CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

“The trail is cold. They could have taken either way through the woods,” Kin said, cursing, as he leaped down from his saddle.

They had ridden for an hour or so, a peasant having directed them to follow a path he had seen Iver and the others ride along as they fled the castle. But now, they had come to a fork in the road, one which led east, the other west. There was no way of knowing which way the fleeing traitors had gone, and Murdina, too, felt a sense of despair.

“Will they harm her, dae ye think?” she asked, fearing the worst.

The thought of losing another sister filled her with dread, and she knew her father would never recover from such a terrible ordeal. She felt a failure–failing to protect what she had sworn to defend.

“I do not know. But we must hope for the best, even if we fear the worst,” he said, glancing this way and that.

Murdina gazed around her. The trees grew close together here, the mountains rising ominously above. It had begun to rain, the clouds closing in, and Murdina shivered, a sense of despair now coming over her. She had been so determined to rescue Freya, determined to see the traitors punished for their wicked crimes. But now, she felt suddenly despairing and turned to Kin with a sigh.

“But which way have they gone?” she said, and Kin shook his head.

“There are hoof marks in the mud here and here but going in both directions. The road is well used here, and it seems many have passed along this way. I cannot…” he began, but Murdina now gave a sudden cry, pointing to the way leading east.

There, lying in the mud, was a handkerchief. She stooped to pick it up, the embroidery unmistakable that of her sister, her initials outlined in delicate gold thread.

“Tis’ Freya’s; she must have dropped it as a sign,” she said, turning to Kin, who had already leaped into his saddle.

“Then we should waste no time. We shall take the road east. Hurry now; we can still catch them. It seems your sister has more about her than you first believed,” he said, urging his horse forward.

Murdina, too, leaped into the saddle, and soon they were charging east, picking up a trail of horse’s hooves, fresh in the mud.

“This is them, unmistakably so. Quickly, there is no time to lose,” Kin called out, and Murdina urged on her horse, knowing that every moment which passed placed her sister in even greater danger.

* * *

They rode on for an hour or so, the road keeping a steady course east. They had long left the Mull of Kilchurn behind and now emerged from the trees onto a plateau of heather, which stretched towards distant mountains shrouded in cloud. Kin reined in his horse, pointing up ahead. Murdina could see the smoke from a fire and horses tethered to a tree about half a mile further. Murdina and Kin were hidden in the trees, and they slipped down from their saddles, drawing their swords ready to make the approach.

“We can come on them unexpectedly. They will be expecting an army to appear–no doubt they hope to provoke a war so that the Jacobite cause might be crushed once and for all. But we shall give them a very different surprise,” Kin said, beckoning Murdina to follow him.

“Ye have done my family a great service,” she said, and he shook his head.

“You forget–this is my revenge, too,” he replied, holding out his hand to her.

She took it, and now he pulled her into his embrace, their lips meeting in a kiss. Her heart was beating, and her passions for him were aroused even amid danger. They had endured so much together, but surely now, hope lay on the horizon, and their own future might be happier. As their lips parted, he rested his forehead against hers, the two of them sharing a moment of stillness, even amidst the horror of what had transpired.

“I only hope we are nay too late,” she said, as now they hurried forward on foot, keeping low, as they approached the fire.

Murdina could see her sister tied to a tree. Her wrists were bound, and a gag had been placed over her mouth. She looked exhausted and terrified, her head bowed, as Murdoch and Iver warmed themselves on the fire.

“We shall ride south to Carlisle and from there to London. We can leave the lass on the road somewhere–let the wolves have her,” Murdoch was saying.

“Aye, and let that be a warnin’ to ye,” Iver replied.

Murdina and Kin were hidden behind a rock close by, and Murdina’s fists were clenched, her sword poised for the attack.

“Wicked devils,” she hissed, but kin shook his head.

“Wait…” he whispered, “wait for the right time.”

But Murdina could bear it no longer. Her anger over-flowed, not only for what these men had done but for everything they represented. She realized at that moment where her true allegiances lay. She hated the Hanoverians and all they stood for–these men were traitors to the cause, traitors to what her father and the others had fought so fiercely to preserve. Murdina was not about to allow them to escape, and with a roar, she rushed out from behind the rock, brandishing her sword.

“Devils!” she cried, and Murdoch and Iver looked up in astonishment.

Kin was close behind her, his own sword drawn, too, but it did not take long for the two men to realize what was happening. They leaped to their feet, drawing their swords, and clashing with Murdina and Kin, their eyes ablaze with anger. Freya screamed, struggling with her bonds, as Murdina brought her sword to bear on Iver, who dodged her first blow and struck out with such force that it knocked her to the ground.