“Ah,” the man said, and then stepped forward unexpectedly and reached for MacKerrick’s pack. Evelyn thought to resist too late and in a blink the Scot had slung the satchel over his own shoulder. “Lucky for you ’twas my turn at watch, then. There’s been a pack o’ rogue gray wolves roamin’ the land this past winter. Queer beasts.” He sniffed over his shoulder and frowned. “Pardon, missus, but this pack smells of piss.”
Not able to help it, Evelyn gave a watery-sounding laugh. God, her heart was so broken, the pieces so small and splintered that she doubted it would ever be whole again.
“Well, then,” the Scot said, reaching down to scratch Bonnie’s head. “Shall we?” He swept an arm down the slope toward the loch.
“Who are you?” Evelyn demanded in exasperation.
“Och, forgive me, missus!” The man dipped into a low bow. “Andrew Buchanan—cousin of Angus, chief of the Buchanan clan—here to do yer bidding.”
“I—” Evelyn’s head was spinning so that she felt dizzy. “I don’t understand.”
“O’ course nae!” Andrew Buchanan laughed again. “Let’s be off, though, missus—the Buchanan is anxious to make your acquaintance.” He paused. “Youwerecoming to the town, were you nae? Upon Minerva Buchanan’s request?”
“Ah…yea,” Evelyn stammered. “I suppose I was, but—”
“Well, then I’m sure you’re weary from your long journey.” He took in her belly once more. “In fact”—he rushed forward and in an instant had scooped Evelyn into his thickly muscled arms as if she were no larger than Robert—“allow me to ease your burden a mite. ’Tis but a short distance to town.”
Against all good sense, Evelyn laughed again. This man was…irresistable, with his eagerness, his sparkling eyes and quick mirth.
Sebastian chose just that moment to swoop low overhead with a concerned caw, causing Andrew Buchanan to duck and Evelyn to clutch at him with a shriek.
“Blasted sacavenger!” the Scot lamented.
Evelyn frowned. “He is a friend of mine, sir.”
“Oh,” Andrew said, nonplussed. “Oh. Well, then, my apologies, missus. Hold on, now.”
And then Andrew Buchanan fairly leaped from the ledge and bounded down the mountain path, Evelyn and her babe in his arms. Bonnie bleated in panic before hurtling herself and Robert after them. They tripped toward the loch in time with the merry sound of Andrew Buchanan’s carefree whistling.
It had done naught but rain since Conall, Duncan, and Lana had left the MacKerrick town, as if the cluster of black thunderheads followed the small party alone. But the weather suited Conall’s mood—comforted his fear like a sick, swaddling wool and held it tight to his bosom.
Ronan’s hut was deserted. The door ajar, the firepit cold as stone, the long room dark and hollow and damp. Not a trace of Eve remained save the rubble from her and Conall’s parting row. At the discovery of her absence, Conall had nearly lost touch with reality.
’Twas Duncan who had saved Conall’s sanity, remarking that the only obvious place for Eve to have gone was the Buchanan town. Conall knew a brief moment of relief when he realized he had indirectly told Eve of the Buchanan town’s location. He knew she traveled out of desperation. Bonnie and Alinor, even Robert’s hutch, were gone as well, and with her added charges, Conall thought he had a chance of keeping watch over Eve on the trail if they hurried. The thought of her alone in the wood after nightfall…
So they pushed on through the rain until ’twas too dark to safely continue for Conall’s mother’s sake. They made a primitive camp at the mouth of the westward valley, stretched a tarp between two trees for shelter. Duncan flitted about their flickering patch of forest in his usual brusque and efficient manner, gathering downed limbs and dry boughs. Lana set a crock of oats near the fire and laid out meat and bannock.
Conall sat and stared at the fire.
Eve, oh my Eve, that you are safe…
“Eat.” Duncan shoved a piece of bannock-wrapped venison into Conall’s hand, then sat down next to him. He took a large bite of meat and then spoke around his food. “Do we push on, we should make the Buchanan town by the morrow’s dusk.” He swallowed. “If Mam can hold out.”
Lana threw Duncan a stinging glance. “I’m a mite sturdier than you believe me to be, Duncan MacKerrick.”
Conall felt the food cooling in his hand, but had no appetite for it. He laid it on the ground in the shadows.
In a moment, Lana joined the two men, lowering herself to nest on the thick blanket of pine needles on Conall’s other side. She picked up his discarded meal and began to eat it. The night was thick and clammy with mist and fog, the silence clung to the smoke from the fire, broken only by the sound of chewing and the cracking drips of water on the tarp stretched overhead.
“There’s aught the pair of you should know before baring your souls to Angus Buchanan,” Lana said after a long while. “Things of your da, of your uncle. Of Minerva Buchanan, and meself, as well.”
Duncan stretched out his boots, his spindly arms cocked at the elbows, his hands behind his head. “Do tell, Mam. I’ve a fancy for a bedtime yarn.”
“You know that Ronan had wish to marry the sister of the Buchanan, aye? That ’twas the reason for the battle that took Ronan’s life? I’ve nae told you—and neither would have Dáire, I’m certain—but surely you’ve heard old gossip.”
Conall nodded, although in truth, he was not interested in his mother’s tale of past tragedy. His only concern was of Eve. Eve safe, Eve loved, Eve where the taint of his own blood could not harm her or the innocent babe in her womb. The past be damned, the clan be damned.
Only Eve.
