Mari kenned nothing about the land or how to survive on it. Jamie wasn’t even sure the lass was dressed warmly enough. By the saints. What had she been thinking?
His eyes narrowed. Young John, desperate to be helpful after the thrashing his father had given him, told him Broc had talked to Mari just before she decided to go for ride. Had he somehow encouraged her to go out? Was that why he and Duncan left shortly afterwards?
Jamie didn’t like to think his uncle or Broc would do bodily harm to Mari, but he knew their hatred of the English was deeply instilled—enough so that they were willing to risk King George’s wrath by waylaying the Countess of Sutherland. And he remembered Jillian’s concern she thought she might have been meant to overhear their conversation and been lured out to the abandoned croft.
Had this been another attempt? Had Broc said something to make Mari think she had to ride out? Broc’s hands would certainly be clean of any mayhem if a lass were foolish enough to venture out with a storm coming and be found dead the next day. Jamie sighed. Mari didnae always use the best judgment.
Darkness came early to the Highlands at this time of year. Even though it was hard to judge the sun setting when he could not see it, the light had grown dimmer and the snow looked more grey than white. Jamie resisted the urge to push the horse to a trot. With practically no visibility, he dared not risk the animal twisting a leg or falling. Better to hold a steady course even though each step seemed agonizingly slow.
The tree line became visible, and his horse did not need guiding to get to it. Jamie did not venture inside to search for a trail—soon it would be too dark inside the forest. However, staying close to the overlying branches broke the wind and the swirl of snow enough to see a distance ahead. A short time later, they passed the burnt-out croft, and Jamie slowed to search for signs Mari had been there, but if a horse had stopped, the drifts had covered the tracks.
He moved on. The only other crofter who had taken residence in this glen had moved his cottage inside the trees, and Jamie wasn’t sure Mari would have been able to find it. He prayed she had. The alternative was that she was either lost in the woods or meandering in endless circles in the dizzying effects of the driving snow.
Jamie almost missed the trail leading toward the glade himself in the descending dusk. As he approached the cottage he looked for signs of life, but there weren’t any. No horse stood tied to a post. No smoke came out of the chimney and no light shone in the poorly shuttered window. Jamie dismounted with his heart in his throat and what felt like lead in his stomach. The blanket of snow lay untouched leading up to the door.
If Mari had managed to reach this debilitated cottage with no heat and its drafty cracks where the wattle and daub had cracked, she could already have frozen to death—just like his father had.
Jamie took a deep breath, pushed the door open and stepped inside.
