Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(71)

Adam, the captain, stepped forward. “‘Tis done, my lady. I started the moment I heard the child was missing.”

Too terrified to feel anything other than a breath of relief, Jeannie thanked him. “She'll have gone after them. Do you know where they've gone?”

“Aye. The Muir of Dinnet.”

Minutes later most of the remaining guardsmen who had not accompanied Duncan on the hunt rode out through the gate.

Duncan. Where was he? She wanted—nay, needed—him desperately and was too terrified to allow pride to stop her from admitting it.

Adam was one of the last to go. “Don't worry, we'll find her, my lady. She couldn't have gone far.”

But they both knew she could. Ella was an excellent rider. Jeannie nodded mutely, trying not to think about all the horrible scenarios that could harm a seven-year-old child alone in the mountains and forests. What if she took a wrong turn and got lost? The paths were fraught with danger and if she veered off she could fall down a ravine, off a mountainside, or even into the River Dee if she wasn't careful. Only the knowledge that Duncan had cleared the land prevented her from thinking about brigands.

As Adam and the last group of men galloped away, Jeannie ran up to the battlements to watch them go.

She wanted to go. To do something. Anything other than this horrible waiting.

But as a woman waiting was what was expected of her. Adam would never have allowed her to go—she would have only slowed them down.

And Duncan …

She shuddered. He would be furious at the mere suggestion.

This was what it meant to be a woman. Forced to sit and wait while your life played out beyond your control.

Once before she'd felt this way—this horrible helplessness. She recalled standing at the window in the tower chamber, eyes glued to the countryside, waiting for news of Glenlivet. And that's what she did now, standing at the battlements, scouring the countryside for any sign of riders. Her mother-in-law and the other women had gone inside, but she could not. Inside she would go crazy. She needed to be outside where the walls could not close in around her.

Her skirts whipped around her ankles as a great gust of wind tore across the barmkin. Cold from fear, Jeannie barely noticed the wintry weather, until the first snow-flake landed on her cheek.

It couldn't be snowing. It was too early …

As if to taunt her thoughts, the flakes came down harder.

Now Ella was at the mercy not only of the harsh terrain, but the elements as well. If they didn't find her soon she would freeze to death. She closed her eyes, praying, but it did not prevent the tears from leaching out and running down her cheeks.

How long had it been? Five minutes? Ten? An hour? Jeannie lost all sense of time. She looked at the sky—dark with storm clouds, but it still looked as if there were a few hours of light left.

They should be back by now.

The Muir of Dinnet was not that far. Francis used to take Ella there to see the stone circle and standing stones. Ella loved the ancient stones that dotted the Dee-side, convinced that they were imbued with faerie magic.

Could she have gone there instead?

Her heart started to beat a little faster. It felt right. If Ella had been unable to find Duncan, the stone circle would be the first place she would think of. Jeannie had to do something. Standing here doing nothing had become unbearable.

The guards tried to stop her, but Jeannie could not be swayed. Eventually, with two of the remaining guardsmen to accompany her—two more than could be spared—Jeannie put her head down low against her mare's neck and kicked her heels, racing into the storm.

Chapter 14

The hunt had taken longer than Duncan planned. But then again he hadn't counted on his wee stowaway.

He had to hand it to her, Ella had done a fine job of tracking them. About an hour after Duncan and his men had left the castle, they'd tied their horses and fanned out in the woods stalking their prey: deer, the rare boar, or anything else that might add to the winter stores. And if the cold, heavy wind was any indication, winter would be here soon enough.

One of his men had caught sight of a movement. A hint of brown in between the trees and sea of green foliage. The warrior raised his bow, taking steady aim.

Duncan's neck tingled. The hair on his arms stood on end. Something was …

“Stop!” Duncan jerked the man's arm down so hard he almost broke it. “It's not a deer.” Panic had spiked inside him so hard, his voice actually shook.

The scrap of brown started to run at the sound of his voice, but it didn't take long for Duncan to overtake her.

Aye, her. Because, despite the brown cap, trews, and short coat, Duncan knew exactly who had followed them. The glint of one red curl peaking our from under the cap had given her away—and saved her life.

He circled his arms around her from behind and lifted her off the ground. She kicked and tried to wrestle free, but realizing the futility, gave over to the punishment.

He hadn't meant to be so harsh, but she'd just about taken ten years off his life and his fear had lashed out like a whip in a brutal tongue lashing.

The tears had been his undoing.

Somehow, in between the chokes and sobs, the tiny, pale face streaked with tears, the apologies, and the knowledge of how badly she missed her father, Duncan agreed to allow her to accompany them.

He suspected he'd been rather handily maneuvered, but in truth he would have done just about anything to make her stop looking at him like that. When this was over he was going to make a vow to stay away from beautiful lasses with creamy skin, big blue—or green for that matter—eyes, and red hair.