“Artair and I returned from the village. The chief was no’ seen passing through and neither was clan MacLeod.”
Anne had arrived alone, but she’d insisted she’d had an escort to the fringes of MacDonald land. He should have spoken to her about it tonight after his return, except with her escape it had slipped his mind. Later. He would raise the issue with her and demand an answer.
“The MacLeods could’ve taken the sea-route,” Fergus offered.
“Since they never came ashore at Dunscaith, they would have had to make berth at the village then hire horses to complete the journey here. They still would have been sighted had they arrived by that path.”
“So where’s our chief?”
He had no idea, couldn’t even fathom why he’d not yet returned. Although, Uncle was alive. He had to be. Eying Fergus, he grit out, “At first light, I want you to search farther than the village. Anne couldnae have traveled to Dunscaith alone. She would never have survived the trip.”
Outlaws would certainly consider the sight of a young woman traveling the forests alone fair game. He tightened his grip on his reins. No harm could befall his intended. Not only would the Chief of MacLeod see it as a means to reinstate their fight, but now he’d talked with Anne, he wouldn’t wish to see her harmed. She was an innocent, and once they spoke their vows, she was his to care for. He wouldn’t fail in that duty.
They rode on until they passed a guard stationed at the perimeter of the trail. He slowed his mount, his men following suit.
From behind the bushes, Artair slid out and hailed him over. “Alex, our tartan has been found by one of the men searching along the shore. ’Twas unexpected with it being so far from the village route.” He pulled a scrap of plaid from under his girdle and handed it across.
After fingering the weave, Alex brought it to his nose. ’Twas clear of any scent except that of the sea. “’Tis certainly a marker.”
“Aye, but why would the chief veer so far off the path? The guard stationed here at the time said he’d gone by way of the forest.”
“Then he must have changed his mind.” Alex tossed Fergus the cloth. “You’ve a new direction. If there is one marker, there will be others. Follow them until you find our chief or hear word of where he’s traveled.”
“I willnae rest until he’s found.”
“Good, neither will I.” He nodded to Fergus and Artair, turned his horse and rode back to the keep. He would have a word with his bride-to-be tonight. They did not need mistrust between them.
As he galloped toward the drawbridge, the mist rose like a ghostly veil waiting to be swept away by the coming dawn. He called out his arrival, and a lad raced to take his stead. Inside, he stormed up the tower and dispatched the guard from outside Anne’s chamber. ’Twas time.
He strode in then halted. The room held a cold bite, and Anne slept curled up within her blankets. Damn. Best to see to her comfort first. He rebuilt the fire until it blazed.
“Mmm.” Anne rolled over.
He dusted his hands as he stood. Her sweet rose scent drew him closer toward her. So seductive. A wild copse of white roses grew along the entrance of the forest path and it held the same perfume, a fragrance bidding riders both welcome and farewell.
“Mum, Dad, I’ll find...”
During the contract signing, he’d learnt she’d lost her parents. Such an innocent, her face softly curved, her nose tiny, and high cheeks sprinkled with freckles. She stretched one arm over her head and wriggled as if enjoying the toasty warmth spreading through the room.
“Mmm, Alex.” She pushed her other arm out, dislodging her blankets.
Hell. She wore no nightrail, and her full breasts, barely covered, pushed toward him.
Eyes closed, she continued to murmur, “You promised to never leave me.”
Lust shot straight to his cock. He itched to slide the last inch of her bedding away, to caress her firm roundness. This image of her would surely haunt him.
Damn, he shouldn’t have said they wouldn’t be getting too close. A handfast gave him all the rights of a marriage but with the ease of repudiation. He could bed her if he wished. No one would gainsay him.
He stomped to the chair before the window, sat and kicked his feet onto the trunk. He couldn’t wake her, and he should have sought his bed, except Anne’s gentle breathing lulled him to sleep.
The soft rays of dawn that pierced the horizon stirred him from his slumber. A silvery-pink hue glittered over the loch’s still waters. The night had gone and his wedding day reared. His bride. She lay so temptingly close.
Her eyelids fluttered open and she pushed herself upright, allowing those atrocious blankets to slither into her lap and expose her breasts.
“Alex? Is that you?” She rubbed her eyes.
“Aye.” He averted his gaze. “My apologies. I didnae mean to—”