"Nay. Tis but a weak light and soon I will move ye and it to the back of the cave near the horses."
"And then what do you plan to do? You are not going back out there, are you?” She was afraid he might be thinking of risking his life in such a way and, she was ashamed to admit, she was also afraid to be left all alone.
"Nay, there is too great a chance of becoming separated from ye just when ye might need my help. I but mean to stay close to the front of the cave in the hope of seeing or hearing something to tell me where that bastard is now."
"I cannot believe he has clung so tightly to our trail. The moment the rain began, I truly thought he would give up, would seek some shelter, at least for himself. This is most unlike him. Harold hates getting wet or dirty. Always has."
Sigimor nodded. “Men like him dinnae like to dirty their own bonnie soft hands or muss their fine clothes. They prefer poison and slipping a dirk in a mon's back, or paying someone to do it for them. But, we draw near to Dubheidland. He kens he could lose this game if we reach it. Aye, and he has to fear that some of your kin may have learned of Peter's death, of your flight from Drumwich with the lad. He has the wit to ken that the longer ye and the boy elude his grasp, the greater the chance of finding your kinsmen are hunting him. He needs ye and Reynard to shield himself against that threat."
"And he needs to be back at Drumwich to hold fast to it. I doubt he fully trusts his men to do that."
"I doubt Harold trusts anyone.” He stood up, then helped her to her feet. “Come, ye had best settle yourself in the back here. As soon as I ken where that fool is, we may e'en be able to light a fire."
"That would be nice, although I am much warmer now."
"At least your teeth have stopped their chattering."
He secured the candle on a new rock, then made sure Jolene was completely wrapped up in the blankets. At her insistence, he kept one for himself, wrapping it around his body as he moved to the front of the cave. Since she had ceased to shiver and he had felt the warmth returning to her skin, he was no longer quite so concerned about her health. Now he worried about Harold finding them. If he stumbled upon their hiding place, it could easily become a trap.
As he listened intently for any hint of Harold's approach, Sigimor tried to think of ways he and Jolene could escape if cornered. Although he could think of many, only sheer, dumb luck would make any of them work. They could not simply mount their horses and make a run for it as the trail was too narrow. Even though the entrance to the cave was so slender only one man at a time, perhaps two, could attack, Sigimor did not think he could hold out against a dozen or more men if they attacked with any real persistence, or one managed to push him back far enough to let the others into the cave. He was probably somewhat vain about his skill as a fighter, but even he found the odds of twelve against him a little daunting. He could not even draw Harold away from Jolene so that she might flee to Scarglas. Not only did Harold know Jolene was with him, but, considering her abysmal sense of direction, Jolene could easily walk right into her enemy's arms. She had done it once already.
Sigimor began to think he had made an error in judgment that could cost them dearly, then banished that doubt. There had been no choice. Jolene had been dangerously cold. She had said nothing, but her hands had felt so icy, Sigimor suspected she had clearly begun to have difficulty handling the reins of her horse. At least now, when they had to travel on, he did not need to fear that she would collapse.
The faint sound of harnesses jingling made Sigimor tense. He looked back at Jolene who appeared to have fallen asleep. He worried about that until he recalled how easily she could be roused from a dead sleep. Although he was not too sure she had completely woken those times he had pulled her from her bed at dawn, she had followed orders well and quickly, which was all that really mattered. It was probably for the best that she got a little rest, he decided as he turned back to face the front of the cave and eased his sword from its scabbard.
As the sound of men approaching grew louder, Sigimor silently urged them to keep on going. He inwardly cursed when the sound stopped only a few feet from where he sat. They were too close for comfort. The noise they made, as well as the sound of the rain, might not be enough to hide any noises his horses made and he could not go back there to try to keep them quiet. He was startled when he heard a man speak. His unwanted company was barely a yard away, obviously sheltering beneath a slender outcrop of rock there. Sigimor waited tensely for some hint of Harold's plans and any hint at all that the men had discovered his and Jolene's hiding place.
"M'lord, we must find shelter,” said Martin as he huddled beneath a very small ledge of rock next to Harold.
"I know they came this way, Martin,” Harold snapped, glaring at the water falling steadily from the ledge.
"They could be but inches away and we would still miss them. The rain is bad enough, but ‘tis now sunset. What little light there was is fading rapidly. The men are chilled to the bone and weary, as are the horses."
"Weaklings, the lot of them. What about the two Scots? Those fools must be accustomed to this."
"Just because a man is accustomed to such weather does not mean he wishes to be out riding in it, or that he does not suffer from it. There is a small cottage back down this trail, at the foot of these hills. It looks as if it has been empty for quite a while, but it will offer us some shelter from this rain. We can pass the night there."
"Can we now? And what do we do when the morning comes? Our prey will be long gone and there will be no hint of a trail to follow."
"There is little to follow now save for the occasional horse droppings,” snapped Martin. “And what does a trail to follow matter? We know where they are heading and we have men to lead us there."
"And then what? Lay siege to the keep with but a dozen men? And what of this other place those Scots said Cameron might go to? This Scarglas? Did you hearallthey said about the men who live there? We will have no chance of pulling that little bitch and the boy out of there. Jesu, we may suffer if we e'en just ride by the place, simply continue on to this Cameron oaf's lands. There are some dark things said about those MacFingals and they are Cameron kinsmen."
"Do you mean all that idiocy about witchcraft?” Martin said, his voice weighted with scorn. “Rumor, no more. I would not be surprised to discover that the men of Scarglas let such tales fester because they keep people away."
"I, for one, do not wish to risk my well-being upon whatyouthink. That was why I was setting such a hard pace. Curse it, I almost had her this time, her and that bastard with her. There was e'en the chance I could have captured him. His clan would have quickly given me the boy to get their lord back."
"You have been saying that you want him dead."
"Well, I did not say I would actually give him back to his people once I had the boy, did I? Or give him back alive? If I planned well, I could get all I want—Jolene in my bed, the boy in my hands, and Sir Sigimor Cameron in the dungeons of Drumwich again. And there would be no swift death for that interfering bastard. Nay, I would have him die very slowly. In fact, I might even be able to use him to make Jolene do as I say. He is her champion, and more, if I am to believe that cursed priest. I doubt she would be able to ignore his screams of pain for very long. That haughty bitch would soon be eager to bargain with me."
Martin vainly tried to wipe the rain from his face with the sleeve of his dripping jupon. “Why not just kill her? She will cause you naught but trouble. Jesu, Harold, no woman is worth this. You should have killed her along with the others right at the start. If you had, we would be sitting comfortably at Drumwich with both the boy and the keep firmly within our grasp."
"'Ware, Martin,” Harold said in a cold, hard voice. “You presume too much upon our long association. I am but one small boy away from being the earl of Drumwich."
"Fine,my lord.” Martin was too miserable and weary to fear Harold's anger. “Keep the bitch alive to play with, if you must, although I do not understand the why of it."
"Because she has scorned me once too often,” Harold nearly shouted, “and I mean to humble her. I will make her my wife to secure my claim to Drumwich and fatten my purse, and then I mean to make her pay for everynayshe gave me. I will destroy that pride of hers. I will use her body in every way a man can use a woman until she is bent with shame. Aye, I might e'en let you have a taste or two. I will make her bleed for each and every indignity she has caused me with this flight into these wretched lands."
