“Well?”
My Lord,” one said, shuffling on the spot. “We could not find her.”
“Don’t look so afraid,” the barefoot man said. “Come, walk with me out here a moment.”
The man followed him out into the darkness, as unable to resist as if he had been told to stop breathing. “I am sorry, my Lord. They have not seen her. Perhaps she remains at MacGregor Castle. Or maybe she’s gone onto Tallis already.”
“Perhaps she has.”
A minute later the barefooted man walked into the castle calling for ale. The man who had told him of their failure did not join them in the castle. His body slid slowly down into the moat, sinking below the surface, vanishing from sight.
Chapter Eleven
MacIntyre Castle lay thirty miles to the northwest from MacGregor Castle. Rachel knew that from her guide to Scottish castles. She found it surreal that the ruins she knew from her research were no longer ruins. They were homes, filled with people, all of them with lives as rich as her own.
Roger, the spitboy. Would he grow to become the Laird that he wanted to be? He had survived early childhood so he had a good chance. In an era with 50% infant mortality, he had done well just to make it this far.
She found herself thinking about the inhabitants of MacGregor castle as they traveled. Cam had said little during the journey. Whenever she looked across at him, his brow was furrowed. There was no doubt he was lost in thought.
The first night they had rested in a small glen surrounded by wizened trees. If fairies had darted out in the darkness she would not have been surprised. It was that kind of place.
Lying in the darkness, she had felt afraid and cold. She was certain Cam was already asleep, his breathing slow and steady as she lay shivering, trying to settle on the heather underneath her, the scent of it filling her nostrils.
Then out of nowhere his arm had wrapped around her and he’d drawn her body against his, being the big spoon to her little. She thought she’d object but she didn’t. At once she felt safer.
Not only that but his body seemed to burn with an intense heat that warmed her better than any fire could ever do. With his chest pressing into her back, she closed her eyes, saying nothing.
She fell asleep feeling his breath on her cheek but when she awoke he was nowhere to be seen. She sat up at once, starting to panic. It was one thing to be lost in the Middle Ages with a strong Highland Laird at her side, it was another entirely to be lost and alone without even a clue which way she was meant to be going.
She shouted, “Cam,” at the top of her voice and he came running into view over the top of the glen.
“What is it?” he asked, weaving between the trees to reach her. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought you’d left me. I thought I was all alone.”
“Och, I’d gone to fetch breakfast. Here.” He passed her a couple of purple carrots.
“You know,” she said, gnawing on the end of the larger one. “These are orange in my time.”
“Orange?”
“It takes some getting used to, being here.”
He grunted, biting his carrot in half and swallowing it at once.
“You’ll get indigestion if you eat like that.”
He was already on his feet. “Come on, we have a long way to travel today.”
“Will we get there by tonight?”
“I dinnae ken but there’s no chance if you dinnae get up.”
For the first hour he answered her questions, explaining what had happened the previous night in the great hall. As the morning went on, his answers became shorter until he only grunted in response to her questions. Eventually she gave up, lapsing into silence and concentrating on the walk.
Her feet were starting to give her trouble. The shoes that had been perfectly suitable for her adoptive mother’s funeral what felt like a lifetime ago were no longer handling things as well.
They hadn’t been designed for route marches through the Highlands of Scotland, especially when the trails were little more than rabbit tracks through thick grass and heather.
