Highland Thirst (32 page)

Sighing
with disappointment, Lucy had started to back away from the bush when her gaze
suddenly landed on the gown lying on the ground near the water’s edge. She
stared at that dress for a very long time as she realized the one thing she’d
not taken into consideration. She was not dressed as a woman, but wore the
clothing of a Carbonnel soldier and that was one thing sure to draw attention
her way.

While
Lucy knew Rosscurrach and Carbonnel were in league together, she doubted very
much if Carbonnel men were wandering freely around Rosscurrach bailey or
castle. However, in a gown such as the one laying just a few feet away, she
would definitely be able to slip into the castle unnoticed.

Hoping
that God would take her need into consideration and forgive her for stealing
the dress, Lucy began to make her way around the clearing to the spot closest
to where it lay discarded.

She’d
reached the point closest to the gown and was trying to decide whether to crawl
out on her hands and knees to collect it or risk running out to snatch it up
when the singing suddenly stopped. Lucy froze and glanced anxiously toward the
water, afraid she’d been spotted, but relaxed when she saw that the other woman
was now missing, only a growing, round ripple marking the surface of the river
where she’d been a moment ago. The music had stopped because the woman had
submerged herself in the water.

Taking
the opportunity presented, Lucy rushed out of the trees, nearly tripping over
her own feet in her hurry. Reaching the dress, she bent to snatch it up and
then bolted back into the woods. Lucy ducked behind the first tree large enough
to hide her, heart racing as she peered back to the river. The swimmer had
resurfaced and was pushing her wet hair back from her face.

When
the woman burst back into song, Lucy relaxed, knowing that neither her foray,
nor the fact that the dress was missing, had been noticed...yet. Fingers
tightening around the dress, Lucy turned and slipped back through the woods to
the bothy.

Trinket
was sleeping where she’d left her, as was Tearlach, she saw after a quick peek
down into the pit. Leaving them to it, she quickly shed the Carbonnel clothes
and drew on the dress instead. It was a tad long, and a little loose on her,
but would do if she caught up the skirt a bit.

Satisfied
that she would pass for a servant, Lucy glanced toward the trapdoor, wishing
she had some parchment and a quill to leave a note for Tearlach. Unfortunately,
she didn’t have anything of the sort so would have to hope that when he awoke
and found her gone, he would wait here until she returned. The fact that
Trinket was still here surely would tell him that she was returning.

Sighing,
Lucy headed for the door, determined to carry out her plan. The only
alternative was to wait for Tearlach to wake up and try to convince him to let
her go into Rosscurrach after Heming. She already knew he would never agree to
that and she herself wasn’t willing to let him walk in there after his cousin
alone. Lucy really felt she had a better chance to get the other man out than
Tearlach did. Her plan was a good one, and much more sensible than his.

Mind
you, that didn’t mean she really wanted to walk into enemy camp to rescue
Heming. In truth, she’d rather neither of them had to go in there, but they
could hardly leave his cousin at Rosscurrach to be tortured to death.

Her
worries turning to what shape Heming would be in when she found him and the
difficulties she might face getting him out, Lucy slipped out of the bothy and
headed toward the castle. Such issues were forgotten, however, when her gaze
moved absently skyward and she noted that the sun was well into its downward
journey.

She’d
thought it was late morning when she’d first left the shepherd’s bothy.
Apparently she’d been off by a bit. She’d slept much longer in the pit than she’d
thought. Either that or she’d spent more time than she’d realized seated on the
dirt floor of the bothy contemplating her relationship, or lack thereof, with
Tearlach. It looked to be moving from afternoon toward evening. The sun would
probably last only a couple more hours. Lucy frowned as she did some
calculation. One hour to get her to the castle, then however much time it took
her to get Heming out, and an hour back...

She’d
have to be quick at the getting-him-free part, Lucy decided grimly. She wasn’t
at all sure she would be able to find the bothy again in the dark.

Lucy
continued on the way she’d been going, keeping to a quick clip in an effort to
make the best use of the sunlight she had, but her mind was on ways she could
make her return journey easier should it end up being made in the dark. None of
the ideas she was coming up with were very viable. She had nothing with which
to leave a trail to follow back, no torch she could use to light the way,
though she would probably have her hands full with Heming anyway if he was weak
and injured.

Once
again paying more attention to her thoughts than her surroundings, Lucy nearly
marched herself into the hands of the enemy. This time it was a burst of
laughter that drew her attention back to her whereabouts. She immediately
stiffened where she stood, freezing like a doe before the unexpected appearance
of a rider or carriage.

When
the laughter was not followed by the sudden appearance of riders coming from
the trees ahead, she eased to the side of the path and strained her ears,
listening for further sounds. At first, all she could hear was the rapid
beating of her heart, but then that steadied and seemed to recede some and she
caught the faint sound of male voices. It was coming from ahead and a little to
the right of where she stood.

After
a moment of indecision, Lucy began to move cautiously forward. Part of her was
urging her to hurry on her way and avoid the men altogether. But another part
was insisting it was better to know what sort of situation she was facing. She
needed to know how many there were and whether they were traveling on foot or
riding horseback. It would also be good to know if they had stopped to rest, or
were heading in the same direction as she and likely to stumble on her further
along the trail if she was not careful.

All
of these worries circling in her mind, Lucy moved as quietly as she could until
she glimpsed them through the trees ahead. Positioning herself behind the
largest tree she could find, Lucy spied on them.

Much
to her relief there appeared to be only two men. Both wore Scottish dress and
were seated in the grass, taking their leisure. When several moments had passed
with no one else appearing to add to their number, Lucy eased back behind the
tree and concentrated on trying to hear what they were saying. Unfortunately,
she had stopped far enough away that their conversation was all rather muffled,
a jumbled rise and fall of sound.

Lucy
was about to give up on listening when she thought she caught the name
MacNachton. Letting her breath out on a small sigh, she decided she’d have to
get closer. Rather than doing so upright and risking being spotted, she dropped
to her hands and knees and began to crawl out from behind the tree, hoping the
sparse foliage would hide her as she made her way to the next nearest tree.

The
ground was littered with broken branches and leaves shaken free of the trees in
a recent storm, making the journey somewhat awkward. The dress she now wore did
not help. She kept getting caught up on it as she went. It was a relief when
she stood up four trees later and found she was mostly able to hear and
understand what was being said by the two men seated in the clearing ahead.

“I’m
thinkin’ this search is a waste o’ time. He’s most like met up with his cousin
and fled home by now,” one of the men said.

Lucy’s
eyebrows drew together at these words, wondering if they were talking about
Tearlach. How could he have met up with his cousin, Heming, when they were
holding him prisoner here at Rosscurrach? Were the men talking about his
meeting up with another cousin? Or perhaps they were talking about his cousin,
Heming, instead. Mayhap he too had managed an escape and it was he they were
searching for.

“Nay,”
the second man’s voice drew her attention back to the conversation. “The
MacNachton was in a bad way. He couldnae ha’e gone far. Even did he meet up
with his cousin they ha’e to be holed up near here somewhere, waitin’ fer him
to heal.”

It
was
Heming they were talking about, Lucy realized with a burst of
excitement and then frowned, not at all sure if she should be happy or not. She
was glad the man was free and—at least for the moment—safe from the clutches of
Rosscurrach, but really, they had traveled all this way, risking capture and
their very lives to save him, for naught. That was rather annoying.

A
dry laugh drew her from her thoughts again as the first man said, “That’s
right, ye werenae there when they worked on him, were ye? Ye doonna ken what
happened.” He shook his head and then said, “He shouldnae ha’e survived what
they did to him. No mortal man would...and the speed with which he healed...He
and his people truly must be devil spawn.” He spat on the ground and then
added, “Nay. He’s recovered and long gone.”

Deciding
she’d heard enough, Lucy was about to return to her hands and knees to crawl
back the way she’d come when the snap of a branch to her right made her stiffen
and glance that way. Her eyes widened in alarm as she realized she wasn’t
alone.

Looking
just as startled and frozen as Lucy herself, a woman stared back. She was naked
as the day she’d been born, with damp strands of long red hair barely covering
her pendulous breasts. Her only other cover was a leafy branch she’d snapped
off some bush and now held in front of her groin. Despite that, it wasn’t until
the woman scowled and snapped, “Hey! That’s me dress!” that Lucy realized she
was the bather from earlier.

Lucy
shushed the woman, trying to warn her to silence, then leaned back to peer
toward the men she’d been listening to. Her eyes widened in alarm as she noted
that they were both now standing and peering in her direction.

“Doona
be shushing me, ye thief. That’s me dress yer wearin’ and I’m wantin’ it back.”

Lucy
tore her gaze away from the two men and back to the woman, her alarm increasing
as the woman tossed her branch aside and charged forward, apparently determined
to get the dress back using physical force if necessary.

Panic
rising in her as she realized that not only had she the woman to contend with,
but the men were now heading in her direction as well, Lucy cursed under her
breath and made a run for it.

Seven

“Leave
off, Hamish. ‘Tis women’s business!”

Lucy
heard one of the men call out that laughing comment as she ran and for one
moment hoped all would be well...until she heard the other man answer, “Nay! ‘Tis
her!”

The
second voice sounded much closer, almost on her heels from what she could tell
and didn’t encourage optimism. She took a moment to wonder who the “her” was he
spoke of. Had he recognized her? And if so, from where? The only thing Lucy
could think was that the soldier was one of the Scots who had been at the inn
on the day of the murder/kidnapping.

She
let the matter drop from her consideration then, concentrating instead on
avoiding branches and ruts in her path that might see her taking a spill and
getting caught. Lucy didn’t even dare to glance over her shoulder to see if the
woman was still giving chase too or how close her pursuer or pursuers were. She
put all her effort into running, and in truth, didn’t think she’d ever run so
fast in her life. Her feet were barely touching the ground before she lifted
them for the next step. It felt almost as if she were flying.

And
yet the soldier was keeping up with her, Lucy thought with dismay moments
later. While the sounds behind her had halved, suggesting that one of her
pursuers had given up the chase, a deep-voiced curse told her that it hadn’t
been the soldier who had given her up. She considered this most unfortunate. Of
the two of them, she’d rather deal with the woman.

All
was not lost, Lucy assured herself, trying to rally when she felt her energy
flagging. She just needed to get back to the bothy and Tearlach would help her
deal with the man.

Lucy
kept repeating that refrain to herself until she suddenly broke out of the
trees and found herself sprinting up the short hill toward the bothy. Her heart
leapt with glee and for one brief, relief-filled moment she was sure she would
reach the stone hut and Tearlach and be saved. But in the next second, just a
few short feet from the door, something slammed into her back, knocking the
wind from her lungs and sending her slamming to the ground.

Completely
out of breath, Lucy lay where she was for a moment, trying to suck air back
into her collapsed lungs. Fortunately, the chase had apparently winded her
pursuer as well, for he lay panting heavily across her lower legs where he’d
landed.

He
was the first to recover. Shifting off her legs, he dragged himself to his
feet, and then bent to catch her by the arm to turn her onto her back. He then
paused to take a good look at her face.

“Lady
Blytheswood.” The words were more satisfied confirmation than a greeting.