The Enchantress by May McGoldrick Page B

Highlander kept his horse at a canter along the sea’s edge. He knew this was the best way to hide their tracks. With the howling wind in their faces and the froth of the waves soaking them as high as their waists, they pushed onward.
    The uncertainty in her voice belied her words as she called out against the wind. “We must be close to Rumster Castle!”
    William didn’t bother to answer her, for his eyes were riveted to the first of the abandoned fishermen’s huts he’d been looking for. Even in the dark he could see that the thinly thatched roof had collapsed in on the splintered pile of sticks swaying in the wind.
    “I thought we were running from the Sinclairs as well. Why have you brought us into Sir Walter’s lands?”
    Ignoring her, he spurred Dread on. Rather than moving inland and into the hills, William had decided instead to take shelter in one of the fishing shacks he knew existed along this stretch of coast. Used only during the warmer seasons, these places might offer no more than some loose timber to break the wind. But the fact that they lay in the shadow of Walter Sinclair’s castle made the huts an unlikely place for anyone to search for them.
    “Other than soaking us to the bone, would you be kind enough to tell me your plan?”
    “I told you before. I have none.”
    Her frustration was all too obvious in the way she banged her head against his back. The thought of her organizing the piles of wool in the marketplace flickered through his mind, bringing a devious smile to the Highlander’s lips. What a perfect punishment for someone like her--to be left alone with him !
    A dark line of bluffs had risen up just beyond the strand, and when they reached a notch in the low cliffs, William pushed Dread up the stony incline of the beach. Three tiny huts lay huddled against one another in the protection of the rocky ledge.
    Even before plague had struck Inverness and Fearnoch and the surrounding areas a few years ago, wiping out whole villages and cutting down the numbers of people who lived here, these huts had always been empty at this time of year. When the harsh winters ravaged the coast, keeping even the hardiest fishermen from venturing out of the lochs and the more protected firths, those who lived here in the summers were tucked away snugly at Fearnoch or in the village beneath Rumster Castle, a few miles up the beach.
    Unwilling to throw caution completely to the wind, though, William ordered her curtly to stay where she was. Then, drawing his sword as he dismounted from Dread, he approached each of the cottages in turn.
    They were indeed uninhabited, and after inspecting them closely, the Highlander nodded toward one of them as he returned to his steed.
    “This one is the only hut sturdy enough to house us all. I dare say ‘tis no English palace, but at least it has a bit of leather across the door to keep out some of the weather.”
    His charge appeared to bristle, but then she checked her tongue. When he held out his hand to help her, she waved him off, swinging her leg over Dread’s back. She dropped to the snow-covered ground with a thud, slipping and landing on her hands and knees. Again ignoring his outstretched hand, she pushed herself upright and trudged wearily toward the hut. He followed her in.
    For the next few minutes she was silent. But then, as soon as he started making a place in a corner for Dread and settling the animal for what was left of the night, she began with her questions again.
    “How long do you plan to keep me here before we leave?”
    He peered about in the darkness and then squatted before a small circle of ashes. Rubbing some between his thumb and forefinger, he smelled it. It was old.
    “Who said I plan ever to leave?”
    He glanced at her over one shoulder. Even in the darkness of the hut he could tell that she was watching him with weary eyes. She started toward him. He turned to face her fully.
    “First show me you’ve nothing in your hands.”
    She