Pushing the door out as softly as she could, Mary stepped out into the dark corridor. Tina took her bag from her and led her down the stairs and toward one of the servants’ doors. Mary kept glancing up in fear that her father or mother would wake up and discover her. Thankfully, neither did.
She went through the door and stepped on dew-wet grass. To her surprise, Tina led her not toward the stables but directly to the back gate. There, a horse was already saddled and waiting for her. Had Tina done all this?
“Tina,” Mary asked as she grasped the horse’s pommel. “Did you do this? Did you organize all this?”
“That, Miss,” Tina sounded pleased as she latched the sack on the back of the horse, “is for me to know. Just be assured that all is well.”
Gasping her hand, Mary hugged her tight and spoke though a clogged throat, “Thank you, darling. You’ve been so good to me for many years, I will never forget you.”
With ease, even clad in a dress, Mary mounted the horse and flicked the cowl of her cloak up and grasped the reins. “Please go back to bed and try to sleep, Tina.”
Making sure to not look at her friend in case she would start crying outright, Mary rode through the gate and took the road. It was dark but she had good eyesight and the moon was full and bright.
At the bottom of the road, she looked up to see her home, a shadowy edifice resting on a slight hill, looming over the lane above it. She felt her stomach wrench with pain in knowing that this—running away—was what she was being forced to do. Stifling a cry, she turned away and rode off.
The moon’s silver rays highlighted the way through the countryside road. This far out in the rural terrain the houses were far placed. A pair of neighbors had a few miles of forest between them and were strangers.
Mary could not remember the last time she had gone to the Baxter’s, their closest neighbors, where twin girls called home. Her horse trotted quickly down the crushed gravel road toward the town. From there, she would turn north and then she was on her way to Scotland.
“God, please guide my way,” she prayed as the horse rode on. “Please keep me safe and bar all harm and danger from my way. I may not have happiness or true love, but please give me peace.”
4
Langholm, Scotland
Clan Robasdan
Clan after clan…nae a single one has a competent healer within their midst. My only hope now is Clan Robasdan.
A week ago, after Leith had decided to find help—the best help—for his father, he had set out to search all of Scotland if he had to. A man, Nicholas, who was his father’s second in command over the lairdship, was in charge of all the clan’s needs. Dugald and Finlay were guarding his father and his mother was in safe hands with those two.
He had left his home with a good measure of confidence that all would be fine at his home. But clan after clan, he had been met with had ended with disappointment. No one knew a healer who could deal with a maniac. He was even told to take the man to the church because he could be possessed.
It was tempting, but Leith knew that was not the case. There was no devil in his father. Something else was happening, but he would be damned if he knew what it was.
Clan Robasdan was his last hope, past the middle marches and down to borderlands. He was in the middle of the clan’s hunting forest and was now approaching the clan’s castle. It was a tiny clan but had a powerhouse of warriors who had struck fear into all border reivers to not even think of attacking their farms and cattle.
Tarrant Allanach, Laird of the Robasdan Clan, was an ally of his, a far-placed ally but a strong one. He had not personally spoken to him nearly a year, but he was sure their bond was strong enough to weather the distance of time.
The ground was wet and sodden with the latest spring rains passing through. He had instructed his horse, a massive grey stallion, to walk as he had no desire to be flung by a cantering horse slipping on slick mud. He was crossing through the last stretch, a slope that led down to a ravine when he saw something strange.
He caught it through the corner of his eye and had to reel his horse back from moving away. He had the horse turn back when he saw the crushed shrubs and trampled underbrush. He came closer and when he saw a burlap sack on the ground and the contents were strewn out.
There was a bodice of a dress and a rag. He frowned, what were a woman’s things doing here in the middle of a forest? He slid off the horse and tapping the stallion twice, a trained code to have him stay where he was, went to the edge where the snapped saplings were. Leith grabbed unto the stump of a sapling and looked over the edge.
As soon as his eyes rested on what lay below, his blood ran cold. A woman lay there, unconscious with her cloak twisted around her. Instantly, his instinct kicked in. Cursing under his breath, he swung his legs over the edge, and picking his footing carefully, inched his way to the woman that was laying on the rocks; the side of her head was a dark russet with blood—congealed blood.
He got to the lass, his blood pumping with strength. She was laying precariously on a ledge of dark flint where her head had made an impact on a jagged rock and her face was deathly pale. He had to act quickly
