon impact and pain shot through her hands and arms. Her knee smashed against a rock and she bit back a cry. Victoria gritted her teeth and forced herself to her feet. Blood seeped from gashes that streaked her hands and she wiped them on her dress and started forward again.

At last, she broke free of the forest and Fauldun Castle came into view against a dusky sky. An indistinguishable shout went up when she came within sight of the guards on the battlement. A moment later, the gates swung open and a lone rider shot toward her. Even before he was close enough to distinguish his features she knew it was Thomas.

“My lady,” he said, sliding from his horse before the animal stopped moving.

“They have him, Thomas.” Victoria faltered. He gripped her shoulder, steadying her. “Nay.” She pushed away. “There is no time. David Robertson has captured him.”

“Where?”

“The meadow this side of the mountain, before the ascent up to Dawilneh.”

Thomas hoisted her into the saddle, vaulted up behind her, and sent his horse in a gallop toward the keep.

* * *

A steady murmur rippled through the great hall as the men left behind to guard the castle ate in relative quiet while awaiting word from the party gone in search of their lord. At the sound of the postern door opening, Victoria hurried from the kitchen. Liam’s eyes met hers and she stood motionless as he strode toward her.

“Do not worry, lass,” he said. “It is early yet.”