Her heart hammered in her chest; then suddenly she was racing blindly, whipping through the tangle of branches and leaves and sharp pine boughs that cut across her face. Shefellso many times, she lost count, but each time she hit the ground she somehow managed to rise and keep going.
Panting, gasping for air, she refused to give up. She wrestled her way through the dark until she saw traces of moonlight through the trees. Mist on water. Sparkling ripples.
She flew out of the bush andcollapsedonto her hands and knees on the grass. A campfire burned like a beacon on the beach. It was not far. There was a tent. There were horses and a wagon. Barrels. A mule. Sacks of grain …
Stil on her hands and knees, she touched her forehead to the ground.Sweet Lord, thank you.
Amelia rose to her feet. She limped across the grass to the pebbly beach. This was victory. She had reached safety.
Weak and exhausted, she strode toward the English camp and tried not to think of the man she had left behind, unconscious and bleeding to death in the glen. She would try not to think of his pain, or the shock in his eyes when he realized what she had done to him. She would purgeallthoughts of him from her mind. He was her enemy. She would think of him no more.
Chapter Seven
Five soldiers were asleep in their bedrolls inside the tent, and Amelia—holding the flap open with one hand—had to clear her throat twice before three of them startled awake.
They leaped up in a disorderly fashion, and the next thing she knew she was staring from one pistol to another, three in total,allcocking simultaneously.
She gasped and shouted, “I’m English!”
The three on their feet took a wobbly moment to comprehend her words while the other two groaned in their beds.
“What’s going on?” one of them asked, squinting at Amelia, who stood at the tent door next to a lantern.
“I am in urgent need of your assistance and protection,”
she told them. “I am the fiancée of Richard Bennett, lieutenant-colonel of the Ninth Dragoons. I was abducted out of FortWilliamby the Butcher of the Highlands.”
“The Butcher?” The soldier at the far corner fought to untangle himself from his bedrolland groped around for a weapon he could not seem to find. “Bloodyhell!”
God help them. God help them all.
“Please,” she said. “I think it would be best if we left here as quickly as possible. I see you have horses.…”
“Damn right we do,” one of them said, dashing for the door and shoving her out of the way. “Where thehellis my horse?”
The distinct odor of rum on his breath wafted to her nostrils as he staggered onto the moonlit beach.
This was not good. She had imagined a disciplined brigade of fearless English heroes, on guard with arms at the ready, who would rise to thechallengeof rescuing an aristocratic lady from the clutches of a known Jacobite rebel and enemy of the Crown. What she appeared to have stumbled upon, however, was an incompetent group of cowards and drunkards.
“Quiet, you imbeciles,” another said from inside the tent as he lowered his weapon to his side. “The Butcher is a fairy tale. It’s just a story invented by the MacLeans to keep us off their lands, and everyone knows the MacLeans are nothing but sheep stealers.”
“I heard it was the MacDonalds.”
“Well,Iheard it wasalltrue,” said another. He wasstilllying in hisbedrollbut leaned up on an elbow to reach for a bottle behind hispillow. He tipped it upside down and shook it, but nothing came out. “My cousin saw him once. He was camped with the regulars outside of Edinburgh, and said the Butcherkilledten men single-handedly, then chopped off the head of the officer in charge and fed it to his horse.”
One of them scoffed while a second one ran out of the tent and nearly knocked Amelia over as he passed by. Shefollowedhim onto the beach, where the fire wasstillburning.
The first soldier was alreadygallopingaway.
“Wait!” she shouted, running after him.
“Oh, for the love of God,” another said, emerging from the tent and swinging his pistol around. “Gutless fool. He’llride straight into a tree.”
Amelia turned to face him. “Who’s in charge here?” she demanded to know. “Is it you, sir?”
“Yes.” He staggered slightly and seemed to have trouble focusing on her face.
“What is your name and rank?”
