Mad for the Plaid (25 page)

He was silent a moment, before saying in a tentative voice, “It was frightening, wasn't it?”

“I've never been more terrified in my life,” she admitted.

“Me, too.” His bedding rustled, and she thought perhaps he'd turned her way. “I knew this was a dangerous enterprise, but it didn't dawn on me until today that someone could die.”

“I know. I've been so worried aboot Her Grace and Lord Hamilton that I dinnae truly comprehend the danger to this group, nae really. Now I've five more people to be concerned aboot.”

“We'll be fine. We are all a part of this journey, and we have a responsibility to one another.”

“That we do.” She smiled in the dark. “Which is why we should go to sleep, or at least try to. We've a long day tomorrow and, if MacKean is right, possibly a wet one.”

“Lovely,” Gregor muttered under his breath. But he burrowed deeper into his blankets and, within a remarkably short time, his breathing smoothed and he was fast asleep.

All around Ailsa, the night awakened. Owls hooted, frogs croaked, an occasional tree branch snapped and fell to the ground. Something about today bothered her; something that didn't ring true. But she couldn't put her finger on it.

Whatever it was, it remained stubbornly out of focus, as if it were too far away for her to see.
Or perhaps too close.

She sighed and noted a smattering of clouds gathering to the west and grimaced to think that MacKean had been right about the rain. With a grumpy mutter, she arose, slipped into her bedroll, and tugged the blankets over her. Then she tried to sleep.

But her thoughts roiled more loudly.
Why didn't the theif steal the horses? And how had something as innocuous as Gregor's sneeze frightened off a hardened brigand? And if it had frightened the man, why hadn't he just jumped onto D'yoval's back and ridden away? It would have been faster, and he'd have had a prize.

But that wasn't all. Something was not—

A footstep whispered through the grass. Her eyes, halfway shut, flew open and she held her breath. A moment later, a boot crunched on a loose stone, and she frantically wished she'd kept her pistol inside her covers. If she reached for her weapon now, she'd call very unwanted attention to herself.

She waited, and finally, a tall, masculine form emerged from the woods, a cape swinging from his broad shoulders, the moonlight threading through his black hair.
Nik. What's he doing?

As she watched, he crossed the small clearing that made their camp, pausing to pat D'yoval's neck when the horse lifted its head and seemed ready to whicker in greeting. The horse calmed, Nik continued into the camp. He bent by his saddlebags, removed a map from his pouch, and tucked it into his shirt. He turned to go back the way he'd come, but then paused and walked toward her.

Ailsa closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting.
What is he going to do?

He stopped beside her, stooped down, then carefully tugged her top blanket up over her shoulders, as if he were tucking her into bed. Finished, he rocked back on his heels.

She waited, but he didn't move. He merely remained where he was, looking at her. It took all her concentration not to open her eyes.
What would I say if I did? “Hello”?

He sighed and she heard the sound of his hand raking over his stubbled chin before he muttered something under his breath, and then arose.

Ailsa peeped through her lashes and watched as he turned and made his way back through the camp and then disappeared into the night, as quiet as he'd come.

She stared into the woods, wishing she'd been able to see his face and wondering why he'd stayed beside her for such a length of time. What had he been thinking? And why had he seemed so pensive? It was a long, long time before she was able to sleep.

Chapter 15

The next morning they arose early and rode hard, making excellent time. The weather was unusually warm, though a brisk wind lifted from the west, bringing with it more clouds. To Ailsa's delight, although the sky grew darker, the rain held off.

Because of the narrowness of the trail, they were forced to travel single file once more, Stewart in the lead, MacKean behind him, while Nik and Rurik took the rear guard. Ailsa had requested that she and Gregor be allowed to assume the rear position, but Rurik had pointed out that he had the most training, should anything go awry. There had been no arguing with that, though she'd wished to.

Still, she had to admit that the ride today was more pleasant than any they'd experienced thus far. Though they rode along the rim of a steep mountain that offered a dizzying view off the west side, the trail was smooth and flat. Their way was shadowed on the upward slope by pines and aspens, which meant the path was thick with fragrant needles that made her take deep, happy breaths with each of St. George's steps.

She'd have been satisfied to have ridden under these conditions for the rest of their journey. But at noon, when they'd stopped to rest the horses and take a few bites of venison, a chilly plop of rain landed on Ailsa's cheek.

She looked up and grimaced. “Here comes the rain.”

Nik followed her gaze to the dark sky. “
Da
. It looks as if it'll be a hard one.”

“So 'twill,” MacKean said. “Those clouds are getting darker by the moment.”

Stewart grunted and began to pack up. “We should hurry, then.”

Rurik was already on his horse. “I'll ride ahead and find shelter.”

“We'll need it,” Nik agreed.

The guard rode off, and the rest of them finished collecting their gear before they mounted up and headed down the trail.

At first the rain fell lazy and sparse, plopping in fat drops, much of the wetness deflected by the tree branches overhead.

Then a flash of lightning, punctuated by a crack of thunder, rolled over them, echoing off the mountains with shocking fury.

The startled horses pranced and balked, and it took a moment to get them under control.

“I hope Rurik finds cover from this rain,” Gregor called over his shoulder to Ailsa.

“Me, too,” she replied fervently. She glanced behind her to where Nik followed, riding rear guard.

The lightning had spooked D'yoval and Nik was still struggling to bring his mount to heel, the horse shaking
his head and prancing wildly. Ailsa pulled St. George to a halt and watched, holding her breath, for there was a sharp drop-off to one side of the trail.

But under Nik's firm hand, the high-strung animal stayed well away from the trail's edge. She relaxed as Nik finally got the horse under his command and nudged the creature to a faster pace to catch up.

There.
She turned back in her saddle and realized she, too, was in danger of being left behind. She could still see Gregor, but barely. She urged St. George on just as the skies opened.

The rain poured, sheeted, stormed, and flooded down. It rained so hard, it was difficult to see, blanketing the trail with thick waves of sheer wetness.

Water ran across Ailsa's face, through her hair, and down her neck. Her shoulders and the tops of her breeches were instantly soaked.

Ahead, MacKean shouted something. She couldn't hear him over the howl of rain and wind, but she saw Gregor's eager move forward.
Ah. Rurik must have found shelter. Good!

She turned to yell the welcome information to Nik, but found that he was too far back to hear her.

With a regretful look at the disappearing backs of the others, she pulled St. George to a halt and waited for Nik, tugging her cloak about her, the wetness already soaking through to her shoulders.

Behind her, Nik peered through the downpour and saw Ailsa waiting, her cloak black with rain, her face wet, tendrils of her hair plastered to her cheeks and neck.
She will be so cold.
He spurred D'yoval to a canter.
Rain pelted Nik's face, soaking his cloak and his hair. He reached up to swipe his eyes just as another flash of lightning cracked, followed by a roar of thunder. Seconds later, there was a crash as a tree came tumbling down the mountainside toward Nik and fell across the trail.

Nik pulled D'yoval back just in time to avoid the worst of the branches, but the animal was beyond calming. Terrified, D'yoval reared and screamed. Nik fought for control, aware that the horse was moving ever closer to the edge of the path.

Her heart thundering, Ailsa stood in her stirrups and watched. The fallen tree blocked the trail and kept her from riding to the rescue, and it was with gasping agony that she saw Nik struggle to hold D'yoval on the path. Another crack of thunder rumbled, and the horse reared and then backed off the steep trail. With a sickening crash, the two disappeared from sight.

“
Nae!
” Ailsa yelled. She cantered to the fallen tree and jumped from the saddle, holding St. George's reins tightly as she looked this way and that, trying to find a way around the obstacle. It took only a few seconds, but those seconds felt like hours, before she found a place where a branch had broken off and she could get through the tangled wall of broken limbs. Tying St. George to a branch, she wiped the rain from her eyes and hurried to where she'd seen D'yoval disappear with Nik. The torrential rain was erasing their tracks even as Ailsa peered over the side of the trail, her heart caught in her throat.

She threw her arm across her forehead to shade her vision from the onslaught and saw where the horse and
rider had slid through the undergrowth and thin aspens, breaking branches and carving a wide path, but thick foliage obscured her view beyond that point. Had they stopped? How far did the slope go? Were either of them injured? She prayed there weren't sharp rocks or—

No. I can't think that.

She hurried back to where she'd left St. George, then tied his reins to his saddle and sent him off. As if he understood the urgency, the horse cantered down the trail toward the others.

Throwing her cloak back from her shoulders, she ignored the sheeting rain and ran back to where horse and rider had left the path. Slipping and sliding on mud and wet leaves, she frantically made her way down the embankment.

She finally gave up trying to stay upright and sat down, scooting her way to the bottom of the ravine.

It was laborious, filthy, muddy work, and she was exhausted and shivering by the time she reached the bottom. And there they were.

D'yoval stood in the middle of a stream, nudging at something near his feet.

Nik lay on his side in the small stream, moaning as he struggled to sit, his cloak twisted about him, the rain pelting his face as blood washed from one arm into the water to swirl, whirl, and then disappear.

Chapter 16