Page 56 of The Beast of the Highlands
“I know most of it already. The rest, I heard when you were told, which is why you must ride as fast as you can and warn Laird MacLennan.” Orwell reached into his cloak and produced a dirt-smeared letter. “You ought to give this to him. It is from Officer Johnson’s tent. It will be evidence enough to assure him of the truth, if he does not believe you because of… whatever you have been through, Sweet Sister.”
“Where is Seashell?” Autumn took the letter and pushed it into the neckline of her dress.
Orwell gestured to the back of the tent. “Waiting for you.”
“But… will you be all right? Will they not discover what you have done?” Panic rippled through Autumn’s veins for she was not about to exchange one sacrifice for another.
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight. “I will be well, Sweet Sister. I will fire a musket and dig a hole in here and pretend I have buried you inside the tent. No one will be any the wiser.” He kissed her hair. “I have done this before, many times, and I will likely do it many more times before my retirement.”
“Spying?”
He nodded. “I am one of the best, when I am not being engulfed by flames.” He released her and held onto her arms for a moment, staring at her as though putting her to memory. “Now, do not fear for me. Go to Laird MacLennan. He needs you.”
“Thank you, my Dear Brother.” She gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “Be well, and I will see you soon. Please, say you will visit to let me know you are safe.”
“I will.” He ushered her to the back of the tent and out into the cold night, where Seashell was awaiting her.
After scrambling into the saddle, Autumn looked back once and offered her brother an encouraging smile, before she squeezed her thighs and urged Seashell forward. Away from the encampment and back toward the road that would lead her to MacLennan Castle.
Against the odds, events had taken another strange turn. And if the fates truly were smiling down upon her, maybe she would get to her beloved in time.
34
Flynn wandered solemnly back to the castle: his heart as heavy as his labored footfalls. In his hand, he clutched the crumpled paper that held Autumn’s final, devastating words to him. Worst of all, he had been forced to read them by the light of the candles that should have shone upon their wedding.
My darling Flynn,
When you awaken, I will be gone, and I do not want you to follow me or attempt to find me. I have been selfish in my actions and I have neglected the needs of my family. I must atone for that now, by returning home. I will not be coming back to you, and you should not desire me to.
I love you, but you and I cannot be. When you proposed marriage and decided to renounce your title, I realized I could no longer, in good faith, remain with you. You would be giving up too much, and I would come to resent what I had made you relinquish. In truth, we have lived in a fantasy realm, thinking we could love one another without repercussions.
I urge you to forget me, and to return to your duties, as I must return to mine. We existed in a beautiful dream, and we should keep it as such.
I will think of you from time to time.
Your once-beloved,
Autumn.
If she had been crueler, he might have borne the blow of it better. Yet, he doubted there was a cruel bone in her body. Even if she had decided she never loved him, she would not have said so. But Flynn read that within her words, regardless, for why else would she leave like this?
He loathed himself, even more, for falling asleep and not noticing when she departed. If he had just awoken, he knew he could have talked her out of whatever doubts she was having. If he had just felt her stir, he could have held her closer, and stopped her from leaving.
But nay, ye were like a foolish dog, sleepin’ while the foxes were eatin’ all the hens.
If it had not been for the candles in the chapel, burned down to the stubs, he would not have known how long he had slept, without her at his side. He had wasted hours, thinking he would awaken to find her there. Dreaming blissfully while his joy was being ripped from him.
“What are ye shinin’ for, eh?” He glowered up at the sunlight, which was coming up over the horizon. “Go back to yer bed. Ye’re nae wanted today.”
Up ahead, MacLennan Castle came into view. He wondered if Desmond and the others would be worried about him, though no one had come to fetch him, so he doubted they even knew what had transpired. They likely thought he would be returning triumphantly—a married man, with every assurance that his wife would be coming back from her family home.
His weary eyes darted to the left, drawn by the sound of hooves pounding along the woodland road.
As the palomino mare burst across the tree line, he stopped dead in his tracks. Autumn sat upon the saddle, her skirts flying out behind her, with eyes and hair so wild it looked like she was racing away from armed cavalry.
“Lass!” he shouted before he could stop himself. For she had made her feelings abundantly clear.
Her head turned, and she immediately veered Seashell toward him. “Flynn!” she cried in return, pulling the mare to a halt. In a frantic rush, she slid down from the saddle and threw herself into his arms. “I was so worried I would arrive too late. I have never ridden so fast in all my life.”
