Highland Promise (43 page)

        "'Tis Roland. More of the roof fell! The laird is trapped!"

        "Oh Lord! I'm coming!" Faith grabbed her plaid. Dog jumped off the bed and danced in circles. She tied one end of the nuisance garment about her waist and attempted to arrange the pleats. She quickly gave up and just belted the jumbled plaid in place.

        She grabbed her pelt-lined cloak, along with her gloves and scarves, and rushed to the door while pulling them on. Then she unbarred the door and slipped out. Roland closed the door behind her. Dog barked and

scratched at the door from the inside.

        "What about Dog?" she asked as the commander took her arm and ushered her down the steps.

        "We can let him out later." He took her arm. "We must hasten. The laird calls for you."

        "Brendan is all right, isn't he? He must be if he was able to talk."

        "The laird will be fine as soon as he sees you."

        "We must hurry." She rushed outside ahead of Roland.

        He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "My mount is here, milady." He gestured to a bay gelding tethered nearby. "'Twill be faster."

        Faith gulped down her fears. Surely she would be safe on the beast with Roland guarding her. "All right."

        The commander gave her a hand up, then mounted behind her and goaded his horse around the keep toward the front of the mountain.

        "Where are we going, Roland? The stable is in the other direction."

        "We are not going to the stable."

        "But what about Brendan?"

        "We will be halfway to our destination before he discovers you missing."

        Apprehension tingled down her spine. She twisted about to look at him. "Where is our destination?"

        A purely evil grin drew his lips tight. "Must you ask?"

        "Oh, Lord, it was you!"

        She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to scream. Roland clipped her jaw, dazing her. By the time she got her wits back, he had stuffed a rag in her mouth and tied it in place. She struggled, and he tapped her again. Her world careened and her belly churned. She focused on taking deep breaths to keep from tossing up. Her task was made all the harder by her racing heart. Roland bound her wrists with prickly twine.

        Why was she fighting the beast? She couldn't win against the brute on a good day. With her recent malady, she didn't stand a chance. Surely she would be missed soon, and her husband would come after her. Oh Lord, Brendan would be furious. He had ordered her not to open the chamber to anyone until he returned. Like a fool, she had handed herself over to the devil without so much as questioning his story.

        Wait, why should she care if Brendan got angry? Roland probably had this well planned. She would be dead before Brendan came in from the stables and learned she was gone. If by some miracle she did manage to get away before Roland killed her, she would surely freeze to death.

        As they crossed the valley, she glanced toward the flat land where the mound hut that served as burial chamber to the viper's many victims once stood.

        Roland followed her gaze. "You caused me quite a bother when you found that hut. But no matter. I discovered a cave just over the north ridge

that will serve just as well."

        Faith was fairly certain her heart would soon stop from thumping too hard. She had to keep her wits about her. Brendan hadn't failed her in the past. Aye, he was her defender and she had to keep hope in her heart. But just in case he didn't arrive in time, she thought it wise to pray. Dear Lord, please help me think of a plan fast.

~ * ~

        Work in the stables went too slowly for Brendan. Moving the wrong plank at the wrong time would crush Cleit. Something wasn't right about this either. The stable was only a few years old and of sound structure.

        His heart raced, and he didn't think he had labored enough to cause the problem. He wondered if Faith was working herself into an upset over the clansman. He exerted every ounce of patience he possessed to keep from rushing to his chamber. He would calm her fears as soon as Cleit was safe.

        After almost two hours, the clansman was freed. Brendan assured himself of the warrior's health and turned to hurry to his wife.

        "Laird, a moment of your time," Cleit said. "'Tis important."

        Bridling his impatience, Brendan faced his warrior. "I'm listening."

        Cleit cleared his throat and looked uneasy. "I know you guard your lady yourself because you're not sure who among us is the killer."

        "I don't wish to discuss this now."

        "I'm not offended," Cleit continued. "I did some thinking while I was under there. That night in England when the woman was killed, you were with Lady Sutherland."

        "I know where—"

        "Jamie and I had a good laugh when Luthias dragged Michael into our chamber. We had another round of merriment when Tormey came in and told us of his latest female conquest." Cleit cocked his head and a puzzled frown crossed his face. "I know you think of him as a brother, but the only one I cannot account for is Roland."

        "Because the bastard was killing the whore." Michael slammed a fist into his opposite palm.

        "Laird, look at this." Tormey held up a plank. "This joust beam is sawed almost through."

        "Someone wanted the roof to fall," Jamie said. "To get us out of the way."

        Brendan's panic escalated. "Blessed Saint Andrew, Faith!"

        He raced to the keep. As soon as he entered the hall, Dog's mournful wails raised the hairs at his nape. He threw open his chamber door. Dog barreled past him down the stairs toward the rear door. Brendan grabbed his sword and hastened after the wolfhound.

        He opened the door. Dog sniffed around in circles, then barked and headed around the keep. Brendan was about to follow when the sound of hoof beats got his attention. Tormey, mounted on a sorrel mare, tossed over the reins to Brendan's stallion. "This will be faster," he called.

        Brendan leaped astride his horse and raced after the wolfhound, praying he would reach his wife in time.

~ * ~

        She would die today. Faith couldn't think of a single plan to save her life. They were so far ahead that Brendan would never reach her in time. But if she was going to die, it would be a death of her own choosing and not the torture this minion of evil sought to deliver. Aye, and she was going to take Satan's son with her. Suicide and murder were both mortal sins that could cast her into perdition for all eternity, but surely Almighty God would understand the need for her actions.

        Roland had left his mount at the base of the mountain, saying the gelding could never make it over the icy incline. How did he think she could make the climb if his well-muscled horse couldn't? A stitch in her side nearly doubled her over. Roland jerked her up with the rope he had tied around her wrists and pulled her along. The rag in her mouth made it hard to breathe. She fell as pain stabbed her side like a gouging dagger.

        Roland turned and glowered at her, his lips contorted into a snarl. She wondered how she'd ever imagined he could be appealing. Wickedness radiated from the brute. He must have recognized her struggle though, because he removed the gag.

        "Don't scream, or we'll both be buried alive."

        She nodded and pressed her fists against her side. She could never overpower him. Even if she managed to get away, the cold and her recent malady had stolen her endurance. He would easily catch her.

        If she could just hold out a little longer, her plan would work. They were nearing the spot where Tormey had told her an avalanche was most likely to start. By damn, she intended to bring the whole mountain down.

        "I am able to move on now," she said through chattering teeth as she tried to snuggle into her slipping cloak. Her bound hands made the chore futile, but she wasn't about to ask Roland for help.

        They resumed their climb through the deep treacherous snow. Since she was about to die, she decided prayer might be in order, but she was too exhausted to remember any of her sins. She lumped them all together and told God that she was truly sorry and beseeched forgiveness. As an afterthought, she asked Him to put a crack in the snow too.

        Her foot slipped on an icy patch. Roland tugged hard on the rope to keep her from falling backward. Just a little further, she told herself. She could make it just a little further.

        From the corner of her eye, she spotted a crevice forming in the snow to her right. She sent up a prayer of thanksgiving to Almighty God. Expending the last of her energy, she shoved against Roland's back and snatched the rope from his grasp. Then she ran toward the crack. Roland slammed into her back, knocking her to the ground. She struggled for breath as he yanked her back to her feet. Remembering what Brendan had told her about noise and ice slides, she screamed at the top of her lungs. Roland's fist slammed against her jaw. She thought the ringing in her ears might make her deaf.

        A rumble like thunder drowned out the ringing. The ground shifted beneath her feet as the entire slab of icy snow they stood upon began to move down the mountain.

        "You bitch!" Roland snarled. "You have killed us both!"

        She preferred a solitary grave to one shared with a demon. She shoved away with all her might. The ground beneath her crumbled. She plummeted downward and lost sight of Roland. An ocean of snow engulfed her. She lost all sense of up and down. Her body hurled at an amazing speed through a world of white. Her cloak was snatched from her body. Burning cold sprayed from the merciless ice surrounding her. Every breath sucked snow until her chest blazed. Chunks of ice bombarded her like stones. She wondered how her fluffy fairyland could cause such pain.

        She didn't realize she had nurtured a glimmer of hope until it died, killed by the unraveling of her plaid from her body. Her meager gown offered no protection from the cold. She would freeze before Brendan found her.

        Light beckoned above, rekindling her sense of survival. Her sister Chris said she had survived an avalanche by swimming toward the light. Faith moved her bound arms and kicked her legs in an effort to reach the light. The snow began losing speed, mocking her efforts.

        Without warning, everything stopped.

        Her arms and legs were pinned by solid ice. She couldn't even move to try to dig herself out. Sucking in a deep breath, she realized her head must be in an air pocket. Her chest didn't burn from taking in ice. She had no need to shiver either. Her entire body felt blessedly warm. She decided as long as she was alive, there was hope. Brendan would surely find her.

        Fatigue crashed in on her. She decided to close her eyes for a few minutes. She would just rest until her husband arrived. After all, if she stayed awake, she would only worry and that would show a lack of faith in Brendan. Her last thought was a prayer. Dear Lord, please send him fast.

~ * ~

        Brendan raced down the icy trail behind Dog. As he entered the meadow, the entire earth vibrated and rumbled. He jerked his mount to a halt and looked toward the north slope. The face of the mountain broke away.

        His heart crumbled as surely as the ice fell. He knew without doubt that Faith was on that mountain. Terror such as he had never known jolted through every fiber of his body. He ached with helplessness as he watched his very reason for living hurled into an icy grave.

        The avalanche stopped as abruptly as it began. Brendan thought he might suffocate. Visions of Faith flashed through his mind. Faith running into him as she fled his men, then looking up at him through dumbstruck eyes. Faith snuggling against him for her first kiss. Faith glaring at him after he removed her wart. Faith telling him she loved him for the first time. Faith smiling at Michael to win her chess match. Faith laying her head against an icy pillow and closing her eyes.

        His breath hitched. Damn it, he had never seen her in that last pose. She wasn't dead. She was alive, and her spirit called to him.

        Dog had already traversed the field and climbed the snowy hill in search of Faith. Brendan nudged his mount and raced toward the pile of dormant ice. His men arrived as he leapt from his mount and climbed the icy incline. The wolfhound sniffed around as he and his men fanned out.

        Moments went by and seemed like hours. Brendan forced despair aside. If he had to stay here all night, he wasn't returning home without his wife.

        He moved toward the eastern aspect of the pile where no one had searched. Something dark poked through the surface. He shouted for Dog and ran to the spot. Pulling his sword, he began digging the tightly packed snow. The wolfhound arrived, barked excitedly and lent his paws to the task. A few inches down, Brendan realized the dark item was material from Faith's plaid. Saint Andrew, his heart pounded. He swore if he found her attached to the other end he would never berate her for her poor pleats again.

        His men joined in the dig and spread out into a five-foot circle around the garment, trying to cover the area. No one spoke as they combined their strength toward reaching their lady before the wintry arms of death could embrace her forever.

        Dog barked again. His digging grew frenzied. He disappeared into his hole. Brendan rushed to the spot. He found the wolfhound slathering Faith's face, and thanked his Maker for the air pocket that had formed around her. He eased into the hole and cradled her head in his gloved hands, saying her name over and over. She didn't respond, and the blue of her lips accentuated her complexion's extreme pallor.

        "Over here," he called to his men and heard fear in his raspy tone.

        They quickly freed her from the ice. Brendan climbed from the hole, and Michael lifted her stiff body to him. The worst had come to pass. No air blew from her mouth. God, help him, they had found her too late.