“It’s time for you to turn toward the coast,” Ronan said with a nod in that direction. He, Clyde, and their men spent the morning riding together, but the road split just ahead of them. The sun shone in Clyde’s direction, but pregnant clouds hung low inland. Ronan was certain it would snow before they made camp. He wanted to groan, but it wouldn’t be his first night bedding down during a storm. He thought about how he would prefer to be tucked under the covers with Abigail, a cheery fire in the hearth.
“Three days, aye?”
“Aye. Regardless of what we find, we meet here in three days,” Ronan confirmed. “If you’re not here by nightfall, my men and I ride out to find you.”
“The same for us.”
“I pray we’re here waiting for you before the sun sets tomorrow. Let’s pray we find them dead, but if we don’t, let’s put an end to this quickly.”
“I’m all for that.” Clyde extended his arm, and he and Ronan clasped forearms. The two forces split, heading in opposite directions. Ronan nudged his horse forward, wishing that his trusted destrier were beneath him. But none of the horses they lost had made their way home. Ronan didn’t expect that they would. Someone else would have rounded them up.
Despite moving at a canter, their progress felt slow to Ronan as the wind howled around them. By midafternoon, heavy snowfall forced Ronan and his men to dismount and guide their steeds. The snow accumulated rapidly, making it impossible for them to continue. They sought shelter their second night in a conifer forest, the thick needles keeping the snow out. The men gathered piles of needles before unrolling their bedrolls onto them. They served as insulation against the frozen ground.
By morning, the snow was mid-calf. Ronan considered ordering them to abandon their search until spring, but he knew Cormag’s men wouldn’t return in disgrace, having to admit that they never reached Dun Ringill. He told his men they would search until late afternoon before making camp. If they hadn’t found the men from Dunvegan by then, they would turn back in the morning. It was the only way they would make their rendezvous with Clyde. He didn’t want more of his men trekking through the snow. Even if it snowed near the coast, the heavens wouldn’t dump on them like they had inland. He strongly suspected the MacLeods wouldn’t travel along the coast because it added significant distance to their journey, as they had to weave around bays and inlets. He’d sent Clyde that way because it was a possibility, but he wanted to keep the father-to-be as far out of harm’s way as he could.
“Laird!”
Ronan shielded his eyes from the snow, his lashes already caked with ice. Two of his scouts were jogging through the snow, their knees high with each step. The men were breathless when they reached the rest of the men, their horses snorting puff of steams.
“Did you find something?
“We did. The snow’s covered most of their trail, but the charred ground shows where they camped probably two days ago. There was more than one fire.”
“So their numbers remain large. We’ve encountered no one. Do you think they turned toward the coast?”
“Sort of. We found a few snapped branches showing which direction they left. They’re headed to the Fairy Pools.”
“Bampots,” Ronan muttered before he looked at his men. “Seems their flag isn’t enough to protect them.” The men made camp the night before at the foot of the Black Cuillins near Glenbrittle, and Ronan sent out scouts before dawn. They would have to travel through the Glen Brittle forest to reach the pools, but the pools laid halfway between where Ronan was and where Clyde would be. The pools were a breathtakingly pristine blue in summer with waterfalls pouring into them. While still bone-chilling in the warmest of weather, they were mystical places to swim. But in winter, they would be little more than ice. As spectacular as the landscape was, there were no ancient legends that involved the fae or the MacLeods of Skye. It made little sense to Ronan why their enemy headed there.
The MacKinnons would approach fromAlt Coir’ a’ Mhadaidh—appropriately named “the burn of the wolf’s corrie” since the wild animals hunted there throughout the day and night—and attempt to pursue the men along the River Brittle. This would either push them to the coast or trap them with Clyde and his men blocking their escape to Loch Brittle. It was less than five miles from the pools to the coast, but with the deepening snow, it would be slow for the large number of men in his contingent. It would give Ronan’s scouts time to get ahead and look for Clyde. They changed course as they pointed toward their new destination.
* * *
Abigail stood in the same spot to wave goodbye to Kieran as she had when Ronan rode out. This time she watched Kieran, Kyle, and her former clansmen walk along the docks until they boarded their birlinns. She’d enjoyed her two days with her brother, sharing stories from court that she hadn’t told during her time at Stornoway. She listened as Kieran regaled her with more tales about his children’s antics, always the boastful father. He’d taken her out on his birlinn to explore the loch, but they hadn’t ventured far. She didn’t ask to venture away from the keep on horseback. She didn’t welcome the risk, and she knew Kieran would refuse. Her brother trained in the lists with the other men each morning, and Abigail used the time to get to know Bethea and Angus. She was enchanted with the couple, fully appreciating Ronan’s fond warning that Angus enjoyed antagonizing his wife so they could later make up. It was no small wonder they had so many children; the couple was as lusty as Ronan and Abigail. But they were endearing and kind to her.
Bethea was maternal in a way Adeline never had been, although Abigail had always considered herself close to her mother. Angus reminded her of her father, who’d been overindulgent with his wife and daughters. Abigail never considered manipulating and browbeating Ronan’s seneschal like she had Kieran’s. Despite losing most of her belongings to the Minch, she didn’t ask for anything more than the wool she needed for four pairs of stockings and two sturdy winter gowns. Only a few years ago she would have demanded the finest material for an entirely new wardrobe. She wouldn’t have considered the cost, but now considered each coin spent on her was money taken from clan members who might need it more.
“Ma lady, if ye have the time, mayhap we could go over the ledgers,” Angus offered quietly. She smiled up at the older man and nodded. While Bethea was hardly subtle with anyone, she and Angus had been thoughtful in how they approached Abigail, attempting to stave off loneliness and uncertainty. She appreciated their kindness.
“I have the time, Angus. Thank you.” Angus led Abigail into Ronan’s solar, where he laid out the ledgers on the massive wood table in the center of the chamber. Abigail forced herself not to keep glancing at Ronan’s desk, wondering what he looked like when he sat there.
“Lass, he’ll be home in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Then ye will find him underfoot and a nuisance just like ma Bethea finds me.”
Abigail smiled wistfully at the desk before she looked at Angus. “Aye, and you and I both ken you do it on purpose and love every minute.”
“Just like our laird will.” Angus offered her a fatherly pat on the arm before they sat together to look over the accounts. One look at Angus’s colossal build, and it was obvious he still spent hours in the lists. She’d caught sight of him sparring with Kieran. More specifically, she spied him knocking Kieran on his arse more than once. But the ledgers were in perfect order, all figures written in neat penmanship, and the tallies accurate.
“Angus, may I ask you something?”
“Of course, ma lady.”
“What was the laird’s mother like?”
“Och, Lady Glynnis was wonderful. Ye actually remind me quite a lot of her, except her hair was blonde, and her eyes were brown,” Angus grinned. “She was kind and patient with everyone, especially our laird. He was a troublemaker as a child. He would give his parents fits. Clyde was just as bad. They often led one another astray, but they were adorable when they were wee lads, so it was hard to stay angry. She didna have an easy go of it when she arrived. People werenae vera welcoming, and the auld laird was a rake before he married.”
When Angus went quiet, Abigail smiled encouragingly. “The laird told me aboot a conversation he had with his father aboot that.”
“I suppose ye would have noticed,” Angus mumbled, aware Abigail would have realized Ronan’s inexperience. He cast an assessing glance at Abigail, and she wanted to shift in her seat.
