“Adam.” Rory reined in his warhorse and jumped neatly onto the cobbles. “I have grave news.”
The exact phrase he had used back then.
Adam could not speak. Behind the horse, he saw the wide eyes of Rory’s manservant.
“Milord,” he managed.
Rory was not a tactile man. When he reached out and touched Adam’s shoulder, Adam knew for certain that something was terribly wrong.
“’Tis the Gowen farm.”
Adam’s mouth went dry. “What of it?”
Rory shook his head, greying hair bouncing on his broad shoulders. “I am sorry, lad.”
A sharp pain rippled through Adam’s chest. “Tell me.”
“We rode past on our way back from Rossfarne. ’Tis ruined.”
“Ruined?” Adam blinked, not understanding. “How?”
“Raiders.” Rory voiced the word that every man on the borderlands dreaded hearing, and more so since the Battle of Bannockburn. “They set fire to the house and barns. There is little left standing.”
Adam’s knees gave way, so that it was only the fierce grip of Rory’s hand on his shoulder that kept him upright. Wretchedly he tried to form his next question.
“None survived,” Rory said gently. “We searched and made certain.”
Adam’s lips formed the nameClara, but no sound came out.
“I shall go back with several men, and we shall give the Gowens a decent burial.” Rory bowed respectfully. “But ’tis best you stay here.”
The idea of his beloved Clara disappearing under the earth brought Adam out of his stupor. Breath returned to his body and he all but shook Rory’s hand away.
“Nay. I must go to her.”
“She is dead, lad.” Rory’s gaze was unflinching. “She and her sisters and her ma and pa. All of them killed whilst out in the fields. ’Tis a mercy they did not burn alive.”
Adam’s stomach recoiled. “Mayhap you are wrong. Mayhap she is only injured.” He pushed himself away from the wall. “I must see for myself.”
“’Tis no sight for a lover’s eyes.”
Rory shook his head firmly, but Adam had no care for his concerns. Cold sweat beaded on his brow and his body pulsed with desperate desire to be with Clara. He pushed his dark hair from his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. The Gowen farm was a long walk from Egremont House.
He would have to run.
“Forgive me, milord.” He bowed hurriedly then set off at a jog.
“Wait.” Rory’s command reverberated through the courtyard and Adam forced himself to a halt. “If ye are intent on doing this, take my horse.” He held out the reins whilst Adam blinked in surprise.
“Thank you.”
Adam jumped into the saddle and urged the horse back the way he had come. Just one wide cart track wound over the moorland hills, which were purple with heather and buzzing with insects. The way was as familiar as the back of his hand. As he passed the mound of rocks, where he and Clara would ofttimes sit and plan their future, he decided that Rory must be mistaken.
Not about the fire. Nor about the raiders. But about Clara.
She could not be dead.
God could not be so cruel as to take her from him. Not when Adam had already lost both his mother and father. Not when Clara was so good and kind and beautiful.
