Page 20 of Sins of the Highlander

“Aye,” her father said morosely. “With a deep wine skirt. Velvet, Morag said. It was one of Elspeth’s court dresses. The best she had. I mind when she first…”

Even though Alistair Stewart droned on, Lachlan had stopped listening. He urged his horse up the incline, switching its flanks with a short crop to speed it along. When he reached the rocks, he dismounted and picked the patch of silk off the gorse bush. He rubbed it between his fingers. A tight, fine weave in a luxurious cloth.

Definitely part of his bride’s dress.

But it hadn’t been there when he and his men had thundered past. He’d stake his holding on it. The MacLaren must have holed up someplace and doubled back on them.

He looked north, narrowing his eyes. Another little swatch of cloth waved on the heather.

Clever girl. Perhaps she did deserve to be the mother of his children, after all.

Of course, if she quickened too soon in their marriage, the brat might be MacLaren’s spawn. There was no doubt in Lachlan’s mind that Mad Rob had lain with her already.

Why else would he have taken her?

Much as it galled him to take another man’s leavings, Lachlan needed the hefty dowry and other benefits the match brought him. But he’d not abide a cuckoo’s egg in his nest.

Even if Elspeth didn’t become pregnant, women died of one ailment or another all the time. He might do well to speed her along with one.

He’d avoid another accident if he could help it, though. Might remind folk of MacLaren’s wife.

There was an old hag in the next glen who had slow-acting poisons that she assured him were undetectable, if ever he had need for one.

But for now, he had to find the little Stewart bitch and marry her.

“Alistair,” he called down to his bride’s father, “I found a sign. Your daughter’s heading north.” He waved the little piece of silk in the air. “And she’s alive!”

After all this trouble, she’d better be.

***

Elspeth screamed.

The last thing she saw before Rob and the wolf disappeared into the brush was his long claymore flying into the air, end over end. It came to rest in the middle of the path, point stabbing the ground, blade quivering right in front of Falin’s nose.

“Oh, God!” Elspeth covered her mouth with her hand. Without his sword, what chance did Rob have against the beast?

Without the man on his back, Falin lost heart for the fight. The stallion reared and wheeled and took flight back down the game trail in the direction from which they’d come, with what was left of pack hot after him, howling like demons from the pit.

Elspeth couldn’t see Rob and the big gray. The woods were too dense, and daylight came slowly to the forest. But she could hear them.

And that was probably worse.

It was awful. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether the wild, fierce sounds came from the wolf or from the man.

Or to know which of them screamed.

Then suddenly there was silence. Not a twig broke; not a bird sang. She held her breath. Her heart pounded in her ears.

“Rob?” she said softly.

No response.

“Rob!”

No one answered her.

She hunkered down on the branch, trying to decide what to do. She still had Rob’s boot knife. And his claymore stood in the middle of the path. She doubted she could even lift it, let alone wield it.