Arran was grateful that he had not attempted to tell him what he already knew. Ainslee had walked herself into a great deal of trouble, and it was up to Arran to find her and rescue her. “Aye?”
“Take a deep breath.”
Arran gazed at his brother, puzzled, but then he smelled it. It was the faint smell of wood burning. They were far removed from any village or hut, which meant someone was in the woods.
Someone was warming themselves. “Spread out!” he barked, pointing toward the woods. “We have visitors, likely hiding out of sight. Follow the smell of the wood burning.”
“Aye,” Cameron replied immediately, spurring his horse on to give the orders to the other warriors.
“Good,” Arran said to his brother. “Ye picked up on something I didnae.”
Malcolm gave him a wry smile. “Well, ye are otherwise occupied. We will find her. We will bring her home.”
“We have tae,” he told him, his voice edging on the void of desperation. “I cannae...”
Malcolm reached out and clasped his shoulder. “Aye, I know. If she is out there, we will find her.”
Arran swallowed the emotion that was lodged in his throat and forced himself not to think of her death. Ainslee was stronger than he was. She could fend for herself.
This was his nightmare coming true. How had she snuck out of the chamber, out of their bed, without him knowing? He had been acutely aware of her next to him, but once he deemed the nightmare just that, he had fallen into a deep sleep, his body exhausted.
He remembered what his ma had said to him right before he had walked out of the keep, her words now ringing true to what Arran was starting to realize.
Arran grabbed the additional knives out of the drawer, sliding them in his boot. “She did this for ye, Son,” his ma said as she watched him arm himself. “She wanted tae save yer life yet again.”
He slammed his fist on the chest, rattling its contents. “I know!” She had saved his life more times than he could count, and now this one might be the one that cost Ainslee hers. He couldn’t think about that right now. He needed to only think about her being safe in his arms, where he would soundly give her a tongue thrashing at the first opportunity.
That and he would keep her locked in their chamber for weeks afterward.
His ma laid a hand on his back, rubbing it lightly. “She’s strong. She’s resourceful. She’s a Mcaiwn.”
Arran hung his head, gripping the chest with his hands. He wanted to break something, to let his rage burst forth. He had not told her how he had felt. He had not shown her enough.
He wanted his wife back. “I cannae lose her.”
His ma wrapped her arm around him then, hugging him lightly. “I know. I cannae lose her either. Go, find her and bring her home.”
Arran shook out of the memory, clenching his jaw. Ainslee was out there, and it no longer mattered to him that he found McDougal. In preparation for an attack, he and Malcolm had split the warriors, a group watching the main path closer to the village in case McDougal would slide past him in his hunt for his wife.
Would Ainslee tell her brother that she had married his enemy? Arran wasn’t certain if she would tell him, but it might be the only thing that would keep her alive. If McDougal knew that he was holding not only his sister but his enemy’s wife, then he would try to barter.
It would be what Arran would do if the tables were turned.
It wasn’t long before the scouts had returned and with good news. “There’s a camp,” one said, breathing heavy. “’Tis McDougal.”
He had gone off the path. Arran let out a slow breath, knowing in his bones that Ainslee was close. She had to be with her brother. They would have seen evidence otherwise.
First, though, he needed to surround his enemy. “Flank the area,” he told Cameron in a low voice. “Ensure that there is no way out. I want tae come at them from all sides.”
“Aye,” Cameron responded.
“Do ye think we can stop him this time?” Malcolm asked, worry creasing his brow.
Arran looked at his brother, understanding his concern. He had failed them once, and many had died. “I cannae tell the future, Brother.”
Malcolm scrubbed a hand down his face, looking far older than his years. “Aye, I know. If I dinnae make it...”
Arran shook his head. “We dinnae think like that. A Scot that already assumes he is not going tae survive doesnae, but a Scot that goes into battle thinking he’s going tae live holds his sword with confidence.”
