Kyla still needs her father…
Alex watched as the group descended into chaos. Finlay had rushed to Kyla’s side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, letting him support her weight.
“Oh, my God, please save my daughter. And Drostan,” she said, her words barely audible. He could tell his daughter prayed over and over, her lips moving frantically as if the more prayers she said, the better her chance of seeing her daughter again.
Once Kyla was steady on her feet, Finlay stepped away. “She’s as strong as you are,” he said. “She’ll be fine.”
Kyla just sobbed as Finlay started pacing, his hands on his hips. Alex knew he was already thinking of the best way to patrol for Chrissa’s captors.
Alex used his wooden stick to make his way over to the hearth, where he could sit in the large cushioned chair Gracie had made for him. “Tell us exactly how it happened, Corbett. Dyna, you will add your thoughts at the end.”
Dyna crossed to her aunt, giving Kyla a big hug while she murmured something in her ear. Then she moved to her sire, hugging him with her head to his chest while Derric talked and paced.
“We were hunting, in the area with several paths just past the caves an hour south of here. We were nearly on Grant land, for God’s sake.” He threw his hands up in the air for emphasis.
“You mean the area where we’ve been ambushed many times before?” Jamie asked, lifting his brows.
“Aye, but we sent our guards off with Chrissa and Drostan. We were only separated for less than five minutes. We heard a scream from Chrissa, but by the time we got to her location, she was on another horse. Both their horses were taken, the two guards were hurt and on the ground. We tried to follow, of course, but we quickly lost the trail.”
Kyla said, “How could you leave them alone?”
“We are not looking to place blame, daughter,” Alex said. “’Twill not help us find them. And the blame falls on their captors, not our clanmates.”
“As you wish, Papa.” Her words were accommodating, but they were accompanied by a seething glare. Then she shifted her attention back to Derric and Dyna. “What direction did they go? Connor and Jamie, get four patrols ready to go while we wait for the ransom offer I think we’ll get soon.”
“I doubt they’ll ask for ransom. ’Tis too close to Midsummer’s Day,” Alex said, steepling his fingers in front of him, his elbows on the arms of the chair. “’Tis less than a fortnight now.”
“Then what, Papa? What could they possibly want? They’ve tried to make our warriors fight for England twice in the past. They tried to kill you before. Is that what they wish to do with Chrissa? Kill her? What the hell do they want?”
“I think they’re hoping to convince us to stay home, or…”
“Or what?” Kyla responded, her tone carrying plenty of heat.
“Keep us busy elsewhere. If we have to send contingencies of warriors after Chrissa, then we cannot help King Robert, can we?”
“Just tell me where you think she is, Papa. I’ll go get her myself.” Tears drenched her face. Kyla was a strong, powerful woman, but she’d never been afraid to show her emotion. It was one of the many things he appreciated about her.
“We need you here, Kyla. In case she returns. Or in case they bring her here.”
“We’ll find her, Mama,” Alick said, glancing around at his cousins. “If we go together, we can use the spectral swords. We’re all here now. Just give us an hour to plan. As Grandsire always says, ’tis much better to go in with a plan.”
“We don’t have an hour. She’ll never survive being in a dungeon.”
“Kyla.” Alex’s voice was so quiet everyone stopped to listen, which was exactly what he’d wanted. They would not win this if they made emotional decisions. “She’ll survive just fine. She’s her mother’s daughter. Or do you not recall your worst moment?”
“I know I was held in a dungeon at Thane Castle, but I’m an adult. She’s too young.”
“How old is Chrissa?” Alex prompted.
“Nine and ten.” Kyla’s sobs had slowed, just as he’d hoped.
“And how old were you when you were locked in a dungeon, lass?” Kyla would always be a wee lassie to him, his memory of her strapped to his chest as a babe still firm in his old mind. “How old were you when you left on your own to visit an enemy’s castle because you wished to save another lass?”
Her breath hitched as she thought, her gaze now locked on his as if he’d stirred a memory she wished to forget.
“Do you not recall being in a dungeon with Simon de La Porte?” he whispered, the hall silent as the forest before a hunter loosed the first arrow.
“I was seven and ten.” She stared at the floor, but her countenance changed. “But I was…”
