Bound by Wish and Mistletoe (Highland Legends #1.5)(46)

He urged his horse forward at a gallop, following Solus’s tracks as they led away from Castle Brodie, racing off in the same general direction Susanna had been headed when he first encountered her. He feared a part of Susanna, even if on a subconscious level, had been half a heartbeat away from bolting in panic the entire time she’d been with him, irrespective of the grave risk to her safety.

The hard-headed woman needed to realize what was important in this world.

The things that you run toward...

*

As Susanna and Solus topped a gradual rise, the choking foliage of the forest thinned, allowing narrow shafts of morning light to dance down through the treetops. Sparse vegetation gave way to open rocky ground, and a low stone wall appeared beyond a thicket of bramble. Past the wall and farther up the rise, a modest stone building came into view, its frosted windowpanes perched beneath large twisted icicles that hung from a steeply pitched wood-shingled roof.

The sound of another horse whinny not far behind her quickened her pulse. She urged Solus forward and beyond the building to the stables around the back. She quickly found a stall for Solus, tied her there, and ran to the back entrance of the building. The place resembled the sanctuary her mother had described, based on long-winded stories from traveling monks.

Thankfully, the nondescript oak door on the back of the building was unlocked. Susanna slipped inside, but the door made a loud thud when she shoved it closed. It had an iron crossbar fitted across its middle, and she locked it down tight.

She strode through the kitchen into a main room where small candles flickered in alcoves and on narrow tables along the walls. A giant wooden cross to her right shadowed her as she rushed through the benches lining either side of a center aisle.

The front door, although wider than the back, had a similar crossbar. She bolted it shut as well. In seconds, the sounds of not one, but several horses could be heard beyond the door, along with the deep timbres of men’s voices.

“You cannot hide from the world, my child.”

She spun around to see a man kneeling at one of the tables. His back remained toward her as he lit a candle with a long stick. She stared at him while catching her breath. His robe and hair were different than Father John’s. He wore a plain brown robe tied at the waist with a thin braided cord, and his hair had been trimmed short along the sides except for a circular shaved spot on top of his shiny head.

A monk. I am at the right place.

Not wanting to alert the men outside to their presence, she stepped closer to him before speaking. “But I can hide for now, can I not?”

He partially turned and sat on a bench behind him, his round face with pink cherub cheeks smiling at her. “Aye. We all have the need for refuge from the world from time to time.”

A rattling sound echoed into the room, and they both looked toward the front door. Loud thumps followed, the rusted hinges squeaking and rattling in protest.

The monk turned on the bench, swinging his legs fully around. She lowered herself next to him, dropping her head to stare at his leather-booted feet beneath the brown robe.

“Will the door hold?” she whispered.

“I doona know,” he whispered back. “’Twill depend on how badly they want in.”

She took a deep breath and glanced toward the door again as voices rumbled intermittently outside. Dark shapes moved before one of the paned windows, but she couldn’t make out any details. She prayed that her pursuer’s view inside the building was blurred to the same degree.

Another rattling and more furious pounding happened at the back door. Her pulse accelerated. Robert and his men wouldn’t take her by force, would they?

The monk put his hand over hers. She’d been fisting the material of her cloak so hard, her knuckles had gone white. As she exhaled and relaxed her grip, he patted the top of her hand.

“God’s will be done, child,” he said.

In resignation, she gave a slow nod.

“Susanna!” A deep raspy bellow shouted out.

Her breath caught. Robert hadn’t found her.

Her father had.

“If you doona come out here like a good lass, I’ll be forced to come in. Doona make your great offence to me and our clan any worse.”

She bit her lip and closed her eyes. Her past had hunted her down and caught her. Was escape from it not possible? She shook her head, denying the roots of hopelessness any foundation to take hold.

Silence ensued, transforming into an eerie calm that sent chills up her spine. A distorted shadow went by the window from front to back. Another dark shape followed.

Images of her and Mama cowered in the tiny bedchamber where she’d been imprisoned her entire life flashed through her mind. The waiting was the worst. When one knew an inevitable outcome was about to pass, the minutes that ticked by became tortuous hours. Susanna’s leg bounced in nervous anticipation.

No more fear.

“Do you have any weapons, Father?” she glanced at him.

Kind brown eyes met her gaze as he smiled. “Nay. This is a place of safety. A house of peace not war.”

She stood, restless. No longer worried about being seen, she searched the place for anything to use in defense. Tables and benches, goblets and candles filled the front room, but the cross bearing the crucified Christ looked substantial. She glanced back through the room toward the front door. Although she and the monk might manage to drag the enormous wooden carving to bar the front door, they’d be exhausted by the effort. And by that time, the back door would be broken down.