Highlander Unchained (21 page)

Thinking she might well be sleeping, he knocked again, this time louder. A vague uneasy feeling began to take hold of him. His fingers closed around the handle, and slowly he pulled the door open.

The first thing he noticed was the chill. And then the emptiness. The fire had gone out long ago, and the familiar floral scent that seemed to permeate the air had faded. Though the shutters were closed, the lantern from the niche in the corridor outside filled the room with soft light. His gaze fell to the bed. But he already knew. The sinking feeling had penetrated to his gut.

She’d run.

After what had happened this afternoon, he should have anticipated this.

The door to the guard’s room opposite her door opened, revealing Alasdair, who’d obviously just been roused from his bed by the noise.

“Is there a problem, my laird?”

Lachlan tried to control the sudden explosion of rage. Or cold fear, he wasn’t sure which. He clenched his fists to his sides to prevent himself from grabbing the man by his shirt and shaking him. “Yes. Damn it. The lass is not in her room. When did you last check on her?”

The old guardsman’s face paled. “About an hour ago. Before I went to bed, as you ordered.”

His orders. It was his fault she’d escaped. He’d grown too lax. He’d trusted her word. He should never have removed the permanent guard from her door. If anything happened to her, he had only himself to blame. She was headstrong. Willful. And scared. A dangerous combination.

“She couldn’t have gone very far, my laird.”

But Lachlan was already storming down the stairs. He focused on the task at hand, blocking out everything else. His only thought was to find her. The military tactician took over, and his mind immediately went to work analyzing her most likely escape routes, methodically sorting through the possibilities and prioritizing the more likely scenarios. Relying on the skills honed by years of battle. But with the realization that no battle had ever affected him so acutely. Her life might well depend on his ability to think and plan quickly and clearly. There was no room for mistakes.

“Rouse as many men as you can find,” he yelled behind him to Alasdair. “And check the stables,” he added, though he knew it was unlikely that she would have been able to sneak a horse past the guards.
Nothing
should sneak past his guards. There would be hell to pay if he discovered otherwise.

The castle had two points of entry: the sea-gate and the landward-gate. As the sea-gate led directly to the dock where his
birlinns
sat, well guarded, he realized that she must have left by the other. Still, he’d have someone check the sea-gate and dock, just to make sure.

He exited the keep and strode down the forestairs two steps at a time. A few torches lit the courtyard, enabling him to take quick appraisal of the situation. Nothing appeared amiss, which was a bad sign. If she’d escaped, she’d done so without being noticed.

His arrival immediately drew the attention of the guardsmen scattered around the perimeter of the
barmkin
wall.

The porter appeared. “My laird, is something—”

“Are the gates locked?”

The man looked confused. “Yes, my laird. A short while ago at the changing of the guard, as usual.”

By now, a few more men had gathered round. “Mistress MacLeod is missing. I want every available man looking for her.” His voice was firm and surprisingly calm. Detached. Emotionless. He’d always possessed an unnatural calm under pressure, but his iron control had never been stretched so close to the snapping point. “Did any of you hear anything unusual? Anything at all?”

A stream of “No, my laird” came back to him. But for one man. He stepped forward. “The dogs barked not long after I came on, my laird.”

Lachlan fought to stay calm, but he knew. That’s when she’d left. Castigation would come later, once they’d found her. “How long ago was that?”

“A half hour. Maybe a bit less.”

She didn’t have much of a head start. They would find her. Unless the bogs or the cliffs found her first. Bile crept up the back of his throat.
Don’t think about it.

“From what direction did the dogs bark?”

The man shook his head. “I can’t be sure, my laird. North, perhaps?”

Consistent with his theory that she’d departed from the landward-gate, as the sea-gate only led west. Alasdair had returned with more men. Lachlan was vaguely aware of the sounds of the castle stirring behind him and of the increased brightness as more and more lanterns and torches were lit.

“All of the horses are accounted for, my laird,” Alasdair said. “She’s on foot.”

Anticipating his next request, Alasdair had ordered his destrier led out of the stable.

Lachlan started issuing orders. Sending a man down to the sea-gate to account for all the
birlinns
. Sending others both north and south along the rocky seashore. But most of the men would come with him, on horseback and on foot, to roam the moors.

Within minutes, the courtyard was crowded with men and horses. Mary and Gilly had come down the stairs, dressed in their nightclothes with only a plaid for warmth. He could see the worry in their faces, but he didn’t have time to soothe their fears. Not now. Not when every second he delayed might make the difference between life and death.

He mounted his horse and turned back to them. “Search every corner of the keep.” Just to be sure. But he
knew
she’d fled.

“We will,” Mary said.

“Find her,” Gilly said.

He nodded, his face grim. “I intend to.”

The gate opened, and Lachlan led the rest of his men through in a thunderous stampede. Once outside, they disbanded like the spokes on a wheel, radiating out in all directions.

He’d ordered the men to ride for a half hour, then turn around and head back by a slightly different route. Those on foot, he’d sent in a zigzag pattern, hoping to cover more ground. The mist would make it hazardous for all involved. But most of all for Flora, who had no knowledge of the countryside.

Senses honed, Lachlan rode hard for a few minutes, playing everything over and over in his mind to make sure he hadn’t missed something.

Had she learned nothing from her failed elopement? How could she behave so recklessly?

Fear,
he realized. Of him.

He couldn’t believe that she wouldn’t recognize the danger in traversing unfamiliar territory in the misty darkness. She’d been outside the gates only once. When he’d taken her down the pathway to the beach.

The scene came back to him so vividly, he recalled every detail. She was seated on a rock by the edge of the beach with her golden hair streaming in the wind, the crystal-clear view to Mull, the white sand, the—

His heart crashed to his feet.
Oh God. The old skiff
. It had belonged to a fisherman who’d had a hut at the end of the beach. He’d died a few years back, and the boat hadn’t been used since. By now, the wood would be dried out. It would leak like a sieve.

Why hadn’t he thought of it? It made perfect sense. But she wouldn’t realize…

He pulled hard on the reins, turning his mount in one smooth motion. A strange emotion gripped him—a fear so strong, it could only be panic. He lowered his head to the thick, powerful neck of his destrier, and he rode. As fast as he’d ever ridden in his life.

By the time Flora realized what was happening, it was too late. But she turned the boat around back toward shore anyway. Thoughts of escape had given way to a fight for survival.

At first, she’d thought it was her inexperienced paddling filling the skiff. Soon, she realized it was something else. In the darkness, she hadn’t been able to see what was happening, but she could feel the water rising. Slowly but surely, it climbed farther and farther up her leg.

Her boat was leaking.

She tried paddling, hoping that the current she’d fought against so determinedly only moments before would take her back to the beach. But the skiff had grown so heavy, it was barely moving. The shore that had only minutes ago seemed so close now seemed infinitely far away. She hadn’t traveled more than a few hundred yards, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t swim a foot, let alone the distance to safety. When it was clear that she would never make it back to shore by paddling, she started bailing. Scooping the icy seawater with her hands and tossing it out as if her life depended on it. Ignoring the obvious fact that it did. So focused was she on her task, for a while she forgot to be scared.

She gave a valiant effort, but it kept filling. Higher and higher. The skiff, in turn, began to sink lower and lower. The sea had claimed it, and it would not give it back.

But she wouldn’t give up. Not as long as there was a chance.

She didn’t want to die.

Still bailing, she glanced back toward shore. And blinked, thinking her eyes might be playing tricks on her. But no. Her pulse leapt. There was no mistake. Peering into the haze, she could see the castle glowing brightly in the darkness. Even from here she could see the unmistakable signs of life. Perhaps someone had noticed her gone and they were looking for her? Hope swelled in her chest. He would find her. She knew it deep in her heart. Knew it with a certainty that could not be assailed. If it were humanly possible, Lachlan Maclean would save her. She just had to hold on long enough for him to reach her.

She wanted to stand up and wave her arms, but she dared not stop bailing. “Help me!” she cried out in the darkness over and over until her voice grew hoarse. Someone had to hear her.

With a renewed burst of energy, she bailed, scooping out the water as fast as she could. Not wanting to acknowledge the futility of her efforts. The orange glow of a torch appeared upon the shore. A horseman. A feeling of euphoria crashed over her.

They’ve found me.
Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks, and she yelled again. Yelled as loud as her voice could carry.

“Here! I’m
here
!”

The skiff had drifted back toward shore, but it was clear the rider couldn’t hear her. She cursed the mist, the darkness, and everything else she could think of.

A few minutes later, the orange light that had seemed a beacon of life faded. Taking with it her last ray of hope, leaving only desperation and despair in its black wake.

The cruel disappointment almost killed her. Her weary body screamed to just give up. She was freezing, and her arms and back ached with the effort of paddling and then of bailing.

She wanted to cry out with frustration and rage and the unfairness of it all, but the scream lodged in her throat. There was no one to hear.

Only that much maligned streak of stubbornness kept her scooping the icy seawater with her frozen hands.

Lachlan intercepted a few of his men near the castle and sent them back with instructions to launch the
birlinns
and search every inch of the sound between here and Mull—in case he was right. With most of the men roaming the countryside, it would take time to find others to man the boats. And time was something he didn’t have.

Never had he so badly wanted to be wrong.

He calculated how long it would take the skiff to fill, and fear gripped his chest.

Once he’d reached the rocky precipice above the inlet, he dismounted and raced the rest of the way down the narrow path to the beach. His worst fears were realized when he looked down the white spans of sand and saw that the old skiff was indeed gone.

His breath lodged in his throat as he scanned the horizon above the sea through the fog.
Be there, damn you….

Nothing. Damn it, where was she? He ran into the water and tried again. Peering hard into the darkness, cursing the mist that shrouded the moonlight, blurring night and sea into one murky cauldron.

His eyes moved purposefully, intently, back and forth over the waves….

There. His gaze caught a movement perhaps a hundred feet from shore. A shimmer of something silvery. His heart stopped and then raced full force. Her hair. The boat was all but sunken under the water, which was why he hadn’t seen her at first.

Why was she still holding on to the boat? Why hadn’t she just started swimming? The answer hit him. She didn’t know how to swim. How could she be so reckless to try to escape in a damn boat? Understanding eviscerated the tenuous hold he had on his control. She’d been that desperate to get away from him. Apparently, a watery death was preferable to the idea of marriage to him.