Page 70 of Cottage in the Mist
“Well, considering that you’ve only been here a couple of times, I’d say that isn’t likely.” Jeff stared down at the still man, sympathy etched on his face. “But regardless, I’d say he’s a man we should all take our hat off to. I mean, hell, who knows how long he’s been out here like this? The fact that he survived is nothing short of a miracle.”
“And if he lives to see the morrow it will be yet another miracle,” Fergus added.
“So it’s that bad?” Lily knew the answer, but somehow she needed to hear it put into words.
“Aye, lass, that it is. I wish that it were different, but it’s no’. That said, we’ve given the lad his best chance. We’ll know on the morrow.”
“But we canna stay here,” William protested. “If we do, we might not catch up to Iain and Bram in time.”
“We can’t leave him.” Even as Lily said the words she realized the conundrum they faced. If they stayed to help Robby, then Bram might be at risk, but if they left Robby, then Lily wouldn’t be able to live with herself.
A rock and a hard place if ever there was one—except that there wasn’t a choice.
“We have to stay,” she declared, her eyes meeting Jeff’s and Fergus’s, daring them to argue.
“I don’t see that there’s a choice,” Jeff agreed, echoing her thoughts.
Fergus gave a gruff nod. “William, we’ll need to build up the fire. We’ve got to keep the lad warm. And we’ll need water.” For this he looked to Jeff. “And the rest we’ll have to leave to God.” His gaze met Lily’s and, despite the pain in her heart, she relished his approval. Sometimes the difficult choices were the right ones.
If only Bram could wait. Please God, let it not be too late.
23
“The cut-through to the pass is just beyond those rocks,” Frazier said. “’Tis very narrow, ye ken.”
“And you say it follows a burn?” Bram asked as they all pulled to a halt at the foot of the outcropping of rock.
“Aye, a wee wash o’ water. Although with the spring thaw it’ll be running higher than usual, I suppose.”
“Any reason that would be a problem?” Ranald asked Frazier.
“Nay. ’Tis too small a stream to bother the horses. And toward the bottom, where the burn falls from the rocks to form pools, the pathway widens so that we willna have to cross the water. The pass dumps us right in to Alec Comyn’s backyard.”
“Is there anywhere to camp along the way?” asked Iain, his eyes moving from the rocky slope to the sky. “If not, then we’d best make camp here. We’ve only got a few hours of daylight left.”
Frazier scratched his beard. “There’s a copse of birch about halfway along. ‘Twould be as good a place as any to camp for the night.”
“And it would mean being closer to Comyn’s holding at sunup.” Bram couldn’t keep the impatience out of his voice.
“Well, as much as I want to make the man pay for what he did to your father, I’ve got to be equally sure that we’re not rushing into this like angry fools,” Iain said.
Bram bit off his reply, clenching a fist as he tried to contain his frustration. He’d always been a man of action, and so was aching for a fight. Something to take the edge off his own guilt. About Lily, about his father, about everything. He felt as if he had no control, his life spiraling away from him without so much as a by your leave. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t handle the challenges, but to do so, he had to meet them head on. And all this prattle wasn’t getting him any closer to his enemy.
“You’re sure about this passage?” Ranald was asking, his cousin eyeing Frazier speculatively. “When was the last time you were up here?”
The older man shrugged. “’Twas last fall. Seamus and I went hunting.”
“For Comyn cattle?” Ranald asked, raising his brows.
“Ach, no.” Frazier shook his grizzled head. “No’ to say that it wasn’t tempting. But these old bones canna handle reiving. So we made do with smaller game. Pheasant and rabbits and such. Anyway, the point is the pass was clear then. As was the stand o’ birch.”
Bram looked to Iain and his cousin nodded.
“Best get to it then,” Ranald said, urging his horse forward. “Time’s a wastin’.”
An hour or so later they were climbing full out, single file, following the path of the rushing burn. Water from the spring thaw sprang through gaps in the rocks, creating tiny waterfalls cascading down the craggy cliffs and swelling the stream with the runoff. Clumps of gorse clung to the rocky scree. In another few weeks, the mountains would be abloom, but for now everything was on the cusp, the predominate colors greyand green, leafy boughs of alder and birch blending in with the darker needles of the pines.
“We can make camp just around this bend,” Frazier called out, swinging around to face Bram, who had been riding just behind him. And true to the old man’s word, the trail widened, then disappeared as it was claimed by a grassy meadow ringed by a stand of birch.
