Page 23 of Sins of the Highlander

Angus Fletcher squinted against the glare of the winter sun on Loch Eireann. His longboat was provisioned for the journey. He’d already talked to his neighbor in the next glen, Rory Comyn, about looking to the needs of his barnyard beasts while he was gone. Rory agreed, but even so, Angus would have to count the hens twice when he returned. Everyone knew the Comyns had sticky fingers.

Now if only his passengers would arrive when Rob MacLaren said they would.

Sailing the loch was a fickle enterprise in the best of times. It was a long, narrow stretch of trouble, bounded by the central Highlands all round and so deep in spots, no one knew for certain whether there was a bottom. Then there was the changeable current that might turn a boat about if a man weren’t careful or turn it all the way over if he didn’t show Loch Eireann the proper respect.

Winter didn’t help matters either. The loch water was fresh, but Angus had never seen it freeze solid. Sometimes warm, sometimes frigid, the pesky current turned the waters over too often for that.

Then, too, some folk believed an each uisge lived beneath the loch’s dark water. Angus had never actually seen a water horse, but he didn’t discount the existence of one. It didn’t do to disregard the spirits of a place. The faerie folk had claimed Loch Eireann centuries before he eked out a living on its shores. The water horse would remain hidden in its depths long after Angus was worm food.

When Rob first approached him about this trip, Angus was happy to finally have a chance to repay his friend. But he had tried to convince him to go east instead. Sailing in that direction, the loch emptied into the lovely River Earn, which flowed all the way to the Firth of Tay and the shining sea beyond. It was said to be a grand trip.

A man ought to see something of the world, and the Firth was as far away as he could imagine.

But the MacLaren was adamant. He’d go west to Lochearnhead or not at all.

Angus glanced at the shadows thrown by the morning sun, gauged how much time they had until the current switched, and then it wouldn’t matter what Rob wanted. There’d be no gainsaying the wind and standing waves.

“Well, if the MacLaren will no’ come to us, we must see what’s keeping him,” Angus told Fingal, his deerhound.

The burly highlander threw a cloak over his shoulders, picked up his walking staff, and strode into the forest. The shaggy, long-legged hound loped beside him.

***

“There’s another sign!” Elspeth’s father called out and urged his mount forward. He leaned from the back of his dun-colored mare and scooped a ragged pink sleeve from a tangle of blackberry bush. Stewart brandished the cloth for Lachlan to see as if it were a victory banner, a tentative smile on his face.

Lachlan Drummond was less hopeful about their search. True, Mad Rob hadn’t made good on his threat to kill the girl if they followed. And she seemed to be watched lightly enough to be able to leave markers on her way. But once they caught up to the MacLaren, Drummond wouldn’t give a pair of coppers for Elspeth Stewart’s chances.

A cornered boar has little to lose and may as well take a tusk to the nearest thing to him.

Revenge would be best served if Mad Rob gave them reason to hope and let them catch up to him before he slit the girl’s throat before their eyes. Then he wouldn’t care if they tore him to pieces. He’d have had his moment.

That’s what Lachlan would have done if their positions were reversed.

Drummond kicked his horse into a canter to close the distance between him and Stewart.

“We’re gaining on them.” Alistair folded the rosy sleeve with care and squirreled it away in his sporran along with all the other bits of silk they’d collected. “I can feel it.”

“Aye, but I’m wondering if it isna too easy. The girl is leaving so many clues, we may be playing right into the fiend’s hands,” Drummond said, giving his black beard a thoughtful tug. “I’m thinking we ought to call in the support of our allies. The MacLaren’s sins aren’t just against us, ye ken.”

“I dinna follow, unless ye mean Elspeth. He’s besmirched my daughter’s honor more than ours.” Stewart continued toward the forest, looking for another scrap of silk. “Who better than her father and betrothed to defend her?”

“The MacLaren has acted against the queen’s wishes by interrupting the wedding,” Drummond said. “Mad Rob invited us to collect Elspeth at Caisteal Dubh at month’s end. Wouldn’t ye like to see his face when we arrive there flanked by the queen’s own guard? After all, there’s some that would say what he’s done rises to the level of treason.”

The possibility of his enemy dying a traitor’s death gave Lachlan a warm glow of satisfaction.

“No, I canna think of that,” Stewart said. “We have to find Elspeth now. Her mother willna be satisfied to wait. Not even on the queen’s pleasure. We must press on.”

But before they could, a riderless black stallion came careening out of the woods. Drummond recognized the beast as Mad Rob’s and spurred his mount into pursuit. After half a mile, he pulled even with the stallion and grasped its reins long enough to yank it to a halt.

The MacLaren’s horse was flecked with foam and nearly blown. Otherwise, Lachlan knew he’d never have been able to catch it.

Stewart rode up to him. “Holy God, he’s covered with blood.”

The horse’s flanks were caked with dried splotches, and an open gash sent a rivulet of fresh red down his long leg. Stewart met Drummond’s gaze. Neither man had to say it aloud.

Rob MacLaren and his captive had been attacked by a pack of wolves, and the fact that they were no longer on horseback did not bode well.

“We have to press on, Lachlan,” Stewart said softly, his tone grim. “I have to know what befell her. Whatever we may find.”