Page 28 of Highlander’s False Identity

Beathan looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he laughed.

“What sort of a question is that?” he asked, grinning at her. Edme didn’t know for sure if he was embarrassed, or perhaps he just didn’t know how to answer her.

With her heart beating fast, and her cheeks colored pink - suddenly, she wished she had never started this, had never let him kiss her, and never asked him about his feelings. More than likely, he probably didn’t care.

Fearing she had made a mistake, Edme leaped to her feet and made a start for the horses waiting by the side of the clearing.

“What, wait? Where are ye going?” Beathan tried to ask as she hurried past him.

“Duncan tower. If we ride now, we can make it before nightfall,” she said quickly. In truth, this was going to be much easier said than done, but Edme’s impetuousness got the better of her. All she wanted was to be away from here and the awkward questions in her heart.

It seemed she didn’t have the stomach for hearing the answers. Bustling past him, Beathan looked at her oddly.

“What, now? Are ye mad? It’ll be dark in under an hour!” he added, watching helplessly as the maid mounted her dappled horse.

“Nutmeg can cut as fine a speed as any stallion,” she said. Then with a mischievous quip to Beathan, she turned. “Race me!”

Before Beathan could argue, she was hurtling across the landscape on the white mare, clipping along at an impressive pace.

“Edme! Come back! Yer crazy!” Beathan called after her. “Wait! Dinnae ye want to hear my answer?”

Chapter Ten

“Edme?” Beathan’s voice echoed out across the lonely valley, but it didn’t reach her. It fell only on the deaf ears of the dead soldier.

Beathan sighed, and within half a minute, he was mounting his horse and hot on her trail.

“Edme! Come on! Wait! What on earth are ye playing at? This is madness! Ye’ll nae make it afore nightfall!” he yelled; then, he looked around. “This is nightfall! Come back afore ye fall an’ break yer stupid neck!”

But if Edme could hear him, she didn’t turn around. Instead, she raced harder still, pulling hard on Nutmeg’s reins and attempting to go faster.

In the fading light, Beathan could barely make out where the crazy girl had got to, the faint outline of her honey-colored hair was fading into the horizon.

“Edme!” he called, wondering what exactly it was that he had said to make her react like this. His mind was still reeling, trying to decipher her thoughts.

Edme was in no mood to stop. She rode like a madwoman, charging through the brush and crags of the hillside, away from the bloodied burn and into the moorland beyond.

With his quick eye for distances, Beathan calculated just how far away Duncan keep was. To his mind, it was still at least thirty miles. In the fading light, even if she kept this pace, it was uncertain if she would make it in time.

“Come back, ye’ll nae make it in one piece! Ye’ll kill yerself!” Beathan said, hoping to reason with her, but from the sound of the galloping footsteps, she was already too far away to hear him.

There was nothing else for it, clutching the reins of his stallion, Beathan leaned in for the ride of his life. Prince was capable of outrunning any horse when he put his mind to it, and so Beathan dug in and pulled the reins hard, muttering as he went.

“Come on, laddie, ye can do it, we have to catch them up!” he urged his horse.

Fortunately, Prince was obliging, giving a little whinny he began to trot, and then to canter. Within seconds he was up to a fully-fledged gallop, flying across the hillside at full speed.

Beathan felt the wind through his hair, as they hurtled over the glen side to catch up with the pretty filly and her crazy mistress.

It wasn’t easy riding, the craggy terrain, coupled with the darkening skies made for treacherous conditions. Underfoot it was still wet and boggy from the never-ending rain that plagued this part of the world.

And, sure enough, as Beathan looked up into the darkening skies, he could feel cold spots of rain starting to fall. If he knew this glen, within minutes, it would turn into a river, or worse.

“Edme, it’s nae safe, lassie!” he called, charging faster still to reach her.

She must be within earshot now, he thought, she had to be. He could make out the dappled rear of the mare cantering along in front of him. Hard to be sure, in this light, but as he approached, the sound of hooves grew louder.

Now the rain fell harder, just as he feared, and channels of water were springing underfoot. It would not take long for them to swell into streams, making it dangerous to ride.