Page 71 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Colin's destrier thundered across the moors, following the clear trail left by Midnight's distinctive horseshoes. The tracks were easy enough to read in the soft earth—a single horse moving at speed, heading northeast toward the border lands.

Stubborn lass. What were ye thinking, riding out alone?

Behind him, his best men followed in formation, but Colin had pulled ahead in his urgency to find his wife. He could hear Niven shouting something about staying together, about the danger of splitting their forces, but the words were lost in the thunder of hooves and his own mounting panic

The tracks led him through a grove of ancient oaks, then down toward a small burn that bubbled cheerfully in the afternoon light. Colin reined in his destrier, studying the churned earth around the water's edge. Midnight had stopped here, that much was clear. The mare had drunk from the stream while her rider...

Colin's blood turned to ice.

There were deep gouges in the earth where boots had stepped on it, as well as broken branches.

Nay! Nay, nay, nay.

Colin swung down from his saddle, examining the ground with the keen eye of a man trained in warfare. More hoofprints now—approximately five or six additional horses. They'd surrounded Morag here by the water, and from the chaos of tracks, she'd fought them.

Christ almighty, she's been taken.

By the time his men caught up, Colin was already back in the saddle, his face like carved granite. Niven took one look at the scene and understood immediately.

"Fraser's men?" the older man asked grimly.

"Aye. About six of them. They're heading fer the border." Colin's voice was deadly calm, though fury burned through him. "Niven, take half the men and follow the main road. If they try tae circle back, cut them off. MacLeod, take the others and sweep the eastern approach."

"What about ye, me laird?" Niven asked, though his expression said he already knew the answer.

"I'm going after them directly. They have maybe an hour's head start, but they're moving fast and their horses will tire." Colin gathered his reins. "If I can catch them before they reach Fraser lands..."

"Me laird, ye cannae go alone⁠—"

"I'm the only one mounted fer this kind of pursuit," Colin cut him off, gesturing to his powerful destrier. But then he paused, seeing the determined faces of his men. Niven was right—charging in alone would be suicide, and Morag needed him alive, not dead in some heroic but foolish gesture.

"Aye," he said finally, his tactical mind reasserting itself. "Ye're right. Hamish, take the five fastest riders and come with me. The rest of ye follow with Niven—bring every man we can spare, but stay back until I signal."

"What's the plan, me laird?" Hamish asked, already selecting the men and horses.

"We track them, find out where they're taking her, then wait fer the right moment tae strike." Colin's voice was steel wrapped in ice. "But we dae this smart, nae desperate."

Within minutes, Colin rode out with his small advance party—six men total, all mounted on the fastest horses they had. Behind them, Niven organized the main force, who would follow at distance.

Hold on, lass. We're coming.

Guilt threatened to choke him, but he forced it down. Guilt was a luxury he couldn't afford when Morag's life hung in the balance. He had to think like a warrior now, not a husband drowning in regret.

The tracks led northeast, exactly where he'd feared they would. Fraser lands. And from the spacing of the hoofprints, they were moving fast, trying to reach the safety of their own territory before pursuit could catch them.

Nae if I can help it.

Colin leaned low over his horse's neck, his five companions keeping pace beside him. These were good men, seasoned fighters who'd follow him into hell itself. Having them with him felt right—not the desperate charge of a lone husband, but the calculated advance of a military unit.

Hold on, lass. Just hold on.

The sun was already sinking toward the horizon, painting the Highland sky in shades of blood and gold. Soon it would be dark, and tracking would become nearly impossible. If Fraser's men reached their stronghold before then...

Colin's jaw clenched as he pushed the thought away. They wouldn't. He wouldn't let them.

A mile ahead, movement caught his eye. Riders cresting a ridge, moving in formation. Colin counted them quickly—seven horses, one carrying double. His heart hammered against his ribs as he recognized the dark silhouette of Midnight among them.