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“They’re following,” Fern muttered, squinting west. “Persistent bastards too.”

Ailsa’s spine stiffened, and she swung back, peering into the distance.

How could Fern see that?

“How many?” Kayla asked, ever practical.

Fern screwed up her face. “Hard to tell among the trees … but I’d say easily two dozen.”

“On horseback?”

“No … on foot. They run like the wind.”

Ailsa’s pulse quickened at this news. Of course, they did. The earth magic that now pulsed in their tattoos gave them endurance and strength that would outmatch most.

Fern flexed her wounded arm then, her mouth tightening. Blood had dried stiff across the torn leather of her sleeve.

She hissed softly.

Ailsa frowned. “Should we take a look at that?”

Fern shook her head. “Later. We’ll stay here just long enough for your horses to get their wind back.” She paused then, gray eyes glinting. “I have a destination in mind though. One that should keep us safe overnight.”

“What about Darach?” Ailsa asked. She was aware this wasn’t the first time she’d asked, but she couldn’t help it.

She worried about his fate.

“He knows where to find us,” Fern answered.

Icy rain hit the hilltop then, cold splinters cutting into Ailsa’s face as she turned Rùn, squeezing his flanks with her heels, and braced herself. Fern and Kayla had already urged their mounts on, traveling east once more.

“Sorry, lad,” she murmured. “We’re not done yet.”

The big-hearted horse responded, lunging forward into a canter from a standstill, following the others.

They rode on, battered by sleet, shrouded by swirling mist.

The day waned; the light gradually became even murkier. The pines pressed closer still.

Branches whacked Ailsa in the face, scratching her exposed arms, while the relentless rain chilled her to the marrow. There’d been no time to grab a cloak before leaving, no time to prepare herself for this journey.

Jaw set, shivering now, she bent low over Rùn’s neck.

The stallion, even as indomitable as he was, was starting to tire, his breathing growing labored, his gait becoming choppier.

Likewise, Kayla’s cob was blowing hard.

Ailsa was about to shout ahead to where Fern crouched over her stag’s withers when she heard something above the hiss of the rain.

A deep rumbling.

Her fingers clutched at the reins. Thunder? The weather couldn’t get any worse, could it?

But no, this wasn’t a storm.

Moments later, the pines drew back, and a magnificent waterfall crashed down before them.

Ailsa pulled Rùn up on the mossy riverbank, her lips parting in awe.