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Authors: Highland Secrets
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of him.”
“I don’t know if you recall all that happened in Edinburgh,” she said, keeping her voice low, although the chance that it would carry above the sound of the horses’ hoofbeats to the riders ahead of them was slim.
“I remember that you insisted you should be the only one to go inside the castle,” Neil said. “I still say—”
“It would have been foolish for you to go,” she said, as she had at the time. “Men are always more suspicious of other men man they are of women. But never mind that now. I met Calder there that day.”
“Good God! Is he the visitor you told us about? I didn’t recall his name.”
Since she had not decided how much she ought to reveal about her confrontation with Calder, she was glad when Allan chose that moment to rein in and say, “We’ll leave the horses here.”
They had reached an arched stone bridge over a little burn that tumbled merrily over rocks and stones in its haste to reach the loch. To their right lay a steep-sided, lushly green glen that over the centuries the rushing water had carved into the mountain. Leathery ferns hugged the base of every oak, beech, and hazel tree, and some even grew in the forks of high branches. Patches of orange, gray, and black lichen and bright green moss crept upward, even on the pines, painting their bark with color. Honeysuckle and giant ivy draped otherwise bare oak and hazel branches, and the scent of rich, damp earth drifted from the glen’s dark depths.
In surprise Neil said, “You want to stop? We’ve gone less than a mile!”
“All the same, lad, we’ll leave the horses in this wee glen and take to the ridge top. We’ve been fortunate not to meet anyone else, but we cannot hope that will continue. Folks are out and about now, and the last thing we want is for anyone to remember us with these horses. This gray I’m riding is too easy to describe. It’s bad enough that we’ve had to keep to the shore road this long, but till now we’ve had no easy access for these nags into the woods.”
By the time he finished speaking, the others had dismounted. Neil bent to get a drink, and then they quickly led both animals along the burn, up the narrow glen, into the woodland. Finding a deer trail, they followed that up away from the water for a hundred yards, then released the horses and walked on without them toward a ridge where the trees grew less densely. Still well below the crags with their treacherous scree, they wended their way along a low, winding ridge that connected several glens, some sloping west, their burns feeding Loch Linnhe, and others sloping east into Glen Creran and Glen Ure. Bardie was undoubtedly traveling in the same general direction, but they saw no sign of him.
They did not talk. Conversation would not travel far in the woods, and they could be fairly certain the enemy did not lurk among the granite boulders and open, heather-covered stretches above them, but the others knew that Allan was listening to the animals for any odd silence or chattered warning of enemies approaching.
Their own silence reassured the forest creatures that they meant no harm, and soon the anxious twittering of the birds returned to song. The cawing of the rooks grew deeper and more resonant. The only strident note came from a blackbird that erupted from a thicket with an angry scream as they approached, foolishly revealing the location of his mate’s nest.
Two hours later, as they walked west down Glen Duror, accompanied by the roar of its frothing, icy river, Diana felt little surprise to see a doe heavy with fawn gingerly make her way to the bank to drink, heedless of their passage. Snowdrifts lingered in shadows, but signs of spring appeared everywhere. Buds seemed to swell before her eyes, while masses of herbs in leaf and early bloomers like the tiny forest daisies, chickweed, and dandelions created a colorful carpet beneath her feet.
She began to feel a familiar sense of homecoming. It was the first
“I don’t know if you recall all that happened in Edinburgh,” she said, keeping her voice low, although the chance that it would carry above the sound of the horses’ hoofbeats to the riders ahead of them was slim.
“I remember that you insisted you should be the only one to go inside the castle,” Neil said. “I still say—”
“It would have been foolish for you to go,” she said, as she had at the time. “Men are always more suspicious of other men man they are of women. But never mind that now. I met Calder there that day.”
“Good God! Is he the visitor you told us about? I didn’t recall his name.”
Since she had not decided how much she ought to reveal about her confrontation with Calder, she was glad when Allan chose that moment to rein in and say, “We’ll leave the horses here.”
They had reached an arched stone bridge over a little burn that tumbled merrily over rocks and stones in its haste to reach the loch. To their right lay a steep-sided, lushly green glen that over the centuries the rushing water had carved into the mountain. Leathery ferns hugged the base of every oak, beech, and hazel tree, and some even grew in the forks of high branches. Patches of orange, gray, and black lichen and bright green moss crept upward, even on the pines, painting their bark with color. Honeysuckle and giant ivy draped otherwise bare oak and hazel branches, and the scent of rich, damp earth drifted from the glen’s dark depths.
In surprise Neil said, “You want to stop? We’ve gone less than a mile!”
“All the same, lad, we’ll leave the horses in this wee glen and take to the ridge top. We’ve been fortunate not to meet anyone else, but we cannot hope that will continue. Folks are out and about now, and the last thing we want is for anyone to remember us with these horses. This gray I’m riding is too easy to describe. It’s bad enough that we’ve had to keep to the shore road this long, but till now we’ve had no easy access for these nags into the woods.”
By the time he finished speaking, the others had dismounted. Neil bent to get a drink, and then they quickly led both animals along the burn, up the narrow glen, into the woodland. Finding a deer trail, they followed that up away from the water for a hundred yards, then released the horses and walked on without them toward a ridge where the trees grew less densely. Still well below the crags with their treacherous scree, they wended their way along a low, winding ridge that connected several glens, some sloping west, their burns feeding Loch Linnhe, and others sloping east into Glen Creran and Glen Ure. Bardie was undoubtedly traveling in the same general direction, but they saw no sign of him.
They did not talk. Conversation would not travel far in the woods, and they could be fairly certain the enemy did not lurk among the granite boulders and open, heather-covered stretches above them, but the others knew that Allan was listening to the animals for any odd silence or chattered warning of enemies approaching.
Their own silence reassured the forest creatures that they meant no harm, and soon the anxious twittering of the birds returned to song. The cawing of the rooks grew deeper and more resonant. The only strident note came from a blackbird that erupted from a thicket with an angry scream as they approached, foolishly revealing the location of his mate’s nest.
Two hours later, as they walked west down Glen Duror, accompanied by the roar of its frothing, icy river, Diana felt little surprise to see a doe heavy with fawn gingerly make her way to the bank to drink, heedless of their passage. Snowdrifts lingered in shadows, but signs of spring appeared everywhere. Buds seemed to swell before her eyes, while masses of herbs in leaf and early bloomers like the tiny forest daisies, chickweed, and dandelions created a colorful carpet beneath her feet.
She began to feel a familiar sense of homecoming. It was the first
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