Page 54 of Winter Longing
It was another half hour before the party finally moved out from Torr Cinnteag, during which time Tank had twice persuaded Cole to hold back. Tank insisted they had no business venturing out alone— they had no clear destination and no idea what dangers lay ahead. Cole, however, was restless, frustrated by the delay. Tavis, when he finally emerged from the keep, made no apologies for the wait, and since no one else seemed eager to move any faster, Cole decided with mounting frustration that this must simply be how things worked in this time.
With no idea whether Ailsa’s disappearance was due to a natural disaster—if it had anything to do with the snow that had fallen—or was the work of an enemy, Tavis had brought theentire army along. Only the house guards were left behind to protect Torr Cinnteag.
Shortly after they set out, news spread to Cole and Tank that it wasn’t only Ailsa who was missing, but her maid, Anwen, as well. Six soldiers, including the carriage driver and footmen, had also vanished without a trace. The list of the lost only deepened Cole’s sense of urgency, but at the same time, he was somewhat appeased that she wasn’t alone, that she was accompanied by men whose sole job it was to protect her.
Though it wasn’t yet something he was entirely comfortable with, Cole wanted desperately to gallop to where she’d last been seen. Instead, Tavis set a pace that was decidedly, maddeningly slower.
Snow began to fall again about an hour after they’d left Torr Cinnteag.
The young soldier, Rory, who sometimes rode beside Tank and Cole, advised when they left Sinclair property, and that they must now be more vigilant.
The snow kept falling and the cold bit through his coat and the wool plaid, his breath fogging the air as he glanced up at the gray sky. The snow was heavy, but not like any blizzard conditions Cole had lived through over the years in Buffalo, and yet it was enough to slow their progress to a crawl. Cole wondered what they had to be vigilant about—who else would be out in this?
He muttered a curse under his breath, knowing that in modern America—maybe anywhere in the world—a missing person could be tracked with helicopters, drones, thermal imaging, or at least a damn cell phone. Here, they had to rely on the scouts’ memory, instinct, and luck—all of which seemed so much less valuable to him.
Cole exhaled hard, his gloved hand gripping the reins tightly. “We’d already be there if we had paved roads,” he muttered to Tank.
“Or cars,” Tank added. “Hell, even a four-wheeler.”
Cole grimaced. He thought of Ailsa constantly—the idea of her out here, in the cold and danger, gnawed at him.
As the day stretched on, and they were forced to climb one hill after another, the snow began to fall heavier, the wind picking up. Cole asked Rory to ride ahead and inquire how much further.
Despite his concern for Ailsa and the others, the details of the march did not escape Cole. Rather, it fascinated him. The scene was unlike anything he had experienced: the army marched in double columns, creating an impressive line that stretched far into the snow-laden distance, the long procession winding like a dark ribbon through the white landscape. All of it was mostly silent, the sound of their movements shrouded by snow and wind.
The men were disciplined, their movements orderly despite the uneven terrain. Snow clung to their faces and cloaks, but they pressed on, after a while looking like more a white army. Certain riders, who Cole presumed to be messengers or officers, moved up and down the line on horseback, carrying orders or checking on the men. Their horses left tracks that were quickly blurred as fresh snow continued to fall.
Rory, a very helpful guide, explained that the scouts— other than those leading the party to where they’d left and lost Ailsa—would regularly venture out, up to two miles ahead to ensure the safety of the path.
Cole realized then that what he had perceived as a delay earlier might have been necessary preparations. The soldiers had packed their own food and supplies, ensuring they could march without stopping for meals. As they rode, they ate chunksof bread or gnawed on strips of dried meat as they marched and sipped from flasks of ale.
Cian and Colin, two younger soldiers who had taken a liking to Cole and Tank, generously shared bread with them. Cole accepted the gesture with a nod of thanks, chewing thoughtfully as he watched the snow swirl around the procession. Both Cole and Tank declined the offered ale, drinking from their water flasks instead, knowing hydration was more important.
By late afternoon, Cole’s ass was sore and his feet were freezing and he was beginning to lose hope. He had no idea how much further they needed to go, but was struggling to imagine any way Ailsa and those lost could survive the elements for so long.
At one point while he rode somewhere near the front third of the group, they passed Tavis and Dersey, who’d pulled off to the side of the columns and watched them go by.
Dersey, his red cheeks all that wasn’t white on him, was calling out something in Scots as they passed. Anxious, not understanding, but with renewed hope, Cole stood in the saddle to see the front of the column begin to angle toward the left. It looked as if they were aiming for a pass between two mountains.
At the same time, Tank asked Rory, “What’s he saying? Are we close?”
“Nae close enough,” Rory replied. “Cap’n says we’ll stop for the night at Torr Dubh.”
Cole sat back down, pinning Rory with a feral glare. “Stop? We can’t stop. Aren’t we getting close? We must be getting close.”
“Torr Dubh?” Tank asked. “What’s that?”
“The Black Tower,” Rory said, ignoring Cole’s concern. “The MacLae stronghold.”
“Why are we stopping?” Cole persisted, thinking he should step out of formation and address this with Tavis.
With a grimace of sympathy, Rory explained, “We canna press on in the dark.”
Momentarily distracted, Cole’s brow knit, and he asked, “MacLae? The guy Ailsa’s supposed to marry?”
Rory nodded, his expression revealing some confusion, either about how Cole knew that or why it seemed to upset him.
“Jesus Christ,” Cole muttered. “But aren’t we close?”
