woman’s face turned cool. ‘Guy de Montpierre, the Duc D’Avignois.’
Alex’s face grew intrigued. Bram could read his brother’s thoughts without words. Rescuing the daughter of a French duke might result in a reward for their clan.
‘I am Marguerite de Montpierre,’ the woman continued, offering them a regal nod. ‘I was betrothed to Lord Cairnross.’ From the distaste upon her face, it was evident that she had not wanted to marry the man.
Bram wasn’t certain why the duke would want his daughter to wed an English lord instead of a French nobleman, but he didn’t ask. Perhaps she was a bastard.
‘You may have our protection until your father arrives,’ Alex agreed. ‘But you’d best pray that Cairnross doesn’t find you.’
The woman pulled the hood of her cloak over her veil and Bram boosted her onto the saddle. In the distance, the garrison was in flames and he saw it crumbling to the ground.
‘I’m glad to see it destroyed,’ Marguerite remarked.
‘How long were you there?’ Bram asked, as he climbed up behind her, urging the horse faster.
‘Only a sennight. But the prisoners …’ She shuddered at the memory.
Bram said nothing, not wanting to know what had happened since he’d escaped. He knew well enough the sorts of tortures that the soldiers used. His chest tightened at the memory.
‘Did you ever see a man called Callum MacKinloch?’ Bram asked, though it was likely a fruitless hope. ‘Younger than me, one of our brothers?’
‘He was sent away a few days ago,’ Lady Marguerite admitted. ‘Oui, I saw him.’
‘Where?’
She shook her head, keeping her gaze fixed forwards. ‘To the south. That’s all I know.’
‘But he was alive and unharmed?’
‘Alive, yes.’
But she didn’t say unharmed. Within her voice he heard a note of worry and wondered what they’d done to his brother.
Don’t think of it now, he urged himself. At least he had a place to begin searching. And in the meantime, until they found his brother, he would spend every minute training.
Never again would he find himself too frozen to move, letting the nightmares of the past dominate him. He would rebuild the skills he’d lost over the years, no matter how long it took.
And he wouldn’t give up until Callum was found.
Four days later
‘You’ve gone brainless,’ Dougal told Nairna.
She shrugged. ‘If you’re too frightened to escort me, I’ll find someone else.’
Her barb struck its mark and Dougal stiffened. ‘And what if I don’t want to? I don’t even like you.’
Nairna tilted her head as though it were no matter. ‘I’m leaving for Locharr now. Monroe is going with me. I suspect he’s strong enough to protect me.’
‘Monroe is afraid of horses.’ Dougal sent a disgusted look towards the adolescent, who was indeed looking nervous about the prospect of riding.
Nairna rested her hands on her hips. ‘He’ll do well enough, if you won’t help.’ She’d not received an offer of any additional escorts from the MacKinloch men. They’d claimed that they couldn’t leave Glen Arrin unattended. Since it was only a few hours’ ride, she saw no choice but to use Monroe and Dougal as her guides. At least there was no need to bring supplies or food. They could return tonight, if the women agreed to it.
She confronted Dougal and demanded, ‘Are you coming or not?’
He mounted the horse Monroe gave him and started off through the valley. Though he kept a sour expression on his face, his posture showed his eagerness for an escape from Glen Arrin.
Nairna reached for her riding gloves, but her right palm wouldn’t slide into the leather. When she reached inside the glove, she found a scrap of linen. She unfolded it and found a dried sprig of purple heather inside.
It must have been from Bram. Nairna blinked, for it had been over a sennight since she’d seen her husband last. The simple gift caught at her heart, and in that moment, the loneliness swelled up inside.
Last night when she’d slept alone, the mattress had seemed larger, the space empty. She’d touched the space where he’d laid his head, praying for his safe return.
It was easier to sleep with his warm body pressed against hers. She wondered what it would be like to roll over and feel his kiss claiming her mouth, his hands moving over her skin.
Nairna stroked the heather, closing her eyes for a moment. Bram had conjured up the past with a single flower, of the days when they’d exchanged gifts with one another. As she tucked the flower away, the shaky emotions started to well up.
Quickly she pretended to check the bridle to hide the foolish tears pricking at her eyes. Despite all the years between them, she still cared about Bram. She touched the heather, promising herself that if he returned, she would be a good wife to him.
As she spurred her mare onwards to catch up to Dougal, Monroe hung behind. Though his own mount seemed gentle enough, the boy’s face had gone white as he gripped the horse’s mane for balance.
Once she was certain he wouldn’t fall, Nairna rode up beside Dougal. He rode as if he’d been born a part of the horse. The natural gait seemed to flow between them and he appeared to revel in the freedom. No longer was he the angry, frustrated young man. Instead, there was a peace upon his expression.
‘Is this your horse?’ she prompted, trying to open a conversation. ‘He’s beautiful.’
‘He belongs to Alex,’ Dougal said. But his hand passed over the stallion’s neck with an air of possession. He quickened his pace, as if to avoid further conversation.
Nairna rode faster, determined not to be left behind. The wind slashed at her face, her hair whipping free of its braid. When he saw that she’d kept up with his pace, surprise transformed his mood. On impulse, Nairna smiled at him. ‘Want to race?’ Without waiting for his reply, she urged her mare into a full gallop.
‘You don’t know where you’re going!’ Dougal shouted.
‘Then you’d best keep up and show me!’ she called back. It had been years since she’d ridden so fast and the exhilaration of speed intensified her enjoyment of the ride.
As she’d predicted, Dougal caught up and overtook her. Nairna tried to increase her mare’s gait, but she knew that the animal would tire too soon. Instead, she kept a slight pace back, letting Dougal have the advantage. He led them towards an enormous castle in the distance, one she’d never seen before. Tall square towers were surrounded by strong walls, perhaps eight feet high.
It must have been built by the Normans, she guessed. Possibly twenty years earlier. It must have taken thousands of
