Page 51 of Highlander’s Curse (The Daughters of the Glen #8)

Thirty-five

I t was the mother of all headaches awaiting Colin’s return to consciousness. He lay very still, knowing there was something important he should remember, something urgent, something just beyond his ability to pluck from his memory.

An incessant buzzing plagued him, finally forcing his eyes open.

Memories swam before him, clicking into place sharply.

“Abby.” Her name was on his lips though he struggled to make any sound.

He rolled to his side, struggling to push to his knees. He had to find his wife.

“Abby!” He could hear his own voice this time. That had to be a good sign.

His foot slid, jamming against something heavy, and he swung his head to investigate.

Big mistake.

The world swam around him again, the fly-infested body of the man at his feet the last thing he saw before the dark overtook him once more.

The sun hovered halfway down beyond the horizon the second time Colin awoke.

Fortunately, this time his memory returned more quickly.

Very slowly, he pushed up to his knees and crawled the few feet to the nearest tree.

He propped himself against it and surveyed the road while he waited for his strength to build.

The only body he could see was that of the man he’d killed. The man’s companions likely hadn’t thought much of him to leave him there in the road.

Of course, they’d left his body here, too.

There was no sign of Abby. He hoped that indicated she lived. And as long as she lived, he’d find her.

For now, he had to get off the road. If the men who’d ambushed them had been here once, they might well return.

Using the tree for balance, he pulled himself up to stand. A wave of nausea swept over him and he bent from the waist, waiting for the sickness to pass. Once he felt strong enough, he headed into the woods, stumbling from tree to tree to keep himself upright.

Dusk had settled over the land by the time he heard the first noises. A rustling, as if someone carelessly made his way through the brush.

He scanned the area at his feet, searching for anything he might use as a weapon, finally deciding on a stone the size of his hand. Clutching it tightly, he dropped to his belly, inching his way forward until at last a small clearing lay ahead of him. There he found the intruder.

His own horse stood next to a small stream, nibbling at the leaves of a small bush. Dried blood streaked the animal’s flank. He remembered that now. An arrow. It had caused his horse to rear, unseating him.

He waited, overly cautious perhaps, to make sure the animal was the only occupant of the clearing. Satisfied at last, he again pushed himself to his feet and joined his mount at the bank of the stream.

Dropping again to his knees, he dunked his head in the cold water. Once, twice, a third time, the swirling waters carried the last traces of his blood away.

For once he was thankful for his Faerie heritage. Without it, he’d likely have died of his wounds. As it was, he’d live. He’d live to find Abby or her murderers. If the latter, he’d pluck their eyes from their heads and stuff them down their throats.

The vision gave him determination and with that determination, strength.

With the discovery of his horse, he had the means to travel. Now he needed only to decide where to travel to.

Considering where they’d been assaulted, the attackers were likely MacDougall’s men, waiting to pick off any of Robert’s stragglers who might try to turn back to escape the ambush awaiting them at King’s Field.

That being the case, any captives would likely be taken to the MacDougall stronghold, Dunstaffnage.

The likelihood of his success if he single-handedly stormed the keep at Dunstaffnage? None at all. He could not do this alone. Then again, he wouldn’t have to.

His brother Andrew resided not too far from the MacDougall castle. He needed only to make his way to MacQuarrie Keep. From there he could send a messenger to Dun Ard, requesting that his laird send men to assist him in confronting the MacDougall.

He pulled himself up onto his horse and set out. If he kept his distance from the main road, he should be able to avoid any other men the MacDougalls or their allies the MacNabs had left on watch. If he rode hard, by this time tomorrow he would reach MacQuarrie Keep.

For now, he wouldn’t allow himself to consider how his laird would react to his request for men. He wouldn’t think on whether or not Abby had been hurt in the ambush. For now, he would simply concentrate on his plan and on staying on his mount.

It was the best he could think of. It was his only hope.