Colum slid down from Rua’s back and walked to the jagged edge of the steep ravine. The raw wilderness spread out before him. The rugged terrain of this part of MacKenna land created a tapestry of muted blues and greens broken by patches of gray-white weathered stone. He closed his eyes, tilted his head away from the wind, and listened.
The high-pitched keen of a soaring eagle pierced the dreariness of the heavy gray clouds. Swaying branches of towering pines dotting their way down the furrowed mountainside gently whooshed against each other. The heavy brushes of green whispered about the chill of the wind tossing aside their limbs. Trickling water of a nearby stream murmured with a weak, bubbling gurgle. Ice from the night’s falling temperatures threatened to silence the burn’s gentle song.
He slowly turned, scanning the landscape. The open throat of hisléineflapped against his chest. He ignored the bite of the cold damp wind. Fury warmed him more thoroughly than any fire.
From a bit farther up the narrow hard-packed trail, he scanned the ragged hills and ravines for the slightest bit of movement. How could Sutherland and his men have gained such a lead, especially burdened with several riders and a wagon? Nothing moved across the wild, vicious grandeur of the land.
He turned and squinted at the steep incline rising on the other side of the dirt path. Patches of dark gray jutted out from clumps of twisted trees much smaller than those at his level. The higher up the side of mountain, the more the trees gave way to tangled carpets of dense vegetation. Solid masses of rock sprouting from the sparse terrain belied the treacherous patches of loose shale waiting to give way at any moment.
Sutherland had no idea of the dangers hidden in this part of the Highlands. Colum’s blood ran cold and he worried with the reins, leading Rua along beside him. His precious Kenna knew even less about the ruthlessness of this place. If anything happened to her. . . He bowed his head. Seething rage shot through him.
He scraped the road with the toe of his boot, then squatted in the center of the rutted path. A faint indentation left by a wagon wheel caught his eye. A light load. A precious load. He slowly stood and allowed his gaze to follow the winding trail hugging the curve of the mountain.
The faded sun sagged lower on the horizon. Its weak rays struggled to send the promise of warmth and light across the land. The day was nearly spent, but Colum’s search was not. With night falling, Sutherland and his men would soon make camp. Hopefully, with the cold and the knowledge that the woman they carried was not used to braving the elements, the bastards would relent and build a fire. Then—Colum sucked in a deep breath—then the eternal battle of light against darkness would lead him straight to his love. His enemy’s fire would serve as a beacon.
His resolve strengthened, he settled back in the saddle and urged Rua onward. Neither he nor the beast would rest until Kenna was back where she belonged.
He kept Rua trained to the softer earth at the edge of the narrow road. The muffled thumps of the great horse’s steady gait faded quickly in the dense vegetation attempting to reclaim the narrow path cut through the land. Anyone farther than a few yards away would never hear them coming.
The horse’s huffing breath clouded in the air with a silvery mist. The cold dampness left glistening crystals of moisture along the stiff short whiskers scattered around the beast’s nose. Colum scrubbed a hand across the frost of his own breath building on his face. Sutherland damn well better keep Kenna sheltered. If she suffered from this weather, Colum would do his level best to take even longer to kill the marauding chieftain.
He shifted in the saddle and rolled the tension from his shoulders. At least the last of the dull ache had finally faded from the base of his skull. Lady Trulie had healed away the worst of the pain, but there had been no time to mend completely. He sucked in another deep breath of the clean cold air and forced his eyes open wider. Nothing mattered but saving Kenna. Physical pain could be shrugged aside—ignored. But heartache was a type of pain he could not bear.
Rua snorted a grumbling nicker and tossed his shaggy head. The sturdy warhorse quickened his ground-eating trot like a hound just discovering an elusive scent. Colum leaned forward, straining to see through the cloud of misting rain crawling down the side of the mountain. “What is it, lad? Is our lady close?”
A bone-chilling howl pierced the air, getting louder and changing pitch as it rose from the bowels of the ravine running along the left side of the road. A second howl and then a third, higher-pitched yipping filled the growing shadows. Colum’s own irritated growl stirred the sense of urgency unfurling in his gut. Wolves.
Rua grumbled again and slowed his pace. With each step, he lifted his front hooves higher and brought them down harder in a threatening stomp. His black ears flattened against his head, leaving absolutely no doubt as to the horse’s current mood. Rua hated wolves almost as much as he hated fire.
Colum unsheathed his sword and balanced it across his lap. From the location of the now multiple yips and howls, the pack was moving through the woods at a loping pace. His uneasiness grew. Wolves were usually silent hunters. Why were they howling? Were the animals tracking Sutherland and his party? Had bloodlust and hunger caused the pack to toss caution to the wind? Many an unwary traveler had fallen to the beasts of late.
If not for Lady Trulie’s outspoken wrath, Gray would have ordered every wolf on MacKenna land hunted down and killed. Other clans had taken such measures to protect their stock. Even the king had ordered hunts to bring the voracious predators in check.
Colum couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of the Sinclair women’s reaction to Gray’s proposal. Lady Trulie had all but boxed Gray’s ears in front of all those gathered in the great hall when he had broached the subject of a wolf hunt. Luckily for Colum, he had seen the fire in Kenna’s eyes before it was too late and kept his own mouth shut. His chieftain was on his own. All the Sinclair women knew their own minds and were not afraid to speak them.
But wolves did pose a problem. He tensed and shifted forward in the saddle. A sense of foreboding goaded him on as he urged Rua back to the center of the road. “We best quicken the pace, old friend. The noise will just be damned.” He had already failed to protect Kenna once. He would face any danger, anywhere, before he allowed himself to fail to protect her again.
CHAPTER23
Aheavy cloak settled down around her shoulders. Kenna tore her gaze away from the glowing coals undulating at the base of the fire and found herself snared in Ronan’s unusual steely gaze. His eyes were the oddest pewter shade. They reminded her of deadly liquid mercury. Such a strange color for eyes.They almost gave her the impression that the man was filled with molten metal—like some futuristic being attempting to pass as human. She blinked the absurd thought away. Now was not the time to go bat-shit crazy.
“Thank you.” She pulled the garment closer around her. The frigid night air had settled in heavy and damp with the threat of snow. The rocky slab of ground under her pallet radiated the bone-chilling moisture up into her flesh.
“The air has a particular bite to it tonight this high in the mountains. I wouldna wish a chill to come upon ye.” Ronan sat on an upturned chunk of wood beside her and stared into the fire. “Liam reports ye neither ate yer midday meal nor took a single bite of the fine roasted meat Rebbie prepared for the lot of us. Such news troubles me greatly.”
“I am just not hungry.” The chain knotted around her waist rattled a dull metallic reminder that he kept her on a short leash. She curled her knees up to her chest and snuggled deeper into the warm richness of the heavy wool wrapped around her body.
And she wasn’t lying about not being hungry. Well . . . maybe just a little. Frustration made it impossible to eat right now. Icy, sweet water from the nearby spring had slaked her thirst, and a chewy crust of a day-old bannock had been enough to chase away any light-headed feeling of deprivation. She really didn’t need anything else. All she needed right now was for Colum to show up and take her back home.
She flinched and tried to hold in a rumbling growl churning through her middle, willing her stomach to be silent by visualizing the last meal she had been offered. That memory alone quelled any sign of appetite she might entertain. She just couldn’t make herself eat whatever varmint Rebbie had speared for supper. The thing had looked horrendous. A shudder stole across her, a combined result of cold air and the all-too-fresh memory of some strange skinned carcass slowly turning on a spit.
Roman’s face puckered into a tighter scowl. The shadowy lines around his eyes grew deeper in the flickering light of the fire. His disgruntled huff misted in the freezing air as he rose and tossed another chunk of wood into the center of the flames. “We have a long journey ahead. Ye must keep up yer strength. I willna have ye become ill.”
She studied him. His displeasure at her not eating seemed real enough. Was he actually concerned about her welfare? A huffing laugh almost escaped her. Of course he would be concerned. If she didn’t survive this trek through the Highlands, he would be forced to go to the trouble of finding another suitable female to steal.
Kenna rubbed the back of her hand across the icy tip of her nose. He was an odd bird; she would give him that much. In her opinion, a man willing to kidnap a wife would be a selfish brute only concerned about pleasing himself. But Ronan really didn’t come across that way. He almost seemed . . . nice? Yes. He seemed nice. She pulled the hood of the cloak closer around her face and propped her chin on her hand. How could a kidnapper seem nice? A deep sigh escaped her. Hunger and weariness must be toying with her mind.
With a short limb as thick as his forearm, Ronan raked the hottest coals around to her side of the fire. Welcomed heat radiated against her face with a skin-tingling toastiness. He balanced more logs on their ends around the fire, forming a teepee of fuel that would burst into a full-fledged bonfire once all the moisture from the wood evaporated.
