Authors: Tanya Anne Crosby
Highland Song (15 page)
Ahead of her, Balfour Castle loomed, a distant silhouette against the ebony sky.
Distant and unreachable.
Like her father.
Her heart hammered.
She wasn’t going to make it!
Still she ran, nearly toppling headlong into the water when the path curved too sharply before her.
Their voices chased her, indistinguishable and alien, like bats in the darkness of a cave, flying at her from all directions.
Jesu, where were they now?
Ahead of her? Behind? Where?
She wasn’t going to make it!
The stream wended its way before her, blanketed by a sheet of mist. A glimmer of hope sparked. Mayhap they couldn’t swim? She didn’t know many who could! Perchance she could lose them beneath the mist!
A hand reached out, brushing her leg and nearly snatching her shift, followed by a profusion of indecipherable curses when her pursuer realized he’d missed. But the shock of his touch made Page’s decision for her. She couldn’t afford to take the time to consider the consequences. Arms flailing, she hurled herself into the stream. Her legs followed like deadweight. She landed smack upon her belly, icy water striking her full in the face. The impact reverberated through her, numbing her senses, but Page recovered her faculties quickly. Ignoring the sting of her flesh, she swam with all her might toward the opposite shore, all the while listening for sounds of pursuit behind her. Relief flowed through her when there were none.
Thank God! Thank you, God! she prayed.
Even after reaching the bank, there was still no evidence of her pursuers, only shouts and curses she couldn’t quite decipher—coming from somewhere on the opposite shore. But she didn’t dare feel triumphant. If they were even vaguely familiar with the lay of the land, they would know that, but a few furlongs ahead, the stream ended and they would once again meet en route to the castle. Page didn’t intend to take that risk. Lifting herself from the water, sopping to her bones, she made instead for the sanctuary of the forest. They might expect her to run for the castle—as instinct was crying out she do. Logic told her she would fare much better doing the unexpected.
If she made it into the safety of the woods—and perchance climbed a tree—she could wait for them to tire of searching and then go home. They were likely no more than brigands—she their luckless prey. She was certain that given the choice of searching all night for some faceless woman to rut with, or seeking out more profitable victims, they would tire sooner rather than later and leave her be.
Encouraged, she ran, panting, her heart pounding. Her wet undergown clung to her legs. Running, she tried not to trip as she peered behind to make certain they were not following, and once again relief surged through her, for there was no sign of her attackers.
Euphoria washed over her. Sweet Jesu, she was going to make it, after all! That, regrettably, was her last coherent thought, before she turned and collided with a tree. At least Page thought it was a tree. The impact knocked her flat upon her back and left her reeling. She lay there, stupefied, staring up at a Goliath of a man.
Jesu, but he was tall!
Within the instant, she was surrounded by the rest of them. Their faces a blur in her benumbed state, they seemed to be leering down at her, disembodied teeth shining in the moonlight.
“
Och, mon, ye’ve gone and made her daft!” she understood one to say.
“
Eh, she’ll come aboot,” assured another.
Scots.
Bloody damned Scots.
She could tell by their brogue, but that was her last thought before darkness swallowed her…
The MacKinnon’s Bride
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Tanya has written seventeen novels, all of which have graced numerous bestseller lists including the
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. Best known for stories charged with emotion and humor, and filled with flawed characters, her novels have garnered reader praise and glowing critical reviews. She lives with her husband, two dogs and two moody cats in North Michigan.
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