Page 68 of Sinbound to the Highlander
The mention of Freya’s name had Evan leaping from the dais, rushing to the man and grabbing him by his shoulders, “Is she all right?”
“Aye, but ‘tis her sister, Me Laird, she plunged over a cliff—”
“A cliff!” Evan shouted, “God’s blood, where!”
“The cliff’s a few miles from Loch Oich, Me Laird,” the messenger divulged. “And Miss Crushom is distressed, she needs yer help,” the man ended.
Spotting a guard standing restlessly at the side, Evan snapped to him, “Get fifteen men suited, some hardy and ready to dive, and have them ride out with me, immediately.”
Rushing out of the room, Evan took the stairs three at a time to grab a thick coat with a hood, hardier boots and slid two dirks into them before grabbing a sword. His head was spinning with frenzy for Freya and worry for Elspeth. It was late, but he vowed to go to dawn if his men did not find Elspeth and, even then, send another set of his men to keep the search on.
He was not fond of Elspeth, but she was a person, and he had to acknowledge that she deserved to live. He got to the front, where a guard held his horse ready to ride. All the other men were mounted, and every fifth had a lit torch in hand.
Nodding his thanks, Evan mounted his horse and shouted, “We ride to Loch Oich. All of ye are to search the waterbed until dawn, or until we find the lass. If she isnae found tonight, another set will come, and we’ll rotate until we do. We will find her.”
They rode off in the darkening dusk, with the light from the torches lighting the way. Halfway there, snow began to flutter down, and Evan cursed under his breath. The flurry was getting worse, but he was not going to let Freya down when she needed him the most.
He knew the Laird must have had his people there searching for his child, but no one in his position would turn away help. His men would search for Elspeth, but his priority was Freya. He had to comfort her, especially now, when she was so adamant about giving Elspeth a chance to prove herself, while Elspeth might never get the opportunity to do it.
Freya, me Love, we will find yer sister.
Without the spots of ice, Loch Oire was a blue-black stretch of ink carving through the land, and the gully that is its bed had a steep slope to it. As Evan had suspected, Laird Lobhdain’s men were already there, combing through the dry scrub bushes at the sides, and some brave men were diving into the loch, braving death by consumption to save the lass’ life.
Evan found the Laird at the top of the cliff where Elspeth had fallen from. A row of torches was there too, giving light to the surroundings and the searching men. Laird Lobhdain was standing like a monolith at the edge of the cliff, and his pale face was set in a rigor of pain.
Evan eyed the carriage and, from the window, saw Freya sitting there, her head pressed on the pane and the pin in her hair, glinting with the light from the torches. It pained him to turn away from her, but he had to speak with the Laird first.
“Laird Lobhdain,” Evan called as he jogged to his side, “I came as soon as I heard.”
The man shot him a grieved look, “I ken, and thank ye, Saunderson.”
Inching to the cliff’s edge, Evan looked over and saw only a dark line of water below and the torches of the men searching the waters and the ravine. His eyes skimmed over the ragged walls, the pointed spits of rocks below that would have skewered Elspeth in half and grimaced, “Miss Milleson dropped from here?”
“Aye,” Laird Lobhdain said, “Freya said she went to look over the edge and lost her footing. Nay one was close enough to grab her or pull her back. ‘Twas a miracle she avoided the rocks.”
A headache was beginning to bloom at Evan’s temples, and he pressed his palm to his eyes. He feared Elspeth was dead, laying on the bottom of the loch where they could never reach, or washed down the stream and was out in the sea already. But he would never voice those fears to the man who was heartbroken and torn apart standing as his side.
“Laird Lobhdain, I vow to ye, me men will nay stop searching for her until we do find her,” Evan said solemnly.
“Thank ye for ye help, Son,” the man sighed. “I ken ye want to see Freya, please, go comfort her.”
“Thank ye, Sir,” Evan said, dropping the honorific as the man had just called him ‘son’.
“I’d have felt better if I had heard that they were attacked by those from me rival clans,” Laird Lobhdain grated. “But to ken that she slipped…I am devastated.”
There was nothing Evan could ever say or do to ease the man’s pain. The best he could do was to lay a comforting hand on Laird Lobhdain’s shoulder, Evan excused himself, went to the carriage and entered to find Freya desolate, and her eyes were wide and vacant. Grief-stricken to see his love so shattered, Evan went to sit at her side and pulled her into his arms.
“Talk to me, Love,” he coaxed tenderly, “Let me share yer burden.”
She rubbed her face into the crook of his neck, “I—I dinnae even see when she fell over. We were e…eating and waiting for the s…sunset so she could tell me why she loved this place so much, but just as I looked up, she was gone. I—I only saw a flicker of her as s…she fell over.”
Pressing her closer, Evan dropped a kiss on her forehead, “I cannae imagine what ye’re feeling, Love, but I must apologize for being so hard on Elspeth. I ken ye were working on making more bonds with her and me doubts about her suddenly changing her bad character werenae helping.”
Freya tensed under his arm, her body going rigid, and Evan duly cursed himself. The lass was hurting for her missing sister, and he was only reminding her of his dislike of her. Hissing under his breath, Evan apologized again.
“That was wrong of me,” he sighed, “I should ken better than diggin’ it back up again.”
Her hand rested on his, “I ken. I’m glad ye’re here, though.”
