The following morning, Caeleb sunk his ax into a fallen tree and scooped up the cloth that lay on the ground beside the level tree trunk where he was splitting logs. He wiped the sweat from his face and bare chest. His muscles burned with the last two hours’ exertion, but that’s what he wanted, what he needed. Caeleb tossed the cloth aside, then placed another log on the tree trunk. He pulled his axe from the wood and swung it down onto the top of a thick log. The log cracked but didn’t split. Caeleb yanked free the axe, swung again, and this time the axe cut halfway through the log.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a warrior crest the hill to his right. With one hand, Caeleb braced against the log, then yanked the axe free. The warrior reached him as Caeleb swung the axe again and split the log in two. The two halves fell from the wood platform onto the ground.

“What is it?” Caeleb asked. He picked up half of the log and set it on the platform, then split it in half.

“A missive arrived for you,” the warrior said.

Caeleb glanced at him as he picked up the second half of the log and set it on the trunk. The warrior extended a letter toward him. Caeleb split the second half of the log, then swung his axe, embedding it in the tree trunk. He took the missive, which was sealed with wax.

He looked up sharply at the warrior. “Who delivered this?”

“A lad from the village. He said an old woman gave it to him with instructions to deliver it to ye.”

Caeleb broke the seal and unfolded the paper.

You will find Gwendolyn at Maggie’s inn at Cromerth village.

A Friend

A Friend. Signed the same as the missive warning of the Donald attack, but the handwriting was different.

“Who is the boy that delivered the letter?” Caeleb demanded.

“The son of David MacLeod, the smith.”

Caeleb knew the boy and his father. They were both loyal MacLeods. Someone had randomly picked the boy to deliver the message. What the bloody hell kind of game was someone playing? Did the writer truly know where Gwen had gone? Had Gwen confided in someone? In the two years Gwen had been with them, she’d kept to herself. Caeleb couldn’t think of a single person she might have confided in.

Why didn’t this friendsimply come out and tell them? Was this a trick? The letter warning about the Donald attack hadn’t been a trick, but this letter had been written by someone different. Did the writers know each other? Why not leave the letter in the great hall as the first writer had done?

Was it possible Gwen really was in Cromerth? His heart began to beat fast. The village was but half a day’s ride. If he left now and rode hard, he could be there in a little over three hours.

Caeleb looked at the warrior. “Where is Manas?”

“He is on the wall, laird.”

“Send him to my library.”

 

Twenty minutes later, Manas told Caeleb, “If Tommen were here, he would agree with me.” Caeleb had told him about Gwen. “Tommen bade you stay while he searched for Gwendolyn,” Manas went on. “He would want you to stay and let me go to Cromerth.”

Caeleb shook his head. “I must go.”

“Ye said you didn’t want the clan to know what was going on until you found out the truth. If you go, they’ll  ask questions.”

“I needn’t explain my every move,” Caeleb said. “No one will question me.”

“Laird—”

A knock on the door interrupted him.

“Enter,” Caeleb called.

The door opened and another warrior entered. “Laird, Jacob MacKinnon is here to see ye.”

“What the devil?” Caeleb burst out.

“You cannot leave now,” Manas said.

Caeleb shot him a glare. “You know what to do. Take four men you can trust. I will follow soon as I can.”

Once he got rid of the McKinnon laird.

* * *

The chirp of morning birds penetrated Gwendolyn’s sleep-laden mind. She jerked awake and bolted upright. Where was she? The trees snapped into focus and memory crashed down upon her. Tommen had discovered her with Malcolm. Caeleb. She bit back a sob. She would never see him again. That had been her plan. Only…she’d planned on spending one more night with him. This was better. A clean break. But he would never see the letter she’d written with her confession. The letter lay hidden beneath a stone near the hearth. Her necklace. The tears came. The necklace was the only thing she had of her family, the only thing she could have passed on to Gwen.

But that was behind her.

Gwen dashed at the tears. The low roar of churning water drew her attention to the right. Through the trees and across the loch, she spotted the falls that cascaded over shoreline rocks. Even in last night’s darkness, she’d recognized the Red Hills of the Cuillin Mountains.

Gwen turned and a twinge of pain in her shoulder stopped her. Gingerly, she massaged the painful knot while she located the sun. The morning was later than she liked. She scrambled to her feet and scanned her surroundings. So long as she hugged the southern coastline, she would eventually reach Bracadale, then she could continue east to the hills of Mugeary, where she would meet Malcolm at Maggie’s inn.

What if you arrive and Arabelle isn’t there? a small voice whispered.

Gwen bit her lip in an effort to hold off tears. If Arabelle wasn’t at Maggie’s inn, Gwen would kill Malcolm. But if he harmed Arabelle or spirited her away, Gwen didn’t know what she would do.

Gwen began walking. As she headed south, the landscape grew familiar. By early afternoon, she cut through an open pasture, then entered an eastward valley that skirted Cromerth village, where Maggie’s inn was located.

Once she reached the road, anticipation caused her to quicken her step. She would take Arabelle away from Skye where no one knew them, and forget about Skye, Malcolm and, most of all, Caeleb.  Gwendolyn imagined the farm where she and her sister would live, surrounded by meadows and wild flowers. She envisioned bouquets of lilacs and daisies filling the small cottage. Dried vegetables from the garden would stock the cupboards. During the day, they would work the garden, and at night she would read to Arabelle and teach her to sew. There was so much Gwendolyn wanted for her sister. For a seven-year-old, Arabelle was worldly, but she still had much to learn.

At last, Maggie’s inn came into view on the side of the road. Gwendolyn reached the building and pushed through the door, hoping to find Malcolm and her sister, but the room was empty. Panic started her heart beating faster.

Maggie emerged from the back room and stopped short when her eyes met Gwen’s. “Gwendolyn, is that ye?” The older woman hurried toward her. “Oh, dear child.” She pulled Gwendolyn into her arms.

Gwen collapsed into Maggie’s welcome warmth. “Maggie, ‘tis so good to see ye.” She allowed herself several slowing heartbeats before pulling back. “Have you seen my sister?”

“Oh, aye. A man delivered her earlier this morning.”

Relief flooded Gwen. Her sister was here.

“I bid him to stay,” Maggie went on, “but he refused. Rode out of here as if we had the plague.”

Gwen’s mind snapped to attention. Malcolm left Arabelle and rode out immediately?  Something was wrong. Malcolm would never give in so easily. A nervous tremor rippled through her.

“Arabelle is out back playing with the dog,” Maggie said.

All thought of Malcolm vanished. Her sister was out back playing? Gwen swiped at a tear that slipped through her resolve.

“No need to cry. All is well.” Maggie gave her a shrewd look. “Ye look tired, child. What has happened?”

Gwen shook her head, afraid to speak. Here, now, with Arabelle safe, and seeing Maggie, she didn’t trust herself not to confess all. “I have missed ye so.” She threw herself into Maggie’s arms again.

Maggie stroked her hair and made soft, cooing sounds until Gwen at last drew back. She glimpsed the knowing look on Maggie’s face, but was glad when the older woman only put an arm around her shoulder and said, “Come see your sister.”

Maggie walked alongside her, and Gwen laid her head on Maggie’s shoulder. They reached the back door and Gwen followed Maggie down the three steps then stopped. Not ten feet away, Arabelle squatted amongst a patch of wildflowers. Gwen’s heart leapt. Arabelle had grown so much.

“Arabelle!” she shouted.

Her sister twisted and looked over her shoulder. Her face lit with recognition. She jumped to her feet and raced toward Gwen. Gwendolyn hurried forward until they crashed into each other’s arms. Happy tears streamed down their faces.

“Ye are here!” Arabelle cried. “You are actually here! Oh, Gwenie, I missed you so much.”

Gwen hugged her tight. “I missed ye, too, Arabelle.”

Arabelle drew back. A twinkle lit her eyes, and Gwen realized her sister’s intent.

Arabelle gave her a small shove and leapt back. “Catch me, if ye can.” She shot away.

With a laugh, Gwen sprinted after her. As usual, she let the little girl race just out of reach.

At last, Gwen overtook her sister and tumbled with her through the wildflowers. Arabelle giggled. Gwen closed her eyes. The sound was balm unlike anything else…except, perhaps, the laughter of a certain laird.

Half an hour later, after Gwen scribbled a letter for Caeleb and left instructions with Maggie to send it to Caeleb right away, she and Arabella set off with a pack filled with food, peat for a fire, two warm blankets and the money Gwen had earned. They headed eastward, toward what would be their new home. With Arabelle at her side, hope burgeoned, but didn’t mask the guilt gnawing at her bones. Nor did it heal her broken heart.

As they followed the road, they shared stories of what they had done during their months apart. Gwendolyn allowed Arabelle to prattle on and forced herself to envision the events Arabelle described. 

Arabelle abruptly looked up at her, dark eyes wide, and asked, “Gwenie, where are we going?”

“Home, Arabelle. We are going home.”

“Ye mean back to Glenwood Abbey?”

“Nae, lass. We will never step foot on Donald land again.”

“Malcolm said ye had to return to make right your mistakes.”

“My mistake was dealing with the Donalds,” Gwen said through tight lips. “I have corrected that mistake.”

“You told Malcolm the information he wanted?” Arabelle asked.

Gwen looked sharply at her. “He told ye that?”

“Only that you didnae tell him what you were supposed to. He asked if ye had told me any secrets.” Arabelle grinned. “I didnae tell him we planned to run away. I told you I could keep a secret.” She kicked a stone. “I am a lass grown.”

Gwen’s heart filled with pride. “Aye, love, you are. Do you remember me telling ye long ago about the cottage in the woods?”

Arabelle nodded. “Aye.”

“That is where we are going. From this day forth, we will never part again. I promise.”

“I love you, Gwenie.” Arabelle threw her arms around Gwen’s waist.  Gwen stumbled to a halt. Arabelle pulled free. “I can reach that big rock up the path before ye can,” she laughed, whirled, and raced away as fast as her little legs could carry her.

Gwen laughed and raced after her sister.

Arabelle beat Gwen to the rock by a hair’s breadth. They slowed and walked in silence. The sun began to sink. Arabelle slowed further. They needed to find shelter for the night. They started across an open field. The night was warm. They could find a sheltered place among the trees, where they could sleep together on a soft bed of leaves. A balmy wind blew. Wildflowers and heather waved with the breeze. Halfway across the field, Gwen tensed. Had she heard horses’ hooves? She slowed and scanned the distance.

The pounding grew louder. Gwen spun. Riders bore down upon them across the field. She seized her sister’s hand and ran toward the trees They were too far away. They would never reach the trees before the riders overtook them.

Arabelle tripped. Gwen yanked her upright and kept going.

“Gwen,” Arabelle cried.

The pounding hooves were closer. Two riders shot in front of them and whirled their horses to face them. Gwen brought Arabelle to a halt and shoved her behind her. Gwen turned in a circle as more riders surrounded them.

Then she halted at sight of the giant warrior whose eyes blazed. 

Tommen.