Page 23 of The Beast's Bride
Rhona could have gone to Duntulm, but that would be foolish, for her sister couldn’t shelter her, and Baltair MacDonald would merely send her home. To his knowledge, Rhona had no other connections upon the isle. Yet, he knew she had kin on the mainland. Lady Martha had hailed from Argyle.
If he’d been Rhona, he’d ride south to Kyleakin and find passage across the water.
It was a bold move, but Rhona wasn’t like other maids. She was a strong rider, and with his tuition over the years could handle herself with a knife, sword, and her hands. She was also stout-hearted and not easily daunted. Even so, it wasn’t a safe journey for a woman alone. Desperation had made her reckless, foolish.
Taran thanked the lad and swung up onto Tussock’s back. Leaving the inn, he urged the horse into a canter, skirted the village, and headed up the first rise south. He’d have to ride hard to catch Rhona up, for she traveled upon a leggy chestnut mare that could outrun most of the horses in MacLeod’s stable. Still, what Tussock lacked in speed, he made up for in endurance.
If he kept up an even pace, he’d catch Rhona before she reached the coast.
Lasair raced south, her hooves flying over the dry grass and heather strewn over the ground. The mare had a thirst for adventure and was enjoying being out in open country, galloping free and unchecked.
As the day wore on, the landscape around Rhona changed. Mountains rose against the eastern horizon, bare-backed ridges with thick forest nestled between them where deer roamed. To the south thrust a wall of carven grey peaks: the Black Cuillins. Sloping charcoal sides ran down to the dry hills below, the mountain range’s sharp outline etched against the sky. Rhona skirted the base of the mountains, riding south-east now. To the south of these mighty mountains lay the Lochans of the Fair Folk, a collection of pools said to be blessed by the Fae. She’d visited the spot twice, once for a gathering of the MacLeod kin, and the second time for her father’s handfasting to Una. They had been wed next to one of the waterfalls.
Rhona would have liked to visit the lochans again, but it would mean a detour, and she had no time for that. Instead, she pressed on south-east, stopping twice briefly during the afternoon to rest and water Lasair.
By the time the light started to fade, Rhona’s belly felt hollow with hunger. She’d been so nervous that morning, she’d been unable to stomach more than a mouthful of bannock. The anxiety had fled now she was on her way, and she was ravenous.
Yet she didn’t stop. She didn’t dare. She needed to get as much distance between her and Dunvegan as possible before nightfall.
Dusk settled, stretching rosy fingers across the western sky. The shadow of the Black Cuillins now behind her, Rhona pressed on. She slowed Lasair to a gentle trot and moved through the gloaming until a cloak of darkness settled over the world, making it impossible to travel any farther.
At that point she drew Lasair to a halt and made camp for the night. Securing the mare on a long tether to a boulder so that the horse could graze, Rhona settled herself on the ground on the opposite side of the boulder. She leaned against the rock, still warmed from the sun, and unwrapped her precious parcel of food. She was hungry enough to devour the lot, yet she stopped herself after two oat-cakes and an apple. She needed to be careful, although she’d hopefully be able to buy more food at Kyleakin.
Finishing her light supper, Rhona brushed crumbs off her kirtle and gazed up at the night sky where, one by one, the stars were twinkling into existence like tiny jewels against the inky void beyond. She was lucky, for the night was a mild one. She didn’t even need to wrap herself up in her cloak, so instead she bundled it up and used it as a pillow.
Rhona yawned loudly, letting tiredness settle upon her like a warm blanket. For the first time since leaving Dunvegan, she allowed herself to dwell on what she’d left behind. She imagined Adaira’s stricken face when she realized what Rhona had done, and their father’s rage. She actually shuddered at the thought. Rhona was afraid of her father. He didn’t suffer disobedience in his hounds, his men, or his women.
Rhona only hoped that Adaira had escaped his wrath.
She slept lightly that night, dozing only as the hours stretched by. It was an isolated area, far from any villages or farms, and so she passed the night undisturbed. However, as soon as the first blush of the approaching dawn light illuminated the sky, Rhona was up once more. She would not lose the advantage she had gained the day before.
Rhona had left Lasair saddled overnight, with her girth loosened so she’d be comfortable. As such it took only a few moments preparation and the pair of them were cantering south once more into a misty dawn. As she rode, Rhona was surprised to find a smile creeping over her face. She wasn’t out of danger yet, and still felt upset at leaving Adaira, but the sense of freedom she felt this morning made her feel as if she’d just been reborn.
This is who I truly am, she thought.Who I was born to be.
Chapter Eleven
The Way of the World
ALTHOUGH RHONA PUSHED Lasair as hard as she dared, they didn’t manage to reach Kyleakin by the end of the day. They were close, she knew it, but the coastal village was still out of sight as the last of the sun drained from the sky, casting the world into darkness once more.
Letting out a sharp huff of annoyance, Rhona drew the mare to a halt in a wooded valley. After riding south of the Black Cuillins, her journey had taken her sharply south-east, through the mountainous landscape that had slowed her journey somewhat. Huge peaks had risen overhead, making Rhona feel impossibly small. It was a wild, lonely part of the isle, and Rhona had passed no one on her travels—something she was grateful for.
At a certain point on her journey she spied the peaked roof of a great building in the distance: Kilbride Abbey, Skye’s only convent. Rhona had drawn Lasair up a moment, her gaze narrowing as she viewed the stone bulk rising against the western sky. She must be in the heart of MacKinnon territory now if she could see the abbey.
Could she save herself a trip to the mainland and find sanctuary there?
Rhona’s mouth twisted. No—the life of a nun wasn’t for her. Besides, her father would merely travel to Kilbride and drag her home by the hair.
The only way she’d escape her fate was to leave this isle for good.
Rhona had urged Lasair on once more, turning the mare inland. She’d consulted her father’s map of Skye numerous times on the journey and decided that this was a faster route than riding south and skirting the coast. Even so, the hilly terrain slowed Lasair down.
As dusk approached, they left the most rugged land behind them, riding across craggy heather moor interspersed by valleys where hazel, birch, and hawthorn grew in untidy clumps.
There was a burn at the bottom of this valley, where Rhona stopped for the night. Clear water trickled across peaty soil. Rhona knelt at its banks and splashed water on her face before filling her water bladder and drinking deeply. The light had almost drained from the sky now; it was a deep purple against the silhouette of the birch trees surrounding her. The twitter of roosting birds serenaded her, and the silver glow of the waxing moon had appeared in the sky.
Rhona loosed a tired breath. The distance she’d traveled today hadn’t seemed great when she looked at her map. She’d been so sure she’d reach Kyleakin by nightfall.
