A moment later she heard Meggie’s breathless voice. “Fia?” Her eyes were bright as she took Fia in her arms. “AchDhia,I’ve never been so afraid, but they were easy to lose. Fools, all of them.” John was right behind her.
“Are you well, Fia?” he asked, one hand on his sword. He frowned, seeing her battered face in the firelight. She managed to nod.
Meggie paced. “Just wait until Papa hears of this. He’ll raise the clan, bring the Sinclairs to their knees.”
“We aren’t going to tell him,” Fia said.
Meggie’s blue eyes popped. “What? How can we not? The Fearsome MacLeod would never allow anyone to ill-treat his daughter. He’ll want revenge—he’ll slice every last Sinclair from chin to groin with that great sword of his.”
Fia shut her eyes. “What good would that do? Don’t you see? If we take revenge, then the Sinclairs will retaliate, and it will never stop. It must. It ends here, Meggie. No revenge.” She looked at John. “Is there any news of Dair—any at all?”
John shook his head. “He would have wanted me to see you safe, Fia. We need to get you away from here, home to your father. Are you well enough to travel tonight?”
“I would rather wait until I know—”
“Don’t be a fool, Fia,” Meggie said. “They want to burn you alive! You aren’t safe here.”
“She’s right. Ye can’t stay,” Moire agreed. “Alasdair Og made his choice. She came for him, and he’s gone with her. There’s nothing more for it.”
Fia felt her chest tighten. Was that truly all there was to it?
Moire’s touch was gentle as she cleaned Fia’s injuries, the herbs soothing. The worst of the pain was inside her now. “She needs sleep, but somewhere safe,” she told Meggie and John. “Best get her away from Sinclair lands first.”
There was a sound outside, the whicker of a horse. John’s sword hissed as he drew it from the scabbard. Meggie reached for her dirk and they stood in front of Fia.
They waited until the curtain over the door lifted.
“Angus!” Fia cried. She rose from the stool, looked at him hopefully. His eyes were on John’s sword.
Angus clasped his bonnet in his big hands. “Now there’s a moment, I wish to beg your forgiveness, mistress. Wee Alex told me the truth of what happened. ’Twasn’t witchcraft—it was just a terrible, sad mistake. I’ll speak to the clan in the morning, when they’re calm enough to listen—a night of running through the woods in the wrong direction looking for ye will cool their heads. They’ll see sense again in time, but it isn’t safe for ye at Carraig Brigh anymore. I hope ye can forgive the Sinclairs. We’re not bad folk, just afraid.”
“What of Dair?” Fia asked again.
Angus’s face crumpled. “Logan said he was mad, raving . . .” He trailed off, shook his head, and she heard the sorrow, the finality in his voice. She felt grief crush her chest, a hard, heavy stone she’d carry for a very, very long time.
Angus turned to look at John. “Will ye get the lasses safe home to their da, English John? Best leave now, while it’s still dark.”
“Of course,” John said.
“Then I’ll take my leave, see to things.” He had tears in his eyes as he looked at Fia. “God speed you, Fia MacLeod.”
They hadn’t gone more than a few miles when they were ambushed. Fia heard the hiss of steel, the harsh battle cry of the Sinclairs, and she looked around wildly.
“Run!” John bellowed as he engaged one of the attackers in the dark, his sword clanging. His opponent was black-clad, almost invisible in the dark. Another shadow approached Fia, tried to grab her, but she ducked, pulled the horse away, and left him with empty air.
“Meggie!” she screamed, and saw the gleam of silk as her sister eluded another rider and disappeared between the trees.
Hands reached for her again, and someone swore as she wielded her dirk, hit flesh. She shifted in the saddle, leaned low over the horse’s neck, and set her heels to the beast, her heart pounding with fear. Another attacker appeared, swooped in, caught hold of her plaid. She felt it tighten around her neck, choking her as he hauled on it, pulling her backward. She kicked the horse, but she couldn’t breathe or see, and she lashed out frantically with her dirk. She felt the horse stumble under her, falter.
She scrabbled at herarisaid,fighting to loosen it, to drag air into her lungs. The pin that held her plaid dug into her throat. Red spots whirled before her eyes. “Dair,” she whispered, but it was too late.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Dair shielded his eyes against the intense blue of the sky and watched the goshawk circle above the ship’s mast. She called to him, swooped, and wheeled back toward the distant cliffs, leading him homeward.
The storm had ended and he’d waited for the clouds to roll back so he could see the stars. The wind had blown the ship miles out to sea, but he knew his way home. He set the sails and took the wheel, and in the clear, cool, blue light of morning he knew one thing for certain—he wasn’t mad.
He had things to see to once he landed. First, he’d find Logan, take back his legacy, his right to be chief.
