Page 16 of The Story of his Highland Bride
Make yourself look as innocuous as possible,she told herself, as she struck out for the castle’s main entrance.
Putting on a slight limp, for no logical reason whatsoever, she made her way across the main courtyard, keeping her chin to her chest to avoid the prying eyes of anyone who might be watching. But with dinner taking place inside the castle, it seemed that everyone had gotten a little lax with their duties. No one else wandered the outer courtyard, and as she slyly glanced up at the battlements, she couldn’t count more than two or three soldiers standing guard. And even those guards weren’t too bothered about what was going on; they were huddled around a brazier, laughing at something that one of them had said.
Seizing her moment, Eloise shambled through the portcullis and out onto the main road. As she walked, she braced for the sound of someone calling out to stop her, but it didn’t come.
I’m going to get away with it!She cheered herself on.It’s not like Jackson will care—he wants me gone, anyway. I’m doing him a favor.
Satisfied, and just a tiny bit disappointed that she’d never set eyes on the handsome, medieval Laird again, she quickened her pace and all but sprinted down the slope of the road. But that was about as far as her planning could get her, since the Cairns’ location was a complete mystery, and it wasn’t like her phone could tell her where to go. Even if it had battery, it wouldn’t be able to pick up any satellite GPS.
“I need to find a village,” she whispered, tucking her chin into her scarf and pulling the cloak’s hood up over her head as she pressed on down the road, searching for any of those white, stone way-markers she’d stumbled upon before.
It wasn’t too long before she found something better: a man and a woman, trundling along on a cart, pulled by two grumpy-looking donkeys.
They look like Jackson,she thought with a smile, as she waved for the oncoming cart to halt.
The man didn’t seem keen on pausing for a stranger at the side of the road, but the woman at his side gave him a sharp elbow inthe ribs, prompting him to pull on the reins and bring the cart to a standstill.
“Are ye lost, Lass?” the woman asked, in a kindly voice.
Swallowing nervously, Eloise did her best impression of a Scottish accent as she replied, “Aye, Madame, I am a bit. I was on me way to me grandmaither’s bothy, but I think I took a wrong turnin’.”
“Och, I’m sorry to hear that! Where did ye lose yer way?” The woman seemed genuinely concerned, spiking Eloise’s guilt.
“A way back, down the road,” Eloise replied, aware of how ropey her accent was. “I came out at a way-marker that said “Wishaw Village,” and I kenned I’d gone awry. See, me grandmaither lives nae far from Clava Cairns, if ye ken them, which is in the opposite direction? Do ye happen to ken the way there?”
The woman frowned, as though Eloise had said something rude. “Ye daenae want to be goin’ near there of a night, Lass. Ye should come up to the castle with us, and we can set ye on the right path in the mornin’.”
The man, presumably her husband, nodded. “Nay one should be wanderin’ through them woods at night, especially nae a lass alone.”
“But I promised me grandmaither that I’d be there, and she’ll worry terribly if I daenae appear. Could ye just point me inthe right direction? I’ve walked in the woods a thousand times before. I willnae come to any harm,” Eloise promised, but, if she was being honest, she had no idea what might be lurking in the forest at night. She hadn’t given it much thought the first time, with her head pounding and her confusion at a fever pitch.
The woman wrung her hands, clearly uncomfortable. But, in the end, she sighed and twisted around on the driver’s bench. “When ye get to that way-marker that says “Wishaw Village,” ye cut right, into the woods. There’s a path, though it’s overgrown. Follow it as far as it’ll go, and ye’ll come to the Cairns eventually. I assume ye ken how to reach yer grandmaither from there?”
“I do, thank ye.” Eloise set off before they could try to persuade her to join them again, as her resolve was already wavering when she thought of a blazing fire and a hot meal and sharing dinner with someone as pleasing to the eye as Jackson Buchanan.
Don’t forget that he evidently wants you dead,she reminded herself. It was too easy to ignore that part when she thought of his face and his height and his rippling muscles, and the way his rough palm had felt between her shoulder blades, when he’d rubbed those comforting circles against her back.
As she hurried along, she heard the man and woman on the cart arguing.
“What did ye tell her that for? She’ll never reach the Cairns, ye mark me words. Either a beast or a different manner of beast will get her!” the man complained.
“She said she’d walked in them woods a thousand times!” the woman replied indignantly. “And she looked a hardy sort of lass.”
That last sentence gave Eloise a strange thrill, putting a spring in her step as she kept her eyes peeled for the “Wishaw Village” way-marker. Back in London, even before she was “jilted,” she’d been made to feel small and feeble and weak, like she wasn’t even capable of walking to the corner shop without getting into some kind of trouble. Whenever she’d wanted to try something new, like rock climbing or a spin class or cooking lessons, Peter could always be relied upon to come up with a hundred reasons why it would be terrible for her.
“Rock climbing is dangerous. Your mum and dad wouldn’t want you doing something like that.”
“You’ll pass out if you do a spin class, and I might not be here to pick up the call if you end up in hospital.”
“You cook just fine. I’m not asking for gourmet dinners, so what’s the point in wasting good money?”
Yet, in one quick meeting, that woman had seen a strength in Eloise that Eloise often failed to see in herself. Strength enough to walk through a forest at night on her own, anyway.
“Did you hear that, Peter?” she muttered. “A hardy sort of lass, not the pathetic little pushover you liked to think I was.”
With a smile on her face, she had to wonder if coming to the turn of the 18thcentury might’ve done her some good, after all. It might’ve only been a short stay, but thinking about the pile of work that lay ahead of her, and the memory of a ruined relationship she had to return to, it didn’t seem so intimidating anymore. If she could get through a day without modern bathrooms or modern medicine, she could get through an uncomfortable meeting with Harriet and then, perhaps, with a real estate agent.
Reaching the way-marker at last, Eloise turned right, as she’d been instructed, and headed cautiously into the shadow-soaked forest.
