Page 53 of Winter Longing
Father Gilbert paused, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of his wine goblet. He regarded Cole for a long moment, his gaze thoughtful, before responding. “I must admit,” he said slowly, “the idea of the future does pique my curiosity. But it’s a curiosity tempered by skepticism.” He smiled faintly, as if acknowledging the paradox. “The Lord made this world as it is, and I believe we are meant to live within the confines He has set. The idea of a different world, one so removed from our own, but alive at the same time, is difficult to reconcile. I wonder if it’s not the work of the Devil himself, a temptation to distract us from the purpose we’re meant to serve here and now.” He shook his head, as if casting aside the thought. “But still... yes, there’s a part of me that wonders. What will be, how will it all turn out? I suppose it’s only natural.”
Sensing the priest’s reticence, Cole decided not to push him. He grinned. “Let me know if your curiosity ever wants those answers.”
And though he kept himself occupied each day—indeed, seeking out tasks to occupy his mind—each night, without fail, he found himself lying in the narrow cot, thoughts of Ailsa ever-present. He longed for her return, wanting her return to be soon, to be now, wanting her to be here at Torr Cinnteag while he still was.
***
Cole and Tank stepped into the cold morning air, their boots quiet on snow-covered ground. Their breaths plumed in the chill as they exchanged a few words with Father Gilbert, who was getting about his morning at the same time, the three of them expressing surprise over the snow that had fallen overnight, amounting to about three or four inches.
Their attention was quickly diverted, however, by calls from the battlements for the gates to be opened. Seeing Father Gilbert’s frown and knowing the gates were rarely opened without Tavis’s orders, usually in time for the army’s drills, Cole and Tank followed the priest as he approached the opening.
The sound of hooves echoed across the snow-covered earth. Two riders, their horses lathered with sweat, charged into the yard. The tartans they wore—green, blue, and brown—told Cole they were Sinclair men. The urgency of their arrival gave him pause.
“This...is not good,” Father Gilbert muttered. “Those are scouts from the lass’s party.”
Cole’s stomach tightened.Where was Ailsa?
The riders dismounted, their faces weary. One of them spoke urgently in Scots to another soldier before heading into the keep. Father Gilbert’s expression darkened as he strode toward the keep.
Cole’s concern deepened as the priest hurriedly lifted the hem of his long robes and jogged inside. Exchanging a worried glance, Cole and Tank followed without hesitation.
Inside, Tavis stood at the head of a long table, barking orders to a cluster of soldiers who sprang into action the moment the scouts entered. The taller of the two scouts wasted no time explaining, speaking hurriedly in Scots, his voice taut with fatigue and anxiety.
“They were separated,” Father Gilbert translated, his voice low and hesitant. “They went ahead, scouting as they would, but when they returned...the party was gone.”
Cole’s heart lurched, the words slamming into him like a punch to the gut. “Gone?” His voice was louder than he intended.
The scout grimly continued, and the priest translated sparingly. “There was no sign of a struggle where they’d left them, he says. They searched but the snow made it impossible to track them—there were no tracks, he says.”
“Gone,” Cole repeated, barely able to wrap his mind around the word.
His blood felt like ice in his veins. Ailsa.
He stepped forward, announcing to Tavis. “I’ll ride with you, with whoever’s going.”
“Ye’ll do no such thing,” Tavis snapped, turning on him with a frown. “This is Sinclair business, lad. It’s nae concern of yours.”
“She’s missing, Tavis,” Cole shot back, stepping closer to the table. “Your sister could be—” His throat tightened, and he couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. “Jesus, you are sending out a search party, right?”
Father Gilbert arrived at his side, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Calm yourself, lad.”
Tank spoke up. “How the hell can anyone be calm? Let’s go! Assemble the posse! All hands on deck!” When the priest turned toward Tank, presumably to calm him down as well, Tank jumped on him. “And before you say a damn thing about it, Padre, let me remind you that Cole and I know how to save lives.” He faced Tavis then, his scowl dark. “Wouldn’t you want all the help you can get?”
Tavis raised a hand to stop the argument, impatient and annoyed. His piercing gaze locked on Cole. “Aye, come along,Spaniards. But ken that we’ll nae wait for ye, will nae give ye a second thought if ye fall behind.”
“I won’t fall behind,” Cole vowed, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. He turned to Tank, who nodded solemnly.
They had faced plenty of danger before, Tank more so than he, but this was different. This was Ailsa.
“Ready the troops,” Tavis ordered. “We leave at once.”
Chapter Fifteen
At onceevidently meant within the hour, much to Cole’s dismay. He’d gone back to the rectory, but only to grab his own coat, putting on that underneath the wool cloak he’d been given, which he’d worn every day trying to fit in. After that, he’d gone directly to the stables, where several young kids and the stablemaster, Angus, were already saddling horses. Cole jumped right in, saddling the horse he’d been using for lessons. Though speed was his goal, he did not forget either Ailsa’s or Roibeart’s constant harping about outfitting the horse properly, correctly.
He needn’t have bothered to hurry. Aside from only a few soldiers idling, waiting in the courtyard, Tank included, by the time Cole joined them, neither Tavis nor the bulk of his army were ready to go.
“Feels like I’m back in the Marines,” Tank decided impatiently after they’d been waiting a quarter hour. “Hurry up and wait.”
