Page 15 of Following Her Highland Journey (The White Witch’s Apprentices #2)

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H enry woke up cold and alone, his arms empty of Adair. His heart ached at the discovery, though he wasn't surprised. It was still pitch dark outside, which made sense; the sun wouldn't even begin to rise until close to nine in the morning, and it was only sixish now. Henry got out of bed slowly, pleased to discover that, while stiff and a little achy, the pain from his wounds was not too great, and his movement was still more or less normal.

"Adair, ye're a miracle worker," he whispered to the wind. When had she left? She must have snuck away from him with the utmost stealth; he would have thought he would have woken when she pulled away from him. He grunted, heading outside and moving toward the well to fetch some water to wash, thinking about what he could do next.

No doubt Adair had headed out on the road toward Clan McLeod. His immediate impulse was to follow her, but then, on the other hand, she'd made it very clear that she didn't want him to do so. It was dangerous for a woman to travel alone, and that worried him, but if anyone was strong enough to manage, it was Adair; she'd made it all the way to and from the monastery alone, after all. Still, his every instinct screamed at him to go and find her. She couldn't have had too much time on him, an hour or two at most along the main road.

Henry stripped off his shirt and meticulously removed his bandages, wincing slightly, and then began to wash and disinfect in the way Adair had taught him in just these short few days. He knew he was doing a clumsy job, but the water ran in rivulets between the lines of his muscles, carrying some of the sting and old blood with it. When the water ran clean, he dried himself off using a dry rag and pulled his shirt back on.

What was Isobel doing now, he wondered? How was Finn—were his wounds healing well? Was Isobel thriving in her new job with Allan, new Laird of Martin? Henry found himself missing the simplicity of their lives before McNair's attack, when things had seemed so straightforward. He'd known he'd end up married to Isobel one day, eventually, probably. He'd known that he and Finn would work together protecting the now-deceased Laird and his family. He'd have lived and died in Clan Martin, the person he once was forgotten and buried.

But…could he say he would be happy? Content, perhaps, but there was no chance that he would truly feel happiness, not in that life. Adair had only been back with him for a few days, but he felt he'd lived more in those days than he had in the past five years of his existence.

"Henry?"

He looked up to see Barbara approaching, looking a little pale but no worse for wear from the events the night before. She smiled when she saw him, holding up a candle to shine light over them both.

"Grandmother," he greeted. "I'm glad tae see yer injuries werenae serious."

"Same tae ye, lad," Barbara replied. "When ye see Miss Adair again, pass a message on for me, will ye? Let her ken the woman she was helpin' and the rest of us too are gonnae be just fine. She shouldnae feel guilty for doin' what's right. After all, as ye said, Laird Martin's men will be here soon."

"I dinnae ken that I'll get a chance tae pass her a message." The thought made the knot in Henry's stomach tighten, but he gritted his teeth and moved through it. "Ye ken she left in the night, then?"

"Aye. And she had a message for ye, as well; she asked me tae let ye ken it once ye awoke," Barbara told him. "She said tae tell ye not tae follow her and tae go back tae Isobel where ye belong. Said ye'll both be happier that way."

Henry considered the words for a moment, then nodded. "Thank ye, Barbara. Would ye like me tae stay until Laird Martin gets here?"

Barbara smiled faintly and shook her head. "Go on, lad. It seems tae me ye've somewhere tae be."

She was right. He did. He thanked Barbara and said his goodbyes, then headed to the place just outside the village where his horse waited for him. He noticed that the animal had been newly fed and brushed; it seemed Adair had taken time to look after his horse before taking hers and fleeing. This made Henry smile sadly; she was still full of surprises, and perhaps Henry was just not able to fit in her life anymore.

Was she safe? That was all he was worried about right now. Henry knew that Adair could look after herself. But he really had to wonder—why should she have to?

The first thing he did was ride out to where Adair had told him that Michael's body was. He found his friend laying there where Adair had left him, and a rush of grief filled him. He left his horse to the side for a moment and moved over to his friend, kneeling down next to him and taking a little private time to mourn.

"I'm doin' me best, Michael," he muttered. "I'm sorry ye cannae be by me side anymore. I wish ye could tell me what tae do."

He took some time digging a roadside grave, noticing that Adair had taken a moment to close Michael's eyes. That made him feel tearful but grateful all at once. He was glad that Michael had gotten respect for the last moments. He heaved Michael's body and placed it in the grave, filled in the dirt, and gave himself a few moments to say goodbye.

How many goodbyes would there be? How many more graves would he have to dig before this was over?

He thought of Isobel and Finn and all the danger they were in. He thought of Adair, alone on the road. And he also thought of his mother, lost before her time. Adair's father, too. Isobel's entire family. All gone, gone, gone.

But Henry wasn't gone yet. Henry was alive, and breathing, and the time had come to decide what he was going to do with that gift of life. After a little time, he said goodbye to his friend and headed back out onto the road. He looked left, he looked right, and he wondered.

He had a decision to make. And he had to make it now.

Adair was already tired. She'd been on the road for several hours, and the sun was just starting to rise on the horizon. Her horse needed to stop and rest, too, but every time she considered slowing down, she remembered Michael's cold, dead face and pushed herself ahead.

Every moment was a step closer to Caiside. Every movement was a movement toward potentially saving hundreds or even thousands of lives in Clan McLeod and its surrounding people. She had to forge ahead as quickly as she could, ignoring the hunger rumbling in her stomach and the tiredness weighing down her eyes. Her head ached as well, but she forced herself to ignore it.

Soon the horse let out a tired whinny, and though she could ignore her own suffering, she couldn't let the poor creature struggle any further. She patted his neck and said, "Come on then, me fine lad. We'll take a wee rest for an hour or two when we get to the next burn, aye?"

The horse plodded on for another fifteen minutes or so, and they stopped short in surprise when they heard two very familiar sounds: the flowing trickle of a small burn as she'd promised the horse they would, and the tell-tale crackle of old flames on leaves and wood.

Panic filled her chest for a moment. Could this be the murderer, the one who had slaughtered poor Michael? Could it be the bandits who had sacked Dalnaig less than twelve hours before? Part of Adair wanted to turn on her heel and ride off, but she knew that it was too late for that now; whoever was sitting by the fire had noticed her.

She swallowed and patted the horse's neck again. "Come on, then," she whispered. "Let's be brave."

Duncan was getting too old for all this traveling. He'd stop soon, he was sure. The thought made him laugh: he'd been promising himself that he'd retire for more years than he could count. The truth was that he knew he never would. He loved the feeling of the crisp Highland air against his admittedly weathered face, even when the rain was cold and icy. He loved the bumpy roads and rocky hills as he traversed the winding paths of his trade, his trusty wagon creaking along behind him. Despite the ache in his knee, he would not have passed up the breathtaking views of his country, those bonny vistas that never failed to fill his heart with joy. The rolling hills, now tipped with snow and fog, crafted this island and the stunning world that was his home.

But it wasn't just the natural beauty that drew Duncan to his travels. It was the people he met along the way that made merchant work so important to him. From bustling market towns to remote hamlets nestled in the valleys, each encounter brought its own remarkable stories to this world. He adored the conversations with fellow merchants and his customers, exchanging tales of trades gone wrong and bartering goods. He overheard so much gossip, more than even those brainy sorts in the newsrooms or minstrels who traveled court to court. From the latest news out of Edinburgh to the juiciest gossip from across the Highlands, Duncan was always eager to listen and share in the collective tales of Scotland.

There was always something that people did to care for one another; Scotland was a family on a wider scale. Whether it was lending a helping hand to a struggling farmer or sharing a hearty meal with newfound friends, there was a warmth and camaraderie that transcended any hardship, bloodline, or family. Not everyone, certainly, but people were, in general, good. He knew that no better than he did when he saw the women at the monastery.

His relationship with Mor…he chuckled as he relaxed by the fire. Mor's apprentices would be more than intrigued to know about his history with the old wisewoman. But these days it wasn't their story: these girls each had their own tales to tell.

Duncan looked up as he heard hooves on the road. He wasn't concerned. Bandits had tried to stop him more than once, but there was more life to this old man than many would think. But when he squinted through the still-shadowed sunrise, he saw that it wasn't a group at all, but a single figure moving closer on horseback. As they got closer, it became clearer that it was a woman.

A familiar woman.

"Adair…?"

It was Adair! She gasped as she approached, and Duncan almost did as well. What were the chances? It worried his old soul as he thought of the implications: he'd just delivered that letter to Caiside, and now Adair appeared here? Caiside had told him of the contents of the letter. Adair should be in the complete opposite direction to this.

"Duncan? Is that ye? Truly?" Adair exclaimed. She slid down from her horse and led the creature over to the water, then returned to sit down next to Duncan at his fireside. "I may join ye, aye?"

He waved a hand impatiently—of course she could, what a silly question! "What in the world are ye doin' all the way out here? Yer friends at the monastery are worried about ye. They were expectin' tae hear from ye sooner."

"I…" Adair started, then stammered. "That is, I…"

Duncan studied her closely, then nodded. "Hang on," he said, and Adair fell silent, looking grateful for his interruption. He stood and half-limped over to his wagon, rustling in some bags for a moment until he found what he was looking for.

He'd found the mead at a bustling market square nestled in the heart of a vibrant trading town on the east coast. Duncan's keen eye for quality had led him through the maze of stalls and merchants, until he stumbled upon a brewer selling a vast array of options, stocked haphazardly in a way he didn't understand.

Among them stood a bottle of mead that caught Duncan's attention immediately—a Moonlit Harvest from Ferndale's brewery, coveted for the stories of honey harvested under a full moon and secret recipes passed down through generations.

He remembered thinking that he'd struck gold. The spiced wildflower-honey mead would sell for a small fortune, making profit not just for its rarity and amazing taste but also the story behind it. He'd thought he'd make quite a bit of money from it, but now he realized there was a different ending to this tale, a worthy recipient without any gold exchanging hands.

Duncan fished out two goblets and filled them close to the brim with mead. He held one out to Adair, and she took it almost desperately. He watched as she took a deep quaff, and raised an eyebrow at the unladylike manner in which she drank, but didn't comment. She was obviously very stressed, and she needed time to process before she shared it.

She handed back her goblet and he filled it again, glad to see that she nursed this one. They stayed silent together for a few minutes, watching as the sun inched steadily up into the sky. It was still dark and shadowy, though, when she spoke again.

"I found…Henry," she whispered at last.

Duncan blinked. He knew the tales of each of the monastery girls, and Adair, who had always been his favorite, most of all. "Henry."

Adair nodded, looking miserable. "I found him in the castle town of Clan Martin. He'd…he'd escaped execution by his uncle, and he was hidin' out there, makin' his life…with a woman."

"Hmm." Duncan knew better than to comment on the situation. He knew that often understanding started with keeping one's own mouth shut.

Apparently, Adair didn't want to talk more about Henry, though, because she changed tack so quickly that Duncan almost couldn't keep up. "I'm on me way tae Clan McLeod," she told him. "Tae Caiside and Lorcan. Have ye seen them recently? How are they farin'?"

"I just saw Caiside a few days ago. I'm returnin' from McLeod now," Duncan explained to her. He considered what he should and shouldn't say, then shook his head. If he could trust anyone, he'd trust Adair. "I'm a little worried tae see ye, me dear. Ye see…I delivered a letter from ye while I was with Caiside."

Adair's face drained of color, and the goblet shook in her hand. "I…what? Ye had me letter?"

"That depends." Duncan took a gulp of his own mead, then set it down. "Did ye send a letter askin' Caiside tae meet ye in Barcaldine at next full moon?"

The young woman frowned, her forehead wrinkling. "I dinnae…what dae ye mean? Where is Barcaldine? I've never heard of it. Is it a village?"

Fear filled Duncan's heart at those words. "Then what…what did yer letter say?"

Adair swallowed. "McNair has somehow brought McMillan to his side. They're marchin' on McLeod soon, hoping they'll be able tae take them by surprise and emerge victorious. I sent a messenger tae deliver it, but he was killed on the road. I came all this way tae deliver the message personally."

Duncan shook his head, his dark suspicions confirmed. The letter he had just delivered to Caiside was fake, which meant…he swore. "Caiside is in danger."

"I ken. Me letter explains…"

"Ye dinnae understand," Duncan interrupted. "Adair, I delivered what I thought was yer letter tae Caiside, and it warned of enemy eyes, but with nae such detail. It asked Caiside tae come tae Barcaldine alone. And as far as I can tell, she's goin'."

"What?!" Adair shrieked. She jumped to her feet, spilling the remnants of her mead all over the ground and startling the wagon horse and her own horse. "She's in danger. I need tae go tae her. Now."

Duncan half-wanted to agree, but he made himself shake his head. "Ye need tae rest, and yer horse needs tae as well. It's still early in the mornin'. Let yerself rest for an hour or two, and then we'll go. I promise."

"We?" Adair asked. She sounded so uncertain that Duncan's heart broke for her. The poor young lass was so young, and she'd been through so much fear and loss already. "Ye're comin' with me?"

"Of course I am," Duncan told her. "Ye're family tae me, lass, and I care deeply for Caiside. I'm with ye nae matter what."