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Miracle of miracles, they’d pulled it off. Now, all they had was a stiff day’s climb up to a crofter’s cottage. There he hoped they would find shelter and a hopefully not-too-long and not-too-cold wait for rescue. He trusted that Davey and Foster had gotten through with his message to Lord Riddick. If not, he would have to devise another plan to get Donella home.
They splashed through a little creek that separated the field from the first set of foothills. Logan glanced at Donella, who seemed unperturbed by their narrow escape.
“Ready for a climb, lass?”
She shot him a wry glance. “‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills.’”
Then she set off briskly up the narrow track, leaving him to follow in her footsteps.
* * *
Logan glanced back, checking Donella’s progress. She’d fallen considerably behind him now, grimly making her way up the narrow track. He’d offered several times to take her bundle, or even haul her up the steepest bits by the hand. Each time, she’d politely declined with the reminder that she too had grown up in the Highlands and was sturdier than she looked.
She didn’t look particularly sturdy, though, with her willowy build and pale complexion. While he couldn’t help but worry, Donella was both stubborn and proud, and he’d not insult her again by insisting she needed help.
Thankfully, they’d evaded their pursuers—more Murray clansmen, presumably. He suspected it might not occur to them that he would take a gently born lady into the mountains. The blighters had probably headed back out onto the highway or gone haring off down the blessedly large number of country lanes.
If their luck held out, Logan and Donella should reach the rendezvous point before nightfall.
Alec Gilbride probably wouldn’t be there. Donella’s cousin was resourceful, but it would still take him a full day to reach the remote crofter’s cottage high in the hills above Loch Katrine. And that would only be if Foster and Davey had made it back to Blairgal Castle in good order. While Donella was right to feel anxious about the well-being of Riddick’s men, Logan continued to downplay her concerns. For one thing, she didn’t need the additional worry. For another, Foster and Davey would feel honor bound to protect their laird’s niece by any means necessary, no matter the cost.
Logan reached a level stretch of trail with several large, flat rocks by the side of it. Thank God the weather had cooperated. Even though it was almost the end of November, the skies were sunny and the breezes fairly mild. But dusk would be upon them soon, and the temperature would plummet. Climbing these narrow, rocky paths after dark would be treacherous, and spending the night outdoors would be challenging. He’d done it hundreds of times over the years, both in Scotland and in Canada. He would survive just fine.
But Donella wasn’t dressed to spend a night on a cold mountain, even with a fire and huddled under a ratty old blanket. For all that the convent had toughened her up, she was still unused to conditions like this.
She huffed as she trudged up the last bit to join him, starting to limp. They’d been climbing for hours, with only brief stops and yet the lass hadn’t complained once. She’d even completed the first part of the climb with serene good cheer, but the last few hours, when they’d moved out of the foothills into proper mountains, she’d fallen silent, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.
Donella looked up as the path leveled out, stumbling to a halt as if surprised to see him there. “Why are we stopping?”
“I thought we could both use a rest. That last stretch was rather steep.”
She rolled her eyes. “You mean you thinkIcould use a rest. You’d be miles ahead by now, if not for me.”
“Nonsense. You climb better than any woman I’ve ever known.”
She sank down onto a nearby rock and dropped her makeshift pack on the ground beside her. “Do you actually know any women who climb?”
“A few.”
She raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Back in Canada,” he clarified. “The trappers’ wives often travel with them. They were as capable of surviving in the wilderness as their husbands.”
“Uncle Riddick mentioned once that you had established a fur trading business in Canada. He said you’d done quite well.”
“Furs and timber. My business is based in Halifax, but I’m in the process of expanding in Scotland, too.”
She stretched out one of her legs and began absently rubbing her knee. Clad as she was in close-fitting breeches, it was impossible to avoid noting that her legs were long and shapely.
“My uncle also has interests in the timber trade.” She flashed him a smile that looked more like a grimace as she worked down to the muscles of her calf. “You should talk to him about it sometime. Uncle is always looking for ways to improve his businesses, and I’m sure you’d have much in common.”
Logan made a noncommittal noise.Uncle,in fact, had a reputation for being rather cutthroat when it came to business. And since he’d only just started talking to Riddick about possible joint ventures, he wouldn’t mention it to her. Experience had taught him that displays of eagerness in the early stages of negotiations were never a good idea.
Besides, he made it a point not to discuss business with elegant Scottish ladies. They were rarely interested, for one thing, and some had an alarming tendency to gossip. Not that Donella seemed the gossiping sort, but shewasa Haddon. Anything he told her would likely make its way back to her uncle.
He glanced across the valley at the rugged hills. The sun was rapidly setting and would soon fall behind Ben Venue on the opposite side of Loch Katrine. Best they get a move on, or they’d never reach the cottage by nightfall.
“It’s grand, isn’t it?” Donella said.
