Page 69 of Ruining a Highland Healer
“Noah,” Torrin said tightly as they exited the chapel, “I want riders saddled right the now. Take every man we can spare. I dinnae want any delays.”
Noah was already turning, calling over his shoulder. “Ye heard him! Mount up! Blades ready!”
“Seal the castle!” Torrin barked to the steward hovering nearby. “Nay one leaves—nay staff, nay guests, nay clergy. Lock every corridor leadin’ tae the old servants’ wing. I want every guard searchin’ the west wall.”
He turned then, striding down the aisle with the weight of fury behind him. “Noah, she didnae run,” he said with conviction, and Noah nodded, surely thinking the same. “This was Laird Keith.”
“Aye,” said Noah. “I believe it.”
God help him once I get me hands on the bastard.
Before long, Torrin was on his saddle, his plaid swept back over his shoulder, his broadsword strapped across his back. Noah rode at his side, grim-faced and silent. A dozen riders flanked them, blades sheathed, expressions grim. They rode fast down the sloping path from the castle, hooves pounding the cold earth as the wind howled through the trees. The sun was high in the sky, but the light felt thinner now, pale and weak.
Torrin’s eyes never stopped moving. Every shadow, every clearing, every break in the brush was a question. They searched the woodlands first—small game trails and forest paths known to servants and children. A washerwoman near the east brook claimed she saw a boy leading a lady through the trees. A farmer at the edge of the road said the same—described her gown, the silver hem trailing through the mud.
It was the stableboy who cracked.
They found him behind the paddock in the nearby village, eyes wild, cheeks flushed. At the sight of Torrin and his troops, he tried to flee, running as fast as he could down the well-worn path. Torrin made to rush after him, but before he could make a move, Noah had him by the collar before he had taken more than three steps.
Torrin dismounted without a word.
The boy's knees gave way the moment Torrin stepped in front of him.
“I… I didnae ken!” the boy cried, voice shaking. “They said she’d be safe! They said they’d just talk tae her. I swear it, I didnae ken?—”
Torrin knelt, gripping the boy’s tunic in one fist.
“Where did they take her?” he demanded.
“South,” the boy said immediately, nodding rapidly. “Through the old glen trail, the one that leads tae the low fields an’ the border path.”
Torrin stood, his jaw clenched, and looked south, past the hills and the line of woods that marked the edge of Gunn land, as though he could track her down with just his gaze alone. Something stirred in his chest; a tightness, a weight that was almost unbearable.
“Ride,” Torrin ordered, swinging onto the saddle with practiced ease. “Spread in pairs. I want every field, every stone watched. She’s ahead o’ us by less than an hour. They willnae be faster than us.”
“An’ when we find them?” Noah asked, mounting his horse again.
Torrin didn’t hesitate. “We bring her back. Whatever it takes.”
The first thing she felt was pain, sharp and splitting throb behind her eyes, as though her skull had cracked in two. Then came the smell—sharp vinegar and damp earth. Her mouth was dry, her limbs heavy, and for a moment she wasn’t sure she could lift her head at all.
Then she heard a woman’s voice, muttering words that blurred together. She couldn’t make out the meaning of them, though she didn’t know whether that was because she couldn’t hear her or because she was still too dizzy to understand her.
A cool cloth pressed against her brow and Valora blinked against the dim light in the room, trying to place her surroundings. The ceiling above her was low, made of wooden beams blackened with smoke. One seemed to sway slightly above her, as though the wind outside was pressing against the walls. She turned her head too quickly and nausea rolled through her stomach. A soft, pained moan escaped her lips.
“There now,” the woman said, her tone not unkind. “Drink this. It’ll help.”
A cup was brought to her lips, trembling fingers guiding it. The water tasted stale, but Valora drank greedily, her throat burning. Her hands trembled as she took the cup for herself and a few drops fell on her dress, staining it.
“What… where…?”
She managed to speak only fragments of sentences, but the door creaked before she could finish, opening without urgency; slowly and with intent. Through it, Laird Keith stepped like a man arriving home.
“Ye took longer tae wake than I expected,” Laird Keith said lightly, his hands folded behind his back. “We’re a bit short on time now.”
Valora tried to sit up straighter. Her hands gripped the thin blanket draped across her legs and only then did she notice that they were shaking. “Where am I?” Her voice cracked, but her spine stayed straight as she refused to show any weakness. “What have ye done?”
Laird Keith stepped closer, ignoring the question. “I didnae think they’d use vinegar. Smells foul, but I suppose it daes the job. These arenae exactly the surroundings I’d envisioned, but there’s charm in simplicity, isnae there?”
