“It will be all right,” she tried to reassure him. “I promise, I’ll take no risks with this bairn.”
She’d appeared paler than usual, but when he’d questioned it, she’d simply embraced him, saying, “I’ll miss you, that’s all.”
Every part of him wanted to stay with her, though it wasn’t possible. He could only pray that they would remain safe from harm.
Theytraveledwestformost of the day, and when night fell, they reached the outer boundaries of Moristerry, the MacLachors’ stronghold. “Remain hidden,” he said to Bram, drawing their horses away from the open land and toward the tree line edging the mountains. He wanted to gather more information about them before they approached in the morning.
Bram drew his horse to a stop. “We should climb to higher ground and make our camp. Then we can watch them and see what’s happening.”
Alex followed Bram into the trees until they reached a flattened section of the hill where a tiny waterfall streamed downhill, offering a place for the horses to drink. As they set up their camp for the night, Alex reached into a fold of his cloak, intending to strike flint for a fire. His hand came into contact with tiny teardrops of glass.
The hard bits of glass were emerald, ruby and sapphire in color, along with a few clear droplets. Laren must have put them there when she’d said goodbye. They were the same pieces of glass he’d given her, years ago.
The physical reminder of his wife caught him without warning. He squeezed the hard pieces, as if he could hold on to her.
And he knew then that she was thinking of him, just as he held her image in his mind.
Finianstaredattheyoung girl in the afternoon light. She reminded him of his own daughter, with her sunny smile and innocence. His fists clenched as he remembered Iliana and the way she used to run into his arms as he scooped her up. He remembered her laughter when he tossed her into the air and how she’d clutched his neck when she came down again.
His throat closed up and he wondered what Iliana had suffered at Harkirk’s hands. Was she alive? Had they harmed her?
It had been too long. Now that the MacKinloch chief and his elder brother had left, his opportunity was at hand. He needed to act now, for his daughter’s life depended on it.
Finian smiled at the child and offered his hand. She stared a moment, unsure of what to do. When he pulled a handful of dried cherries from a fold of his cloak, she took a step closer.
“That’s right, wee one,” he coaxed. “Come and have a taste.”
God forgive me for what I must do.
“WhereisAdaira?”Larendemanded.
Vanora sent her a questioning look. “I thought she was playing with Grizel by the loch. Isn’t she?”
“Grizel hasn’t seen her in the last hour.”
Laren’s skin grew icy. From deep inside, she sensed something was wrong. She started running toward the loch, but there was no sign of her daughter. Her heart pounded faster as she searched, agonizing over the thought of any harm coming to Adaira.
I should have stayed with her. Her side ached as she kept running, praying she would find her unharmed.
She stumbled inside the cavern, and her heart froze with fear. A foreign piece of parchment lay atop her glass with writing she couldn’t read. And resting upon the paper was a lock of Adaira’s hair.
Laren gripped the lock of hair and a rage erupted inside her. Someone had taken her daughter. But where? And why? Whoever had taken her daughter hostage was a dead man.
She seized the parchment and ran back to Glen Arrin, her anger brewing hotter until it boiled over. “I need someone who can read,” she demanded when she saw Dougal. Anyone to interpret the writing and discover what it meant.
“What’s happened?” His expression held confusion as he stared back at her.
“Someone has taken Adaira. I need to find out who.” Laren held up the parchment and repeated, “Help me.”
Startled gazes eyed her, and Laren realized she’d been shouting. Her hand clenched the lock of her daughter’s hair, and she wished to God that Alex were here. If he were, he’d be tracking the man even now.
She took a deep breath, trying to find the inner strength she needed to keep from falling into hysteria. Adaira was her baby, her sweet girl who kept crawling into her bed when she was supposed to be sleeping with her sister.
Dougal was already off and running, but before he could get far, she spied a horse and rider approaching. Dressed in a priest’s robes, the man continued on until he reached the gates. He dismounted and walked toward them, a parcel in his hands. When he greeted them, introducing himself as Father Ossian from Inveriston, Laren couldn’t gather her thoughts together. She didn’t want to hear about the new kirk or answer questions about why the glass panels weren’t finished. Right now, every thought was with Adaira.
Calm yourself, she ordered.This priest can read the markings, the same as any other.
“Can you tell me what it says on this parchment?” Laren asked quietly, her pulse racing.
