Page 9 of Abducted By the Highlander
“The Deep Knowing has protected the daughters of the isle for almost a thousand years and will not fail us now.”
Roisin held her tongue, and yet her mind asked the question, regardless.
How has the Deep Knowing protected us?
“But this strange compulsion consumes me, Roisin. Ye must leave Eigg and travel to Isolde at Creagdoun before the week is out. I shall meet ye there in two months, as we have already arranged, and only then can ye return home.”
“So I shall return to Sgur, then?” This wasn’t something she’d felt in her dreams, but there was a certain relief in knowing her grandmother had.
“Of course ye must. Whatever reasons the Deep Knowing has for sending the three of ye away, it is certain ye alone must return. For how else will our legacy continue? But first, there is a path ye must find and follow until its end, and that path is not on the Western Isles.”
Chapter Three
Argyll, The Highlands, June1567
Hugh strode throughthe campsite that lay scattered on a small plateau halfway up an imposing mountain and returned the greetings hailed his way from its itinerant inhabitants. It had been more than six weeks since he and Symon had left Eire and returned to Symon’s displaced clan, just days before they’d left their previous site to travel here. Six weeks since the MacGregors had, if not exactly welcomed him, at least allowed him to stay, after hearing from Symon of Hugh’s tireless exploits against the damn sassenachs.
Six weeks, during which he’d felt like the worst kind of betrayer.
It couldn’t be helped. Three months ago, he’d heard rumors that Douglas was back in Argyll and had sent word to the earl through his network of spies. A network that hid in plain sight, of messengers and couriers, and seemingly innocuous missives that were shrouded with secret codes. For the sake of security, he never knew for sure which ones were working for the earl or not, but the system worked and, by whatever means were employed, the messages reached their destination.
The earl had commanded him to return to Eire and maintain his subterfuge, in the heart of the rebel MacGregors’ outposts, and to continue to keep him informed of anything he unearthed.
Was it treacherous of him to be thankful he’d yet to uncover plans of rebellion against the Earl of Argyll?
It was. If he did discover any such plans, he knew his duty and he’dinform the earl. In the meantime, he merely relayed whatever he heard regarding Clan MacGregor.
The only thing he didn’t divulge was his exact location. There were women and bairns in the camp and while he doubted the earl was interested in launching an attack, since it would shut down his line of communication, Hugh wasn’t prepared to risk it.
Symon emerged from a nearby tent and raised his hand in greeting. His exuberant nature had faltered when they’d joined the camp and he’d discovered his sweetheart had wed another and moved south in his absence, but lately he appeared to have recovered from his loss. At least he no longer made mocking references to Hugh’s elusive lady love, for which he was thankful, since any chance he’d once had of winning Lady Roisin’s favor had well and truly perished.
“Are ye up for hunting?” Symon asked as he fell into step beside him.
“Aye.” He often went on hunting trips. They were dangerous, since it necessitated riding deep into Campbell-held territory with the risk of being recognized. But he’d only be recognized if he were caught, and he had no intention of that happening.
But that wasn’t the only danger. Clan MacGregor had been outlawed, and poaching was the only way they could now survive. And MacGregor poachers ran the risk of being killed on sight.
He went to get his horse, a fine stallion he’d acquired in Eire as part payment for his services. How he wished the beautiful creature he’d named Deagh Fhortan had the comfort of a stable instead of facing the elements every night, but it couldn’t be helped. Maybe one day he would, if Hugh ever returned home.
Good fortune. It seemed a fanciful name to call his horse considering his current circumstances, but it wasn’t only because of the stallion’s outstanding performance in battle. It was a promise to them both that this life wouldn’t be their fate forever.
He and Symon rode away from the camp. They never huntedlocally, despite the nearby forest and loch, since the less attention they drew to themselves the better. And while it was uncomfortable hunting on the land of lairds he knew, he could scarcely object without raising suspicion.
A starving man didn’t question where he found his food. And without these hunts, the MacGregors would starve.
He pulled his kerchief higher, so it covered his face more securely as ominous clouds rolled across the summer sky, obscuring the sun, and he and Symon went to work.
It was several hours later when, with their bags filled with small game, they were on their way back to the camp when the drizzle that had been their constant companion finally broke into a full-scale downpour. They urged their mounts forward, as thunder rumbled overhead, when through the slashing rain Hugh saw a commotion from the corner of his eye.
He frowned, squinting in the distance, cursing the mist that obscured his vision. But he could see enough, and it seemed the skirmish was not going well for the ones defending the wagon.
Symon pulled up beside him. “Bandits,” he said. “Make haste, Hugh, before they see us.”
It was good advice. It was foolhardy to get involved, but he didn’t urge his horse on. Because two riders broke away from the melee and his heart smashed against his chest. “Christ, Symon. There are women. We can’t leave them.”
Not when it looked as though the bandits were winning and there was no prize for guessing what the bastards would do to the women once they caught them.
Symon cursed under his breath. “Aye, Sergeant.”
