Behind her, light shone out as the tavern door burst open again and someone's shadow appeared in the doorway.
"Mary!" Cailean shouted. "Mary!"
A sob caught in Maeve's thought and she leaned forward, spurring her heels and urging her horse forward. She'd leave Cailean shouting for a woman who did not exist and she'd save him, even if he'd never know it.
Her horse galloped away at speed back in the direction of the blacksmith's hut and beyond, but Maeve made sure to twist and turn in her path, drawing as much attention as she could as she passed through the village. She was almost clear of the village entirely when she heard a faint noise in the distance.
"What's that?" an unfamiliar voice shouted over the confused din. "Someone's gettin' away!"
Determination and fear filled Maeve, and she stared straight ahead as she galloped on, ignoring the wind as it whipped the tears against her cheeks.
Cailean couldn't understand what was happening. His tactical mind was filled with ways to try to protect his camp and the village from the Darachs, but the rest of him was too caught up in his confusion about what Mary was doing. One minute, she'd been laughing, joking, and if he wasn't mistaken, even flirting with him. The next, she'd run away so quickly that he could barely keep up with her.
He saw her horse as she fled, apparently not hearing his voice calling over to her. Was she going to warn the rebels that the Darachs were here, and help them prepare for however they were going to get out of this one? It made sense to get to them as soon as possible, but Mary was riding off in the wrong direction for that. Maybe she was going to try looping the village, but wouldn't that defeat the point of rushing off?
Not only that, but the way she was riding was conspicuous. Her top skills were her stealth and dexterity, but the way she had fled was the most noticeable possible, and she was riding directly toward where the Darachs had been sighted.
Cailean reached his own horse and froze momentarily in place as he tried to calm his racing pulse and work out what he was supposed to do. The rebels needed to be warned. Someone needed to tell the council so that they could come up with a plan of action to protect not only the people of their movement but the villagers here in Broken Windmill. Cailean was a skilled and competent rider, and he knew that he would be able to help execute any plan that they came up with, even at short notice — he'd proven that to himself only a few months ago. But…
What was Mary doing? What?—
A thought hit him then, one that made him shiver to his very core. Could it be possible? Was she… could she be…?
His mind rebelled against the way he was thinking, but he managed to get himself under control. Now was not the time for emotions and it definitely wasn't time to focus on anything that wasn't a solid fact. He needed to act and he needed to act now.
"Arthur!" he called behind his back. The old blacksmith had followed him out of the tavern and was standing close by, looking toward him with the new kind of reverence that the cursed pin had brought. "I need a favor from ye."
"Anythin' for ye," Arthur said in a strange, respectful voice that made Cailean's stomach curl uncomfortably. "Name it."
"Get tae the camp, or get someone who can go quicker tae get there if it's easier," Cailean instructed, not allowing himself to focus on his own discomfort either. He had a job to do and he had already spent too much time pondering, even though it had only been a moment or two when all these thoughts had been spinning in his mind. "Warn them of what's happenin'."
"I'll send one of the lads. They can be trusted," Arthur promised him. "What about ye? What will ye do?"
"I need tae go after her," Cailean said. Then, without another word, he mounted his horse and sped off into the night, praying that whatever Mary had done, it wasn't too late to help her.
Or to find out the truth.
14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Maeve wasn't sure if anyone was following her. She wasn't even sure if the voice that had shouted belonged to one of the Darach men or if it had simply been one of the villagers noticing her speeding away. She couldn't stop to check or allow herself to panic; she needed to make sure that she was definitely noticed and definitely being followed, or else all of this would have been for nothing. Images flashed in her mind of the night she'd found Malcolm dead — the blood on her hands as she'd blindly touched his body in her shock — and they were soon replaced with imagined horrors of other deaths. Patty. Ferda. Darren, Fergus, the cooks, Ben or Lillian, Kier or Ewan or Hamish. Her beloved mentor and savior, Senan.
Or… or Cailean. Cailean could be the one laying there, pale and cold, blood seeping from his body, if the Darachs caught up to him. And if they did, it would be her fault.
Maeve gritted her teeth. No. This wasn't possible; she wouldn't allow it.
In front of her, the hills that backed the smithy rose, hills which had hidden a place of wonder and excitement only hoursbefore. This afternoon, riding this way had been a sign of hope and joy, proof to Maeve that she'd finally found a new start, but as she sped past the smithy and directly toward the area where Arthur had mentioned he'd seen the Darachs, that had all changed.
Sure enough, a temporary camp rose before her just past the hills, around eight or ten tents, enough to sleep perhaps fifteen men. It was a small group, yes, but one big enough to be dangerous. If they were discovered by the Darach scouts, or attacked before they could gather themselves, there would be backup here in no time, and the villagers would soon be wiped out. Not long after, the rebel camp would follow suit.
Her heart felt ready to burst out of her chest, and panic clawed inside her like a wild animal trying to escape her bones, bruising and burning her from the inside out. She wouldn't let herself stop, though, and she pushed on, riding directly to the entrance to the camp, making as much noise as she could.
"Someone's there!" a voice shouted. Torches lit around her, the flames jumping to life, and nearby, the watchman for the camp was staring at her wide-eyed. "A woman. A woman! Men! Wake up! Ye! Stop!"
Satisfied almost as much as she was terrified, Maeve tugged hard on the reins and urged her horse to turn, speeding off as fast as she could in the other direction. She felt like she was going to choke, her throat and chest tightening, her breathing coming too quickly, but she sped on as quickly as she could.
"Come on, lass," she gasped out to the horse. "A wee bit more. We just need tae get away… just far enough…"
