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He glanced to the door behind her, and a crease appeared between his brows, causing his smile to disappear. “Dark now,” he said, his sparse words heralding his brewing agitation. Brom loved routine and hated anything that disrupted it.
“Brom,” she said, making her voice stern. “I must ride out now. Someone needs my help. Ready Summerset.”
Her uncle shook his head violently, his shaggy hair whipping from side to side. “Dark now,” he repeated. “Dangerous and dark.”
Sorcha looked toward the castle. Her time to gain a lead was quickly disappearing. “A woman’s life is in danger. I must save her.”
“Dark and dangerous. Dark and dangerous,” Brom sang, his deep voice rising in volume and reverberating through the stables, causing the horse in front of him to neigh and dance.
Sorcha blew out a frustrated breath. She had not anticipated Brom’s response to her request, and she knew that if she tried to charge past him, he would likely swoop her up and march her straight to the castle. She saw no other way to get to Summerset than to trick him, as much as she hated it.
“Aye, I suppose ye’re correct,” she lied. “’Tis too dark to ride now. I’d like to sit with ye a spell though. Will ye fetch my stump from under the oak?”
Brom’s eyebrows dipped together, and she knew he was trying to decide if her sitting here at this hour was too much of a change from what usually occurred, so she hurriedly added, “Please, Brom. Father is in a mood.”
A fearful look swept across Brom’s face. Her uncle may have the mind of a child, but even children could remember what happened when a parent was angry. “The switch hurts.”
Her throat tightened. Brom well knew the switch hurt, as Father had used it on him many times. On Finn, as well, but never on her, Constance, or Mother. Still, she nodded so he’d do as she’d asked. “Aye.” The word caught in her throat with anger and sadness. “The switch does hurt. Will ye get the stump so I may sit with ye until Father’s mood passes?”
He nodded, rose to his towering height of nearly six and a half feet, and started toward the door as he chanted, “Get stump. Get stump. Brom get stump for Sissy.” She hated to leave Brom to deal with Father’s wrath, but there was no choice. He was too unpredictable to take with her.
The second he rounded out of sight, she raced to Summerset’s stall, threw open the door, saddled and bridled the beast, and then led the horse outside. Immediately, voices assaulted her ears. Pinpricks raced across her skin as the flickering of torches lit up the night.
“We ride fast and hard and on my command,” Hugo said to his men, alerting her to the fact that he had come outside fast on her own flight from the castle.
Sorcha didn’t wait to hear more. She swung onto Summerset’s back and turned her away from the oncoming party and toward the woods that would lead them to the trail of the Marching Oaks. The sound of her breath and her thundering heart filled her ears, but as she entered the woods, a high, keening pitch broke through her fear.
“Sissy! Sissy!” Brom called.
Her heart ached at having to leave her uncle, but she would come back for him, no matter what. She stole one glance over her shoulder and met Hugo’s shocked stare before righting herself, nudging Summerset into a gallop, and racing into the forest. She was fast on a horse but so was Hugo. And unlike her, he was accustomed to riding in the dark. She could only pray she would reach the king’s mistress before Hugo did.
Cameron’s senses were on alert as he guided his horse, Winthrop, slowly through the black woods that would take them back home. He rode at the front of the party tasked with guarding King David’s mistress, Katherine Mortimer, as they traveled to Dunvegan to be reunited with the king. Being in the lead meant that he was the first to see signs of danger and warn the others, and he was the first to take any arrows that may be shot at them if he failed to recognize a threat. He welcomed the challenge. For five years, he had worked tirelessly to prove he was worthy of such responsibility and equal to his legendary brothers. This was his chance to attain all he had long desired. That knowledge had been with him since a fortnight ago when they had first left Dunvegan, and it was with him now on the last leg of the journey home.
The darkness penetrated almost everything now that they had entered the thickest part of the forest, yet it did not cause him fear. After years of hunting and tracking through this area, he could travel the land in his sleep. He could not see the roots growing up from the mossy forest floor, yet he knew they were there, so he took care to keep his pace slow. He knew just ahead was the trail of the Marching Oaks because they had traversed four hills, rounded six corners, and crossed two streams. With the Marching Oaks would come such blackness it would feel to those who were not used to it that it swallowed their very soul. The gnarled tree branches would rise on either side of them, the thick leaves blocking all light. But to him, the darkness meant greater protection from ambush, which is why he had chosen this route.
Just before the start of the trail lay a stream, and its trickling water whispered against his ear. He stopped and reached out to his right, brushing his fingertips along the rough branch of the first oak, and then he turned his attention to listening for any sound that was not natural to the forest. The wind whistled, and behind him, leaves crunched and twigs snapped as the men in his party brought their horses to a stop, obeying his silent command. The majority of the men were MacLeod-born, and of those who were not, two of them served King David and the other two served Alex MacLean. It meant that on this mission they served him, the leader, without question.
As if Alex could sense that Cameron had thought of him, the MacLean laird brought his horse up beside Cameron’s. The slow, steady breath of the beasts filled the silence, but there was something else in the air—a low hum that reminded him of the vibrating sound of many galloping horses. “Do ye hear the hum?” Cameron asked Alex in a low voice.
Alex’s brow furrowed as he cocked his head to listen. “I kinnae say for certain. What does it sound like to ye?”
“Horses galloping,” Cameron replied, scrubbing a hand across his chin. The softness gave him pause, until he recalled he had shaved his beard before they left for home.
They sat in silence listening, but he could no longer hear the sound. Maybe he’d imagined it, or maybe the whistling wind merely now disguised it… His gut tightened as he strained to hear, and his muscles twitched in anticipation of what might be coming. An uneasy feeling swirled inside him. In the past several years of strife among the Scottish clans, he’d learned to trust his instincts. And after Graham had almost died defending Iain’s and Lachlan’s wives two years prior, Cameron also learned that in order to be the best warrior he could be, he had to rid himself of the fear that he would never match the skill of his brothers. He still wanted to be as skilled as they were, but he no longer worried that he would not be. Instead, he worked tirelessly so that he would.
“I hear only the normal night sounds of the forest now,” he said in a low voice, “but I feel unsettled.”
“I trust yer instincts,” Alex replied, wiping rain from his face as the light mist had suddenly become heavier. “What do ye wish to do?”
Behind them, Katherine Mortimer’s whiny tone filtered through the dark and grated against Cameron’s ears. He found himself clenching his teeth. He could not wait to be rid of the lady. She had no care for her own safety or the directives he’d given her. He’d explained carefully that they must travel stealthily and in silence, and yet she complained continuously, seemingly oblivious to the noise she made.
The rain began to fall more heavily, making him keenly aware that if someone was to approach, the attackers would now be even more difficult to hear. He drew his sword, and without having to command it, he heard the swish of all weapons behind him being drawn.
“Let us make haste down the trail of the Marching Oaks,” he said. To go around would waste too much time.
“Lord MacLeod!” Katherine Mortimer bellowed. Cameron winced as birds flew out from branches in fright of the woman’s screeching. “Lord MacLeod, why have we stopped? I’m eager to get back to the king.”
He hissed between his teeth at her folly. If an enemywaswaiting for them, her yelling certainly announced their presence. He turned and whistled softly to Rory Mac, a council member of the MacLeod clan and loyal friend, who was one horse behind him and Alex.
