His Destiny by Diana Cosby Page A

Mist hung above the stone, embracing the time-worn rock in a slick sheath.
    Emma shielded her eyes as she looked up. “A waterfall ?”
    “Aye.”
    Intrigued by the vertical rush and the cloud of resultant mist, she moved to his side. “How long will it take us to walk around?”
    “We will not.” He stepped up on the nearest boulder, held out his hand.
    Emma hesitated.
    “Do you trust me?”
    Did she really have a choice? Emma laid her hand within his, savoring his touch, wishing her reason for being with him was different.
    “Watch out, the rocks are slippery.”
    With care they picked their way up the slick tumble of rock, over the tree limbs daring to weave amongst the rough stone.
    “Hold on.” He hauled her onto a ledge.
    The roll of white below collided with the black, the angry churn potent in its force. “It is magnif icent,” she yelled into his ear.
    Patrik gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then led her toward the massive downpour. Water sloshed near her feet and mist billowed around her like a cloud. With her in tow, he moved parallel to the rushing water, then angled toward a smaller curtain. He halted and lifted a nearby thin, flat stone the size of a cauldron and held it over their heads.
    “Hold on,” he shouted.
    Was he insane? They would be washed over the side! “I—”
    He tugged her with him as he stepped into the spewing rush. Water pounded, muted all but her panic. She closed her eyes as she stepped forward and braced herself to be swept away, to plunge down the sheer cliffs to her death.
    Instead, with his grip steady against hers, her foot settled upon dry stone. Pulse racing, she opened her eyes. Water poured before her in a thunder of white, a powerful curtain racing past.
    “It is the back of the falls!” she yelled with delight.
    A smile widened his face. He nodded and set the flat stone aside.
    Emma turned. Sunlight poked through the edge of the falls, the mist splintering the light into a rainbow of colors that splashed upon the jagged rock. She laughed out loud. It was truly amazing.
    And another rebel hideout.
    The magic of the discovery fell away.
    Ignorant of her turmoil, Patrik led her toward the back of the gouged rock to where the pound of water echoed as but a soft rumble. “We will rest here for the night. In the morn, we will depart on the other side. We should reach my friends before the sun sets.”
    “So soon?” Embarrassment touched her face.
    Patrik remained silent, finding himself conflicted about reaching their destination. The hint of shadow against the waterfall’s soft color was a reminder of the oncoming night, the last one he and Cristina would share.
    With a somber expression, she scanned the surrounding stone. She stiffened. “Someone else has been here.”
    He followed her gaze. Charred remains of a fire lay near the back of the cavern. Patrik walked over and with his boot, nudged the coals.
    Red flared within the embers.
    On alert, he set down his pack and withdrew his sword. “Wait here.”
    Cristina nodded.
    He crept along the path leading to the other side of the falls. Bedamned. He was so caught up in the lass, he’d neglected to ensure the pathway behind the falls was safe. Only the rebels knew of its existence. Still, ’twas foolish to let down his guard.
    After a thorough sweep of the entire hideout, he was confident no one was about. “Whoever built the fire is gone.”
    Worry carved her face. “Do you think they will be back?”
    “I am not sure. The only ones who know of this place are the rebels. If anyone should return, it will be a Scot.”
    She shot a nervous glance at the opposing entry.
    “Trust me.”
    Emerald green eyes settled upon him, then softened with belief. “I do.”
    Warmth touched him at her faith in him, and he found himself wishing she could be more to him than a brief interlude, another desire he must allow to pass.
    “Come,” he said, “I have more oatcakes.”
    “You are a man prepared.”
    “Always.”