Bracing his hand on his own pallet, he pushed himself up to sitting. The movement made his head swim. Once upright, he blinked to clear his vision and searched the area once more. “Charlotte?” The word came out shaky. He worked to settle his insides and raised his voice louder. “Charlotte?”
No answer came, and his mind finally came to life. His pulse trotted faster as he pushed up to his feet, stumbling two steps before he caught his balance.
From that position, he surveyed the camp once more. She definitely wasn’t here, and her bedding wasn’t even laid out. In fact...
He moved to the pile of packs. Hers were gone completely. The only items remaining were Gulliver’s saddle, his furs, and his packs and other supplies. Nothing remained that belonged to her.
His heartbeat raced to a full gallop, bringing blessed clarity to his mind. She’d left. But why? How long had she been gone? Had someone taken her captive?
That thought brought a new panic, and he spun to find Gulliver. He had to get moving. Had to catch up to them.
But as he reached the mule and the animal jerked awake, his mind registered how unlikely that scenario was. For someone to come in and take Charlotte from under his very nose. To remove only her belongings and leave his.
He laid a hand on the mule’s neck as he struggled to comeup with another possibility. Why would Charlotte leave, and in the middle of the night? Without saying good-bye.
Pain speared his chest, a familiar sensation that burned through him. He worked to shore up his defenses. He’d let them fall far too low where Charlotte was concerned. Had actually thought she saw the real him and accepted him despite his prickles.
It seemed he’d been wrong.
Still, he couldn’t let her wander through this mountain wilderness alone, especially at night in the piercing cold. It would be a death sentence.
Giving the mule a pat, he reached for the saddle. He could leave his furs here, but he’d need to take enough bedding and supplies in case Charlotte was in a bad condition by the time he found her.
His gut tightened. So much could happen in these wilds. If by some miracle she managed to keep warm, she could be attacked by animals or fall down a cliff—the possibilities were too many to name. And each one formed a more vicious picture in his mind.
Pulling the saddle’s cinch strap tight, he turned and scooped up the packs he would need, double-checking to make sure his few precious possessions were inside—a family heirloom his parents and Michelle had treasured and Michelle’s Bible. The fire had dwindled to mostly coals, so he banked them to make it easier to start again when they returned.
He could only pray that wouldn’t be too long.
Charlotte’s tracks out of camp were easy enough to find. She was traveling east, at least when she started out. Grabbing Gulliver’s rope, he towed the mule in her footsteps.
The bit of moon that showed through the clouds didn’t offer much light in the shadow of the trees, but he found one of her moccasin prints often enough to stay on the right trail.
Gulliver complained every time Damien pulled him into a trot when the tree growth thinned. But the mule was so well-trained, he didn’t struggle against the rope long before acceding.
Yet they still couldn’t go fast enough. Charlotte might have known exactly the direction she planned to go, but he was forced to travel slowly enough to find her tracks. How much of a lead would she have on him?
He’d simply have to outlast her and not even think about the possibility that he’d find her injured or frozen body somewhere along the way. Of course the images tried to resurrect themselves with that thought, but he pressed the lid down on them.
She must be headed to the fort, since her path still aimed due east. She’d likely realized he’d been leading her the opposite direction. He hadn’t turned fully west until late in the afternoon, and he’d been hoping she wasn’t paying attention to the sun’s position. Why had those bright rays chosen today to break through the clouds and shimmer in her eyes?
What must she think of him for deceiving her? Sorrow pressed around him like a smothering blanket, one that did nothing to relieve the cold. She would think the worst. Anyone would without knowing his true reasons. Why did he think she wouldn’t realize which way they were going? He’d not credited her for the savviness he knew she possessed.
He’d been a coward. Afraid he’d lose her by telling the truth.
Now he’d lost her anyway.
Through the night they trekked, and morning’s light dawned as they finally reached an open stretch of land. Every part of him ached, but now he could finally climb aboard Gulliver to give his body a rest.
The mule plunged ahead faithfully, but as they rode, Damien had to work harder and harder to keep himself alert and focused on the tracks, occasionally lifting his gaze to sweep the area around them.
When they reached the rocky incline at the base of a mountain, he slipped from the saddle and dropped to his knees beside the mule. Scooping up a double handful of snow, he pressed the icy moisture to his face, working the crystals around his neck and beneath his hood.
All his senses sprang to life, save for his mind, which still felt a bit clouded. But at least his body wouldn’t be in danger of falling asleep anytime soon.
Pushing up to his feet, he looked at the path of tracks ahead. Charlotte had ascended upward around the side of this mountain. She hadn’t needed to travel as high as she had to cross over. She only needed to reach halfway up to travel through the gap between this mountain and the next.
Had she climbed higher in hopes that the boulders near the top would help hide her tracks? There were areas where the slope of the rock had kept snow from accumulating. Icy, dangerous places.
