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CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
“Wake up, Murdina, hurry, we must hide,” Kin said, shaking Murdina awake.
They had made camp in a copse of trees close to the shore. Their path had brought them from the heathers and into the sand dunes, the sea crashing on the beach below, and Murdina had been thankful to find a sandbank below which they could lie out of sight and rest.
But now, she opened her eyes and looked up, blinking in the sunlight. Kin was standing over her, an anxious expression on his face, and he beckoned her to follow him, taking her by the hand and helping her to her feet. The pony was tethered to a tree, but Kin ignored it, urging her in a whisper to follow him as he led her deeper into the trees.
“What is it? What has happened?” she asked, and he turned to her and raised his finger to his lips.
“Soldiers–clansmen–your father’s men. They are camped but a short distance away. We did not realize in the darkness. They must have been there all night,” he said, and Murdina’s face turned pale.
“But they wouldnae know we were here,” she exclaimed, and he shook his head.
“Come this way. I have been watching them. We can hide here,” he said, and he led her through the trees and up a bank of brambles to where a wall of gorse bushes grew, their yellow flowers standing out against the greenery of the trees.
Murdina could hear voices, and she followed Kin through an opening in the gorse, which opened up into what was almost a room of hollowed-out branches, the old gorse having died off and replaced by new growth above. It was the perfect vantage point, and through the gorse, Murdina could see a small camp set out below and half a dozen men, their horses tethered in a huddle on the far edge of the clearing. A fire had been lit, and it seemed they were breakfasting before they broke camp. Murdina recognized several of them, and they were no doubt part of the search parties.
“We ride north and then east today–we shall cut them off if they are makin’ for the northern road,” one of them was saying.
“Aye, when I get my hands on that English felon, I shall wring his neck,” another replied.
“And ye will endure the wrath of the laird if ye dae. Tis’ he who wants to see him hung. Abductin’ the daughter of a laird, tis’ a wicked crime,” the first responded.
Murdina smiled to herself. So that was what was believed to have happened, was it? She had not run away of her own accord but been taken by Kin for his own wicked ends. It pleased her to think of the trouble she had caused, but she had no intention of returning home–not until the awful possibility of marriage was passed.
“The laird never should have trusted him–all this talk of his being a Jacobite sympathizer. Once an Englishman, always an Englishman. Is that nae true?” another of the clansmen said, and there was a murmur of agreement.
Murdina and Kin watched as the men packed up the camp and saddled their horses. It would be easy to avoid them now–they would simply follow the trail north and continue along the coast. Her father’s influence extended far, but not that far, and they would soon be away from his jurisdiction and the risk of capture.
“Never trust an Englishman, and as for their king,” one of the men said, and he spat on the ground.
Murdina glanced at Kin, who shook his head and smiled.
“I did not mean to abduct you,” he whispered, smiling at her.
They remained in their hiding place until the clansmen had broken camp, watching as they rode away along the sands. They had not discovered the pony or the place where Murdina and Kin had made camp, and after a meager breakfast of berries gathered from beneath the trees, they set off through the dunes, keeping a careful watch lest they should encounter the clansmen again.
“My father would never wish to admit I had left of my own choice. It would embarrass him too deeply,” Murdina said as they walked through the dunes.
“And so, he makes out I am the enemy in all of this,” Kin replied, turning to her with a smile.
“If he thinks that, then he is a fool,” she replied, but Kin only shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
“But he may be right–I cannot remember who I am–friend or foe. What if I suddenly remember that you are the enemy after all?” he said, and Murdina looked at him curiously.
“Are you still thinking about your nightmare?” she asked, and he nodded.
“I did not know whose side I was on or what sides were represented. Was the castle my own, or did I believe the cause I was fighting for was wrong? I do not know, but it has unsettled me deeply,” he admitted, sighing, and running his hands through his hair as though in frustration.
“You may remember more,” she said.
“But that is just the point. If I remember it as I wish to–that I am A Jacobite sympathizer with a mission to further the cause, then all well and good. But what if the opposite is the case? What if I am your enemy and I remember that fact and then…” he said, his words trailing off.
“Then tis’ a good thing I have a sword and that you have so far failed to beat me in our sparring,” she replied.
He nodded, pausing to adjust the straps on the pony’s burden before clicking his tongue and leading the animal on. But his words brought a question to Murdina’s mind, one which would not easily go away. What if he was right? Her feelings for Kin were confused–there was passion in what they had shared the previous night, the beginnings of feelings she had not felt before. But there was a question, too, and it prevented her from giving herself to him fully: who was he? He did not know himself, and while Murdina could find in him much to attract her, she wondered, too, what the truth might be when at last he remembered.
“I hope you will not find cause to use it,” he replied, urging the pony on through the dunes.
