Page 41 of Fallen
“We’ve picked up their trail … they’re heading east.”
The warrior panted the words, pulling his horse up in the yard before MacKinnon.
Duncan nodded, his jaw clenching. Frustration pulsed through him. It had taken much longer than he’d have liked to get the information out of that novice. She’d looked young and easily cowed, yet the wee bitch had kept her mouth shut initially. It was only when Duncan twisted her arm to breaking point behind her back that she’d gasped out the details he needed, tears of pain streaming down her face.
Two of his bastard brother’s men were sick—the outlaw was taking Coira to their camp.
“Track them as far as ye can,” Duncan growled. “I want to know the location of their hide-out.”
“And then?” The warrior asked. Tall and blond with a broad face, the man’s name was Keith MacKinnon—a distant cousin to the clan-chief. In Carr’s absence, he was now MacKinnon’s second. However, unlike Carr Broderick, Keith lacked initiative. He didn’t do anything unless Duncan barked an order at him.
“Get back here, and we’ll pay them a visit,” Duncan snarled back. “Go!”
He watched Keith ride out of the yard, dust boiling up under his horse’s hooves, and listened as his second cousin bawled orders at the other members of the Dunan Guard waiting outside the walls.
Reaching up, Duncan raked both hands through his hair. He was aware then that the listlessness that had afflicted him since rising that morning had grown. His limbs felt heavy and achy, and despite the cool, cloudy afternoon, he was sweating.
It’s the strain of all of this, he told himself.It’s getting to me.
Tension coiled within him, longing for release. For years he’d hunted his half-brother, and for years Craeg had eluded him. However, the game of cat and mouse was coming to an end.
“Not long now, Bastard,” he muttered. “Yer luck has run out.”
17
I Will Do What I Can
FEET SLIPPING ON the loose shale, Coira made her way down the bank into the ravine. Below her lay a narrow valley floor, shadowed either side with high stone walls. The smoke from numerous cook fires drifted up to greet her, as did the aroma of roasting venison. The murmur of voices and the wail of a bairn somewhere in the ravine echoed off the damp rock.
Coira’s breath caught. Just how many people were packed in here? She’d heard that over the past month many folk had rallied to the outlaws’ side, but she hadn’t expected to see such a crowd.
Farlan walked ahead, booted feet slithering on the steep bank. They’d both dismounted his horse, and he now led the beast.
“How long have ye been camped here?” she called out.
“Nearly a moon now,” he replied, not looking her way.
They continued down the ravine. Curious gazes settled upon her, and Coira knew she must cut an unusual figure: a tall nun with a basket of herbs in one hand and a quarter-staff in the other. Many of the faces of the men, women, and children watching her were strained, their gazes worried.
News of the sick men was clearly common-knowledge throughout the camp.
Farlan led her down the length of the valley, past clumps of hide tents and fires where MacKinnon’s deer spit-roasted over embers. Coira’s mouth watered at the aroma, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since dawn.
Eventually, as the ravine narrowed to a point and the rocky sides, studded with clinging outcrops of pine, reared overhead, Coira spied this band’s leader.
A man she’d never expected to set eyes upon again.
Coira’s breathing quickened, and her heart started to drum against her ribs. It was hard not to remember the intensity of the last words he’d said to her, and how she’d fled like a frightened deer into the night afterward. She’d never thought it was possible to be both frightened and captivated at the same time.
Seeing him again brought it all back.
Craeg stood before a single large tent, muscular arms folded across his broad chest. He wore a sleeveless leather vest and leather breeches that molded to his body. His wild dark hair was unbound, stirring gently in the light breeze that whispered through the gorge. His moss-green eyes were fixed upon her, tracking her steps as she drew near.
Mother Mary, give me strength. Coira needed to keep her composure. She was here to help the sick, not for a reunion with Craeg. Awkwardness warred with the urge to rush to him.
With a jolt, she realized just how much she’d missed the outlaw in the past days. He’d only been in her life a short while, but she already felt a bond with him that went beyond the friendship they’d forged as patient and healer.
Craeg stepped forward to greet her. Behind him stood a huge man with a mane of red hair—he was a striking individual, yet Coira had been so focused on Craeg, she hadn’t even noticed him. Another figure, an older woman with greying dark hair and a careworn face, ventured forth.
