CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
Connell
Connell urged his horse forward. The sun was beginning to set and soon the path would be shrouded in darkness. The clouds hung low, providing little light. Donald rode at his left while Brann was on his right. He could hear Grant and Ian taking up the rear. They had passed through a town an hour before. Ian had insisted on stopping to rest the horses and gather food, which had resulted in an argument. Connell rolled his eye as he recalled Ian’s words.
“It’ll be dark soon,”Ian had said while trotting next to Connell through the small town.“We can have a rest and join them in the morn. They won’t get far in a carriage on this worn path.”
“And what if something happens to her?”Connell had asked angrily.“Brigands could be upon them as we speak.”
“Then ye shouldn’t have let her escape in the first place.”
Thankfully, Grant had moved between them, casting a dark look in Ian’s direction and silencing the man.“I happen to agree with Connell. We’ll ride until we come upon their carriage and rest after. The horses should be fine for now.”
Connell glanced over his shoulder, noticing the sharp scowl Ian was giving him. He knew Ian had reason to be angry with him. They would need to have a long talk once this was over. Connell was already dreading it. As he faced forward, his stomach lurched, his eyes widening as he gazed at the carriage in the distance. They were nearly there. He breathed a sigh of relief as he kicked his horse, urging it to move faster.
As he sped forward, he thought of all the things he wished to tell Elsy: about how she was right, about how he loved her and how sorry he felt for sending her away, about how he never should have been angry with her for marrying McCormick. He knew she had only been trying to survive.
His head tilted, his eyes narrowing on the carriage.It’s not moving,he realized as he drew closer.Why is it not moving?So many reasons flooded him. It could be a broken wheel, an injured horse, the driver feeling ill. What if something dreadful had happened?
“Elsy!” Connell shouted as he came upon the carriage, circling around it. His eyes widened, his heart stopping as he found the driver dead on his perch, his throat slit. The driver’s lifeless eyes stared up at the sky. The blood was already dried. The horses nibbled quietly at the grass.
“Elsy!” Connell shouted while dismounting, rushing toward the wide-open carriage door. He looked inside, searching the darkness, but found no one.
“Connell!” Grant called, his horse slowing, his brow furrowed in concern. “What--”
“They’re not here,” Connell breathed, stepping away from the carriage and looking at the stretch of fields surrounding them. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting the grass in rays of orange and red, reminding him of the blood dried along the driver’s throat.
“Elsy!” he shouted while running in the field aimlessly. “Scotty!” He needed to find the both of them, but how? Where could they have run off to? Were they able to escape the brigands? Where would they take them?
“Why did they leave the horses?” he heard Ian ask from behind.
Connell perked up. He slowly turned around. Brann was dismounting while Grant crouched in front of the carriage, looking at something in the grass. Donald was petting the horses while Ian hovered above Grant, watching him.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” said Donald while patting the black horse still attached to the carriage. “These could sell for a pretty penny.”
Grant shook his head. “Then they didn’t come for the horses.” He sighed while rising, wiping the dirt from his hands. “Look,” he said while pointing at the grass.
Connell ran toward him, his hands shaking as he gazed down at the ground. The light was slipping away. They didn’t have much time.It may already be too late,Connell thought darkly. All the breath within him left as he saw the footprints in the grass. There were more. Connell and Grant followed them until finally they stopped, seeing broken blades where someone may have fallen.
“Elsy,” Connell whispered.
“It looks like she may have tried to escape.” Grant crossed his arms over his chest. “They could be anywhere by now.”
A cry escaped Connell’s lips as he stared at the imprints. His knees buckled and he hit the ground hard. His head hung forward and he clamped his eye closed. His hands fisted in his lap, his shoulders quivering as he tried to hold back his tears. “McCormick’s enemies,” he gasped while falling forward, his head pressing into the grass. “They must have gotten to her. They must have taken her away.” He swallowed the sob threatening to take him. "I shouldn’t have sent her away. I should have gone with her. I should have kept her safe.”
“Connell.” He heard Brann, felt a strong hand on his shoulders. “It does nae good to give up now. We can still find Elsy. We can still find Scott, but ye must get up.”
Connell inhaled deeply, but he remained on the ground, his hands grabbing the grass in fistfuls.
“Think rationally,” Brann continued. “Darkness is falling upon us. They must have gone into town.”
“Aye,” he heard Donald say. “There is a small one not far from here that we passed through on our return.”
Connell straightened. He looked between his men, watching their heads bob up and down. Shadows shrouded their faces. Soon, all light would be gone.
“We should ask the people if they saw anyone riding through,” said Brann.
“Aye,” said Ian. “A lady and a young boy riding with men will stand out.”
