Page 103
I glance up at the horizon ahead; the path stretching endlessly before us, and realise with a chill that some truths don’t wait to be sought. They find you—whether you’re ready or not.
Triona
Tuesday, 6 May 1823
Somewhere in the Scottish Highlands
On tired legs, we trudge forward, giving the horses a much-needed reprieve from carrying us. The crunch of boots against the dirt road mingles with the distant rustle of leaves. It isn’t quite night yet, but the day is rapidly slipping away, the last remnants of sunlight bleeding through the trees like liquid fire, casting the woods in a hazy, golden glow that seems to stretch the shadows longer and deeper.
“We’re three days’ ride from Port Oban.” Callan says, his voice weary. “Accordin' to Alex, it’s the safest one to port from. Ships there make the fewest stops, and the sailors ask the least amount of questions. Makes sense, considerin’ we’re tradin’ whiskey for safe passage.”
“That’s assuming they don’t drink half of it before we board, and start getting mouthy,” Bran mutters. His usual cocky grin is absent as he adjusts the straps on his pack, his steps lagging slightly.
I stay quiet, my thoughts elsewhere, but my focus snaps back as Shadow suddenly snorts, his ears flicking back and forth as he shifts uneasily.
“Shadow?” My voice trembles, swallowed almost immediately by the looming quiet surrounding me.
“What’s wrong?” Finn asks, his hand instinctively going to the blade at his belt.
“I don’t know,” I say, trying to calm the horse, but his unease is contagious. “He’s nervous… spooked by something.”
Before I can react, Shadow rears slightly, then bolts to the left, disappearing into the dense line of trees at the edge of the road.
“Shadow!” I shout, my pulse spiking as his form vanishes into the shadows. My feet move before my mind catches up, and I sprint after him, ignoring the frantic shouts from behind me.
“Triona! Wait!” Finn yells, but his voice barely registers.
Fear claws at my chest as I plunge into the woods, the thick darkness swallowing me whole. My heart pounds in rhythm with my steps, the cool air biting at my skin. Shadow’s hoofbeats thunder ahead, crashing through the underbrush. I have no plan, no thought beyond the instinctive need to reach him.
The trees close in, their branches clawing at my arms like skeletal hands. I stumble over an unseen root, catching myself just before falling, and keep running. Dusk's dim sunlight barely pierces the canopy, turning everything into a chaotic blur of shadows.
“Shadow!” I call again, my voice hoarse and desperate. But the only answer is the haunting echo of my own words.
And then, silence. The hoofbeats stop.
I freeze, my breath ragged, my chest heaving as I strain to listen. The world around me seems to hold its breath, the oppressive quiet pressing down like a weight.
“Shadow?” I whisper, taking a cautious step forward into the thick blackness ahead.
A sudden crack of a branch to my right makes me spin, every muscle in my body tensing. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I reach instinctively for the dagger at my side. Something—or someone—is out here with me. And whatever it is, it isn’t Shadow.
The world around me morphs into a verdant blur, damp leaves and rough bark creating a symphony under my touch as I steady myself against a towering trunk. My breaths come sharp and shallow, each one an echo in the eerie stillness.
The air feels heavier here, clinging to my skin, and my heart pounds with the growing certainty that I’ve ventured into something far beyond my understanding. The shadows ahead deepen, forming into shapes that send a shiver down my spine. My path forward has been cut off, a sinister trap laid just for me. I played right into their hands.
They’ve awaited this moment, biding their time as I stumbled, blind and witless, into their web. Foolishness, sheer foolishness. I have done many a reckless thing in my day, but this... this surpasses them all. Never have I been so unwise.
I tighten my grip on my dagger. The instinct to defend myself rises faster than I thought possible, flooding my veins with purpose. My heart thunders, not with fear but with a raw, defiant energy.
I count eight threatening figures in the shadows, their lecherous grins glinting menacingly in the bracken. I freeze for a moment, but the danger they present sparks a rage in my heart that quickly melts away my fear. I unsheathe the dagger from its baldric at my side, its polished metal gleaming.
Eight against one—those are grim odds, even for someone as stubborn as me. Let them come. If they think I’d go quietly, they are sorely mistaken. My back straightens, the dagger steady in my hand, the instinct to defend outweighing the fear present throughout my body. I’ll be damned if I don’t carve my mark into every one of them before the end.
“Look at the scary little doe we’ve trapped, fellas.” The voice is smooth, taunting, and unmistakably British. “And we didn’t even have to work for it, as she left her guard willingly.”
It could be a coincidence, but it likely isn’t.
Their presence means one thing—they’ve found us. The men that had a hand in the murder of my parents. And if they are here, it means others are nearby, watching, waiting. The rage that fuelled me moments ago wavers, replaced by an icy dread that twists in my stomach like a serpent. My absence isn’t just reckless—it’s endangered the group. If they are out here searching for me, they’ll be walking straight into this trap.
