Page 18 of Blood & Claw

The Wolds stretched endlessly around her. Too much land for one woman to search. Still, she kept walking, even if her shoulders slowly rounded. It was hard not to let her mind take her down paths that would lead to despondency—to despair.

It just as well she was pig-headed.

Kayla had always said Ailsa was stubborn. But on a journey like this, her doggedness served her well. She was tough, and she wouldn’t give up.

Even so, that didn’t mean she didn’t worry. About Kayla, and about her own safety.

Out here in The Wolds, she was exposed. Vulnerable.

After that first night, she did avoid traveling after dark. That evening, she slept rough, covering herself with ferns. The night after that, a crofter let her bed down with his goats.

And there were times, as she walked, when the skin between her shoulder blades would crawl—as if she was being watched. However, every time she turned around, she found no one. The sensation was unsettling, although after a while, she began to wonder if her mind wasn’t merely playing tricks on her. Paranoia appeared to be setting in.

As she continued northeast, Ailsa’s worries for Kayla grew. What did those men want with her? Had they hurt her?

What if she never saw Kayla again?

Her gut twisted every time that thought surfaced. No, she couldn’t despair. She couldn’t give up on her.

Three days into her journey, Ailsa crossed from Braewall’s territory into Duncrag’s. She was limping heavily now, exhaustion pressing down on her. The large market village of Els—where a stone bridge spanned a swiftly flowing river—had recently been taken back by the High Queen.

Wolf’s head banners, black against snowy white, fluttered in the breeze. No stag banners of Braewall here. Indeed, the High Queen’s warriors prowled the village; a garrison left behind to ensure King Niall didn’t attempt to retake this strategic point.

Despite that her bruised and chafed feet cried out for rest, Ailsa wished to get through Els as fast as possible; however, the crowds slowed her down.

Reaching a checkpoint on the bridge, she queued with other travelers.

Presently, a warrior stepped up and asked her where she was going and why. The man was attractive: raven-haired and muscular.

He reminded her of Lewis.

“Where are you headed, lass?” he asked, flashing her the kind of smile that would have made her blush once.

Not any longer. She was immune to men like him.

“Farnoch,” she replied, giving him nothing.

A groove etched between his eyebrows. “And what’s your business there?”

“I’ve an aunt in the fort … she’s ailing.”

His gaze roamed her face, as if he was trying to decide what to make of her.

Her belly hardened. She should be used to people looking at her like that by now, yet she wasn’t. It made her want to turn from him, to pull up her hood and hide herself away.

Moments stretched out, and then he stepped back and waved her on. “Off you go then.”

Two days later, limping and caked in dirt and sweat, Ailsa approached Farnoch.

The road clove a path between well-tended fields where cabbages, onions, and neeps grew in neat rows. Crofters’ cottages lined the road here, although there were few people about—most of them, bairns too, were working in the fields.

The fort itself perched on the loch-shore, its wooden palisades reflecting in its mirrored surface. Slowing her step, Ailsa craned her neck to take it in. Her lips parted in wonder. It was an irony that she’d wanted to travel for so long, and now here she was. She just hadn’t expected it to happen this way. She’d wanted Kayla to be with her, to share discoveries and experiences with her.

Farnoch captivated her. It wasn’t as big as Braewall, and unlike the southern capital, it was made almost entirely of wood. High oaken palisades silhouetted against the sky. Only the chieftain’s broch crowning it was stone.

Her pulse fluttered.

Please let Kayla be here.