My Fierce Highlander by Vonda Sinclair Page A

at
various points to watch for her during the night. The MacGrath
holdings were a long distance away, perhaps five miles.
    ***
    Gwyneth and Rory stayed that night in the
wood, hiding beneath the soggy, rotting leaves. The next morn
before daybreak, Gwyneth pushed herself up, wincing at the pains
that radiated from her stiff back and legs. A chill breeze
penetrated her damp clothing, and she shivered. Quietly, she woke
Rory.
    Holding his hand, she led him a short
distance through the wood. Using her dirk she dug roots for them to
eat. Mora had taught her well which wild plants were poisonous and
which ones might serve as food. Gwyneth’s eyes burned and her
throat closed each time she thought of her dear friend.
    Mora had been the only one to help her bring
Rory into this world during a difficult birth. In truth, Mora had
been like a second mother to her.
    “I don’t like this.” Rory grimaced as he
gnawed on the crunchy silverweed root.
    “I know. I’m sorry, but it’s all I could
find. Later, we will look for berries. You like those.”
    He nodded, but his eyes were red and moist.
She felt like bursting into tears herself, but couldn’t. She had to
stay strong for his sake.
    “Did Laird MacIrwin kill Mora?”
    “Yes, he or one of his men did.”
    “Because we helped Master MacGrath?”
    “Yes.”
    Rory dropped his gaze to his lap. “Was it my
fault because I told Jamie?”
    “No, Rory. It wasn’t your fault.” It was
mine. “But I hope if Master MacGrath made it back to his clan,
his laird will help us now in repayment for the good deed we did.
He told me the laird was his cousin.”
    Gwyneth held Rory’s small hand, and they
slipped further through the wood. From her cover behind thick
bushes, she spied one lookout during the day. He was near the trail
she usually took. In faith, Donald will not give up until we are
dead.
    At dusk, Gwyneth quickened their pace and
eventually they left the trees and came upon bush. Bilberry and
gooseberry grew thickly. She and Rory ate their fill of the unripe,
tart berries and waited for nightfall. When darkness surrounded
them, they left the cover of the bushes and set out across the damp
moor.
    They were headed toward MacGrath lands—that
much she knew. She prayed, if he was there, Angus MacGrath would
return the favor of saving his life. But what if he turned out like
so many other men she’d known and betrayed her at the last moment?
Pains gripped her stomach, both from anxiety and hunger.
    Rory was all she had—the most valuable thing
in her world. For him, she would go to the MacGraths and beg
assistance. Protection.
    But first, they had to safely cross the
moor.
    ***
    For hours, Gwyneth and Rory trudged through
darkness, with only the moon for light, and picked their way
through the gorse and heather not yet in bloom. A movement up ahead
at a lone tree caught her attention. She recoiled, breath held. In
the dimness, her eyes strained to identify the movement—a horse
swishing its tail. Where was the rider?
    “Shh,” she hissed at Rory, and gave the tree
a wide berth.
    The horse snorted and stamped its hooves.
    Gwyneth’s skin prickled. She crouched and
pulled Rory down beside her.
    A man grunted, groaned, then strode out into
the moonlight to relieve himself. Once finished, he returned to the
shadows, and a screeching birdcall sounded from the tree. Some
distance away, an answering call responded. Her blood chilled. The
men were communicating. What were they saying?
    Gwyneth and Rory sat hunched for an
immeasurable time, until her legs cramped. If they moved now, the
watchman was certain to see and capture them. Vigilant to all the
sounds and movements around her, she seated herself into a more
comfortable position upon the damp ground and waited for the man to
fall asleep.
    A mist floated above the ground like a giant
cloud, obscuring the moon, and the first glimmer of dawn brightened
the horizon before her. Indecision tormented her. They had to leave
now or