Highland Outlaw (Campbell Trilogy #2)(93)
When he arrived back at camp, he didn't need to say anything.
She paled. “They're coming this way.”
“Aye. But we'll lose them in the hills.”
She nodded, unable to completely mask her trepidation. He almost reached for her, but she turned away. His chest tightened. She didn't want comfort from him, not any longer. Now that she knew the truth.
He looked around, intending to start getting their things in order, and realized it was unnecessary. Everything had already been packed neatly away in the bags. She'd even had the foresight to refill the skins from the small burn nearby that he'd told her to wash in this morning. In these hillsides water was never hard to find.
He quickly smothered the fire but didn't bother to hide the evidence of their encampment. It would only take time they didn't have, and his brother was too good at recognizing the signs to be fooled. But once they were in the hills, it wouldn't be so easy.
Within five minutes of his arrival, they were off. He kept them moving at a brisk pace—if not a run, then not quite a walk, either. He wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and Gregor before nightfall. With any luck, they would spend one cold night in the mountains and be at Balquhidder before dusk tomorrow.
The woodlands soon gave way to the strath. They followed the curve of Binnein north to the higher hill of Meall Reamhar. As they made their way up, bracken, heather, and grass gave way to rockier paths and Patrick was able to easily hide their tracks.
In addition to keeping an eye on the landscape behind them, he kept constant watch on Lizzie, slowing every so often to allow her to catch her breath. Only when they crested the hill did he stop. Stretched out before them, from east to west, was a panoramic vista of burnished brown hilltops—broken only by the occasional glimpse of a loch or small copse of woodland nestled in the deep corries.
Lizzie made a sound beside him that might have been a gasp, had she breath to lose. “It's magnificent.” Her eyes met his. “Hills as far as the eye can see.” She bit her lip. “Are you sure … it would be easy to get lost.”
“We won't get lost.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“These are MacGregor lands. I was raised in these hills.”
She flushed. “Of course. I didn't think. Is your home near here?”
His gaze hardened, her innocent question hitting a nerve. “What home? I've had no home since I was a boy.”
“I'm sorry, I—”
“We've tarried long enough.” Turning his back to her, he started down the hill. He didn't need her sympathy.
They walked for hours. He pushed her as hard as he could without risking her collapse. The same could not be said of himself. Each step caused an explosion of pain so blinding, he wondered how much longer he could stand it. Steely determination and the knowledge that it was not just his life on the line kept him forging ahead.
Once he thought he'd caught sight of figures cresting a hill in the distance behind them. But as often happened in these hills, the clouds proved an expedient cover, descending like a curtain to hide them from view and further hampering his brother's ability to track them.
But it wasn't just his brother they had to worry about.
As the day drew on, the low clouds, once friendly, took on an ominous change. They thickened, turning heavy and dark. The weather in these mountains was like quicksilver, changing without warning. But it wasn't just the prospect of rain that worried him. It was the sudden drop in temperature— the unseasonable sudden drop in temperature.
This high in the hills, with little to protect them, the cold was bone-numbing. With the plaid wrapped around her and her heavy wool skirts, Lizzie was better protected than he was with only a shirt and leather jerkin, but neither of them could stay out here for long, and they were still a good distance away from the place he'd hoped to shelter for the night.
Realizing they weren't going to make it before the storm set in, he knew he had to find someplace closer. He changed direction, heading due east, making for a copse of trees in one of the gulleys on the other side of the mountain ridge.
Every time he looked at Lizzie, exhausted, shivering, trying bravely not to show her fear, he felt a stab of guilt so sharp that it felt like a dirk twisting in his gut. He urged her on with words of encouragement, but she was flagging.
This was his fault. He never should have gone to Castle Campbell in the first place. Why had he? Land, yes, but also because from the first moment he'd seen her, he'd wanted her. And look where it had brought them: running for their lives in one of the most dangerous places on earth to be caught in a snowstorm—early or not.
For the first time in his life, Patrick felt real fear. Not for himself—he'd weathered storms before—but for Lizzie. He didn't know how much more she could take.
His fears were well-founded when moments later the snow started to fall—hard and fast, as if it had been waiting months for the opportunity to let go, instantly covering their footsteps in a heavy white blanket and making each step over icy rock and dense heather more treacherous than the last. But worse was the wind. Blowing in hard gusts, it blinded, preventing him from being able to see more than a few feet in front of them.
And ever present was the growing threat of darkness.
“Patrick, I …”
He turned, holding his arm against his face to ward off the icy wind. He was just able to make out her tear-filled eyes beneath the edge of the plaid that covered her head. His chest squeezed, seeing her cheeks wet and red from the cold.