Heather came up to Owen’s side, to enter into the discussion. “Were they wed?”
“Either wed or on their way to bein’,” the innkeeper’s wife confirmed, with a nod. “I spoke to ‘em for a time, as I do when there are new folk in me inn. Asked ‘em where they were headed, so it came as a surprise when they told me they were goin’ to the cottage out yonder, in what we call Brock Woods.”
Heather took hold of Owen’s hand. “Half a year ago, you say?”
“Aye, around that time.” The innkeeper’s wife frowned. “I didnae see the lad again, but I saw Edith from time to time, comin’ into the village. I’m nae sure how they came into possession of that cottage, neither, though I recall someone sayin’ it belonged to Edith’s maither’s family.”
Heather squeezed Owen’s hand. “Where can we find it? If you would be so kind as to draw us a map or give us detailed directions, we would be mightily grateful.”
“And ye must nae tell a soul that ye’ve told us of this,” Owen added. “There might be men comin’. Sassenach soldiers. Pretend ye ken nothin’ at all, for yer own safety.”
The innkeeper’s wife nodded effusively. “I wouldn’ae breathe a word to any Sassenach. I wouldn’ae even let ‘em into me inn.” She offered an apologetic glance to Heather. “Ye and that lad over there are an exception, of course.”
“Thank ye kindly.” Owen smiled, though his heart was clenching with anxiety. There was no telling when Elias and his men would appear. Still, he prayed that the terrible weather would delay them for a while. “Now, where do we go?”
Driving rain, fresh from the mountains, transformed the night into a world of impossible darkness. It did not matter how many times Owen wiped the cold water from his eyes; more replaced it. Although, he was more concerned with the shivering figure who sat in front of him. He could do nothing more than hold Heather tightly with one arm and pray she would not catch her death of cold.
“Are ye sure that innkeeper’s wife kens where this cottage is?” Sawyer called out, sounding as miserable as Owen felt. It could not be helped. They needed to reach Edith, one way or another.
Brandon, who led the small group, turned back and held up a shielded lantern. The only speck of light in the impenetrable shadows around them. “I do believe this is the right path. It echoes the directions that William spoke of in his letter, though the innkeeper’s wife was far more thorough.” He swung his lantern out, spilling muted light onto a moss-covered lump of stone. “Brock Woods. We must be going the right way.”
Owen eyed the old waymarker, until his eyes saw the eroded words that Brandon had seen. It did, indeed, say “Brock Woods,” but Owen was beginning to feel uneasy about their progress. He did not like to think ill of his allies, and Laird McVey had never attempted to act against Clan Dunn, but what if Elias had gotten to the innkeeper’s wife before they did?
That wretch wouldn’ae hesitate to use potent threats.For one thing, the inn had been extremely quiet, and there had been no sign of the innkeeper. If it was some kind of captive situation, perhaps the poor woman had no choice but to lead Owen and his group astray.
“Did William speak of these woods?” Heather chimed in, her teeth chattering against the wet and cold. Evidently, she was thinking the same kind of thing as Owen.
Brandon nodded. “He called them “Badger Woods,” but I do believe “Brock” is an old Scottish word for “Badger.” It must be the same.”
“Aye, it is,” Sawyer confirmed, “but what if ye’re both leadin’ us toward a grim fate? It wouldn’ae have been too difficult for yeto get to the innkeeper’s wife before we arrived. What did ye threaten her with, eh?”
He feels as I feel.Owen held his breath, wondering if Brandon would answer. However, in the inclement weather, it proved difficult for Owen to see Brandon’s face, but he heard the splutter of outrage sure enough.
“After all I have done to support your Laird’s innocence, you would make such abhorrent accusations?” Brandon brought the lantern up to his face, where his eyes burned with rage. “I would urge you to remember that you have not lost someone who was as dear as a brother andwasa brother to Miss Heather! I would not betray William’s memoryoryour Laird.”
At that moment, Heather uttered a yelp, jolting in Owen’s secure embrace. Her finger shot out, pointing into the dripping black of the woodland they were about to enter.
“There is… someone there!” she hissed, diverting the three men from their petty squabbling.
From out of the trees, a figure emerged, slicked with rainfall and wielding a bow and arrow in her hands. Judging by the way she wielded the weapon, with one eye squinted, and an air of calm about her, she knew how to shoot.
“I can loose four arrows before any one of ye kens ye’re dead,” the woman declared, in a chilling voice. “Who are ye, and what business do ye have in Brock Woods?”
The woman could not have been too much older than Heather, with long, loose dark hair that appeared almost black in its wetness. She wore a simple dress of white or gray, cinched at the waist by a coil of rope. Her attire spoke of poverty, yet her figure denoted good health, as did the angry shine of her eyes. She was extraordinarily pretty, in truth, though no beauty would ever come close to that of Heather. At least, not in Owen’s opinion.
“Are ye those Sassenach wretches?” the woman turned her arrow toward Brandon first.
Immediately, Owen jumped in. “Two of us are Sassenach, but they have nay loyalty to where they hail from. They’re friends of ours, and we’re nae Sassenachs.” He paused. “Have ye seen Sassenach soldiers hereabouts?”
“Have I seen Sassenach soldiers?” The woman snorted. “I spied ‘em on the road comin’ north, while I was fishin’ by the loch not a few hours ago. They were on the opposite shore, but I kent where they were goin’. Now, answer me question—what brings ye to Brock Woods?”
Owen thought for a moment. “Are they the first that’ve tried to come here?”
“Nay, and they willnae be the last, but they cannae find me. They’ll never find me.” The woman’s lip curled into a grimace. “They daenae ken what sort of lass I am.”
Just then, Heather slithered out of Owen’s grasp and clambered down from the saddle, before he could stop her. He heard herwince, as if she had rolled her ankle, but that did not prevent her from walking right up to the woman, facing down the arrow.
“Are you Edith Morton?” Heather choked: her body shaking violently from the cold.
