Twenty-Five
Brodie ran his hand over the smaller boot print, confident that it was Laurel’s. But the five pairs scattered around it made him wonder who had her. He knew for certain Nelson and Matthew were there, and he now suspected they’d orchestrated it. However, he didn’t know who the other men were. He’d questioned the dock master, but the man didn’t know the plaid patterns well enough to identify any of them. Brodie had swallowed his anger, instead ordering his men to ride east along Loch Earn’s northern shore. It was away from MacDougall land, but it would take them toward the Rosses. When he considered who he’d seen Liam and Nelson associating with, he told Graham that they could take her to Edgar’s home at Clyth Castle along the north-eastern coast. He doubted that Andrew MacFarlane would invite them home to hide the kidnapped wife of an ally. If they’d injured Laurel even in the slightest, he would sever his ties to the MacFarlanes and support the Colquhouns, who were the MacFarlanes’ rivals.
“We track them and ride hard. They can’t be that far ahead of us. It’s obvious they made camp here last night since the ground is still warm from their fire, and they only set off an hour before us. The ferry might have made the journey faster than by land, but not by much since we’re riding light. It’s barely two hours past dawn, and we’ve already found where they spent the night.” Brodie looked at Michael once more. He’d ordered the man kept away from him. He didn’t trust himself not to stab Michael if he was within reach. Some Campbell warriors tried to coax Michael to speak, but he’d given nothing away. Brodie learned Wallace was just a lemming who’d followed Michael when he said they could help their laird.
Brodie chided himself for not starting earlier that morning. He might have caught them before they were underway. He was angry and frustrated to discover Laurel had been within two hours’ ride of him. If he’d pushed the men longer the night before or made them rise earlier, he could have found her. But his common sense told him they couldn’t have done either of those things safely. He didn’t have enough men to risk losing more. He’d arrived at Stirling with two score men. He’d lost nearly a dozen fighting the MacDougalls. He couldn’t afford to lose more since he didn’t know how many men his nemeses rode with.
If Edgar was leading Laurel’s captors to Clyth Castle, they had a ten-day ride ahead of them. Brodie told himself that gave him plenty of time to catch them. He gritted his teeth when he acknowledged to himself that he would pass near Balnagown on the way. It would still be a sennight’s ride, but he could seek the help of his father-by-marriage if he didn’t find Laurel first.
Brodie looked north and considered how to implement his plan. He needed a strategy, and he needed to consider logistics. Chasing after Laurel wouldn’t guarantee that he ever caught up to them, even if he wanted to believe he could. He couldn’t count on Nelson not to harm her before he reached her. And while he believed Monty would help him, he couldn’t be sure Laird Ross would. He picked up a twig and squatted beside the footprints. He drew the topography that he faced between where they’d stopped and Balnagown, then added the route to Clyth. He studied his map as he pictured the landscape, judging where he and his men could gain speed and ground over Laurel’s captors. His goal was now to get ahead of them, taking a stand where he chose.
“We abandon the road for the open land. I plan to be waiting for them at Dalwhinnie. If not there, then before they reach Inverness. They’ll likely follow the road and skirt the Cairngorms, but may sail up Loch Tay. If they do, we can catch them at Kenmore. Regardless of whether we find Lady Campbell there, we don’t linger. It’s bluidy Gordon land, and the last thing I need is them involved. We sail from Inverness to Balnagown if we must.” Brodie drew the twig through the dirt to show the route he and his men would travel. It would be even more arduous than the one they’d been on to Kilchurn, but he trusted the Campbell horseflesh. With his resolve to find his wife, he’d seen a shift in his men. He believed they finally understood it wasn’t duty that drove him to find Laurel. It was love.
“Mount!” Graham called out. The Campbell men rode north, remaining on the northeastern side of Loch Tay. He suspected the MacDougalls would attempt to hire birlinns to get them up the loch, but he and his men could still make better time. He had a day’s ride ahead of him. He prayed that he would have Laurel in his arms by nightfall.
* * *
Laurel was going to be ill. She felt the bile rising in her throat, and the horse’s gait beneath her was only making it worse. She struggled to open her eyes, but she was still so sleepy. She thought it would be fitting punishment if she vomited all over Nelson’s leg and boot. Despite her foggy mind, she could no longer hold back the need to cast up her accounts. She pitched to the side and heaved over and over.
“Laurel?”
Laurel’s brow furrowed. She recognized the voice, but she couldn’t understand how her brother sat behind her on the horse. She’d been riding with Nelson the last she recalled. She squeezed her eyes closed against the sunlight, fearing she would be sick all over again. Her arms felt too leaden to wipe her mouth, and her hair was plastered to her neck and forehead as she continued to sweat.
“Mayhap she needs another dose if she’s coming around.”
Laurel was certain she heard Donnan. But what could they be talking about? A dose of what? With horrifying certainty, she recalled drinking the water Matthew gave her. She’d grown too hot and then too sleepy. She didn’t remember meeting her brother, but if Donnan intended to drug her, then Monty was in league with Nelson. Laurel wanted to cry out, thrash against Monty. Anything to break free if her brother colluded to keep her from Brodie. But her body still felt sluggish and out of her control.
The horse drew to a stop, and Laurel fought once more to open her eyes, but it was too hard. Her mind was slowly clearing enough to be aware of what she heard. But it wasn’t sharp enough to understand what it meant. She tried to break free when someone tilted her head back and pressed a waterskin to her mouth. Her instinct to swallow allowed some liquid down her throat, but she recognized the taste. She fought against her captor.
“It’s working. Give her more,” Donnan encouraged.
Working? I’m struggling to wake. I’m not falling back to sleep. At least not yet. If they want me asleep, then why would he think it’s working? I need to tell them. Tell them what? What was I just thinking aboot? Brodie. Tell them.
“Want Brodie,” Laurel mumbled. “Want Brodie.”
“What did she say?” Monty asked. “It sounded like she wants Brodie.”
“Ye—” Laurel was battling the need to sleep as she forced each sound from between her lips. “Bro—”
“It sounds like she’s asking for him not trying to get away,” Monty said, skepticism lacing his tone.
“Stay Bro—” Laurel’s mind went blank as she sagged back into unconsciousness.
“She wants to be with Brodie. That doesn’t fit with what Nelson told us,” Donnan said.
“It doesn’t. I knew it was too much of a coincidence that they’d found Laurel. But I was more relieved to get her away from them.”
“Aye. Whatever we gave her made her worse.”
“I was desperate to rouse her. I took the chance because I feared how deeply she slept. I think the last dose only pushed her mind deeper into blackness.” Monty gazed down at his slumbering sister. He’d been hesitant to trust that the herbs they gave him would help Laurel, but he’d grown desperate. “If she wishes to rejoin Brodie, then we ride in the wrong direction. We double back. It’s two days’ ride to Kilchurn.”
“Hopefully, she rouses if we don’t give her anymore of the water. Then she can tell us what happened.” Donnan frowned as he looked at the woman he’d considered a sister rather than a friend. He hadn’t agreed with Monty many times about how he treated Laurel, and they’d argued in private each time. But he recognized the genuine discomfort Monty experienced. He recognized the guilt. “Make it up to her by getting her back to her husband.”
“That won’t be nearly enough, but it’s a place to start from.”
* * *
Laurel shivered, finally feeling cold rather than overheated. Someone pulled her arisaid tighter around her and held her against a broad chest. For a moment, she thought it was Brodie. But the man’s scent wasn’t right. She recognized it, though. Her eyes didn’t want to open, but her mind was clearer than it had been. She fought the haze and tried to speak.
