Eoin felt his muscles tense in a way they hadn’t in a long time. His wife had always drawn attention—masculine attention. Maybe more so now than she did at eighteen. How had Fin put it? Ripe as a peach? She was even riper. “I didn’t think it mattered.”
“It doesn’t. But it was still a surprise. I didn’t think anyone could rival MacLeod’s wife.”
Eoin shot him a glare. “How about your own?”
Lamont lifted a sly brow, and Eoin swore, realizing his partner had tricked him into admitting more than he wanted. Eoin didn’t care about her anymore, how the hell could he still be jealous?
“If you’re finished, I want to get back on the trail before we lose it again,” Eoin said sharply.
MacDowell was a tricky bastard. He was also good at minimizing his tracks. But Lamont was the best tracker in Scotland. If there was a trail, Hunter would find it. Even in the dark.
But as they raced across the countryside, plunging deeper into the moonlight-shrouded forest, Eoin couldn’t help but think how easy it would be for a horse to miss its footing. For a fall that could send a rider and the young boy with him sailing through the air to the hard ground. How easy it would be to snap a slim neck. Why were there so many branches sticking out? This was a damned “road.” One of those branches could pluck out an eye or...
He stopped. Bloody hell, she’d gotten to him. She’d filled his head with a parade of horribles to make him do her bidding. They couldn’t stop, damn it. MacDowell would get away—withhis son. A siege could take months. Besides, there was no guarantee even if they did stop that MacDowell would follow suit. His son could still be in danger even if Eoin did call a halt to the chase.
But the decision was taken from his hands a short while later. They’d slowed for Lamont to check the prints, when he swore and called for a torch.
“What’s the matter?” Eoin asked.
Lamont shook his head. “I think they split up.”
Eoin felt the fury rise inside him. “Why?”
“There don’t seem to be as many prints.” He dismounted to walk up and down the path, counting off the horses in what seemed to be a jumbled mass of hoof marks. After seven and a half years as partners, Eoin had picked up enough tracking to know that Lamont could identify each horse by some defining mark—no matter how seemingly trivial—in its hoofprint. He counted off four. MacDowell and his sons had set off on five horses.
“There’s one missing,” Eoin filled in, swearing when Lamont nodded.
“Where?”
Lamont shook his head. “Probably at the last crossing. Damn it, I can’t believe I missed it.”
“It isn’t your fault.” It was Eoin’s. With his quarry in sight, he’d pushed them too hard. He’d been the one to hurry Lamont at the last crossing near Cockermouth. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll catch them.”
But they didn’t. They backtracked to the previous crossing and rode for only a mile or two before coming to a large village where MacDowell had switched horses. By the time they tracked the new horse it was too late. The Cumbrian coast at Wyrkinton was only a handful of miles away—as was the heavily garrisoned peel tower of Sir Gilbert de Curwen. They wouldn’t be able to evade the English soldiers and catch up to MacDowell in time. They’d lost them.
“What now?” Lamont asked.
“We’ll find them in Galloway.”
“I can think of at least six castles he might take refuge in. It could take weeks to find him.”
Eoin didn’t realize Margaret had come up beside them. “He’ll go to Dumfries,” she said. “It’s the strongest, and easiest to access from the river.”
“You sound so certain,” Eoin said.
“As certain as I can be. It’s where I think he was planning to go after the—” She stopped. “When he returned from England.”
After thewedding. Eoin felt his teeth gritting again. “And I’m just supposed to take your word for it? He could just as easily go to Buittle. It is also easily accessed by the river and heavily defended.”
“Aye, he could, but I think he’ll go to Dumfries. It’s his favorite castle, and the keeper is one of his most trusted men.”
“Who?”
Even in the mist-shrouded moonlight he could see the pink flush rise to her cheeks. “Tristan MacCan.” Eoin felt every muscle in his body tighten, but he didn’t say anything, and she continued. “I don’t expect you to trust me—you never have before—but I thought you wanted my advice.”
“I do. And I did trust you once.”
Their eyes held, and he could see the guilt the darkness couldn’t quite hide. She looked like she wanted to say something, but after a glance at Lamont and the other men who were pretending not to listen, she took a deep breath instead. “I have no reason to lie, Eoin. I told you I would do whatever it takes to get my son back. I want him as badly as you want my father. This is why you brought me, isn’t it? But if you think you know my father better than I, by all means, do what you want. But I’m going to Dumfries.”
