Read Online Highland Surrender by Tracy Brogan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tracy Brogan
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spoken.Women have a way of complicating the simplest of things. And desperation makes them stranger still. Don’t fret on it. Just find her and bring her home.”
“Desperation.” The word stung on the tongue. “That’s what I don’t understand, Father. Why was she so desperate to leave she’d rather face a future full of calamitous repercussions?”
“Because her father filled her head with lies, lad. You know I didn’t murder Aislinn Sinclair, but this lass certainly thinks I did. It’s up to you to convince her otherwise.”
Myles picked up his belt, taking note of his missing dagger. At least the girl had the sense to arm herself, but he’d be wary of that blade when he found her. She’d stabbed his father with nothing more than a brooch. She could do real damage with his knife. His thoughts trigged a question that burst forth unbidden. “How is it Aislinn had your brooch, Father? Was it stolen?” His father’s expression turned somber in that instant. “It was given freely. ’Twas meant to be proof of a promise I made.”
“What promise?”
His father shook his head. “Your wife awaits you in the woods. We’ll talk on this another day.”
His father was coy as a courtesan when it came to Aislinn Sinclair. But he was right. Every moment that passed took Fiona farther away from the protection of the Campbells and closer to certain danger—a wild boar, perhaps, or worse yet, forest brigands. Myles picked up his own cloak and left the tent. Rain started in earnest, and thunder rumbled like an omen.
The pelting rain stung Fiona’s eyes, slowing her progress to a pathetic pace. With no idea how far she’d come, she knew only that she’d walked for hours and was irretrievably lost. She had struggled to keep her path due east, but the night stars playedcat and mouse among the clouds until at last the sky was so heavy with rain she saw nothing but darkness. It was morning now, but still the rain fell.
The best she could hope for now was to eventually hit Moray Firth and then decide if she must go north or south. Or perhaps she’d wade straightaway into the frigid waters and be done with herself. She’d been drowning slowly for hours now, her limbs already shriveled and pale as a corpse. How much worse could a swift death in the ocean’s raging tide feel compared to this elongated death?
The rain doubled the weight of her garments, and despondency bore down on her spirits heavier still. She’d made a mistake. A horrible, irreconcilable mistake. She knew that now. Twice during the night, she’d heard such a wicked howling in the woods she’d climbed a tree trying to hide from it. Her dress was in tatters, torn by brambles and branches, and it was quite possible she’d broken a finger when trying to break her fall after tripping over a bulky tree root.
Her plan, which seemed plausible when whispered under a dry cloak with Bess, now revealed itself to be utterly absurd. She had panicked and run, convincing herself she could simply disappear with the help of her Fraser kin. The marriage had been consummated, so the truce would hold and Margaret would be safe. But with the dawn, logic had replaced desperation, and Hugh Sinclair was cursing her from the heavens for her impetuous failure.
The Frasers held more hatred toward the king and Campbells than most. But even if she made her way to their stronghold, would they offer aid? Would they house and clothe and feed her, and then, God willing, see her safely to Glamis Castle and her Douglas cousins? Even if they did, the likelihood of her husband relinquishing his claim on her was improbable, and her familywould very well suffer the consequences of this night’s misadventure. Oh, what a stupid, foolish coward was she.
She should’ve killed him. She should have sliced his throat like a pig to slaughter and pulled out his heart for soup. Then she should’ve turned the knife upon herself. ’Twas the only way to purge her soul of his stain and save
“Desperation.” The word stung on the tongue. “That’s what I don’t understand, Father. Why was she so desperate to leave she’d rather face a future full of calamitous repercussions?”
“Because her father filled her head with lies, lad. You know I didn’t murder Aislinn Sinclair, but this lass certainly thinks I did. It’s up to you to convince her otherwise.”
Myles picked up his belt, taking note of his missing dagger. At least the girl had the sense to arm herself, but he’d be wary of that blade when he found her. She’d stabbed his father with nothing more than a brooch. She could do real damage with his knife. His thoughts trigged a question that burst forth unbidden. “How is it Aislinn had your brooch, Father? Was it stolen?” His father’s expression turned somber in that instant. “It was given freely. ’Twas meant to be proof of a promise I made.”
“What promise?”
His father shook his head. “Your wife awaits you in the woods. We’ll talk on this another day.”
His father was coy as a courtesan when it came to Aislinn Sinclair. But he was right. Every moment that passed took Fiona farther away from the protection of the Campbells and closer to certain danger—a wild boar, perhaps, or worse yet, forest brigands. Myles picked up his own cloak and left the tent. Rain started in earnest, and thunder rumbled like an omen.
The pelting rain stung Fiona’s eyes, slowing her progress to a pathetic pace. With no idea how far she’d come, she knew only that she’d walked for hours and was irretrievably lost. She had struggled to keep her path due east, but the night stars playedcat and mouse among the clouds until at last the sky was so heavy with rain she saw nothing but darkness. It was morning now, but still the rain fell.
The best she could hope for now was to eventually hit Moray Firth and then decide if she must go north or south. Or perhaps she’d wade straightaway into the frigid waters and be done with herself. She’d been drowning slowly for hours now, her limbs already shriveled and pale as a corpse. How much worse could a swift death in the ocean’s raging tide feel compared to this elongated death?
The rain doubled the weight of her garments, and despondency bore down on her spirits heavier still. She’d made a mistake. A horrible, irreconcilable mistake. She knew that now. Twice during the night, she’d heard such a wicked howling in the woods she’d climbed a tree trying to hide from it. Her dress was in tatters, torn by brambles and branches, and it was quite possible she’d broken a finger when trying to break her fall after tripping over a bulky tree root.
Her plan, which seemed plausible when whispered under a dry cloak with Bess, now revealed itself to be utterly absurd. She had panicked and run, convincing herself she could simply disappear with the help of her Fraser kin. The marriage had been consummated, so the truce would hold and Margaret would be safe. But with the dawn, logic had replaced desperation, and Hugh Sinclair was cursing her from the heavens for her impetuous failure.
The Frasers held more hatred toward the king and Campbells than most. But even if she made her way to their stronghold, would they offer aid? Would they house and clothe and feed her, and then, God willing, see her safely to Glamis Castle and her Douglas cousins? Even if they did, the likelihood of her husband relinquishing his claim on her was improbable, and her familywould very well suffer the consequences of this night’s misadventure. Oh, what a stupid, foolish coward was she.
She should’ve killed him. She should have sliced his throat like a pig to slaughter and pulled out his heart for soup. Then she should’ve turned the knife upon herself. ’Twas the only way to purge her soul of his stain and save
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