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Chapter Seven – Colin

I stared out of my solar window to the battered bridge of Eilean Donnan. Parts of the bridge had crumpled. That had happened when I’d stopped the attack from Bran MacLeod. One guard tower had been destroyed when MacLeod and MacKinnon had attacked us. Fires had scorched the gardens and stables when MacLeod had attacked with Laird Sinclair. Every time Freya was wed again, I lost more ground in the war against her father and whichever clan he had made a new alliance with. Many of my men were dead and many of those who remained were sick. All were weary, tired of war. Provisions were low and morale lower.

We needed hope. We needed a weapon. I needed Freya—before she was wed yet again to someone only too willing to make an alliance with her father.

The knock at my door was not a surprise. I’d been waiting all day for my brother to return.

“Enter.”

The door creaked, heavy footsteps fell, and then a long breath was taken. “She’s on the move.”

I did not need to ask who “she” was. We’d been tracking Freya’s every move since the day we’d fought her brother off, just as she’d told us to do. I knew every man who had taken her. Each of them had gotten to her moments before me. And each had died exactly as she had predicted. I presumed the latest was not any different. Still… “Did Sinclair die in the great hall?”

“Aye,” Connor replied. I turned then and met my brother’s grim gaze. “By fire. Exactly as the whispers on the wind say the lass predicted. Why do ye think he did nae listen to her? He was her third husband! The others had been victorious in battle but losers to death—just as she saw.”

“Too smug,” I replied. “These men were too smug. I will nae be smug. I will be careful.”

“If we get to her before anyone else.”

I nodded. “What did yer spy tell ye?”

“She fled three nights ago with her sister Vanora in tow at the witching hour when chaos erupted after Sinclair died. As always.” I resisted the strange urge to smile at the news of the lass’s cleverness. Well, she was mostly clever. She kept managing to escape only to be captured again by predators hunting her for her power. It seemed they used her sister every time to force Freya’s hand. I hoped I did not have to do the same. Once the predators had forced her hand, they had sought alliances with her father. He’d agreed each time. The men who snatched her did not want to make an enemy of one the most powerful lairds in the Highlands, and MacLeod had used each alliance to attack Eilean Donnan and weaken us further. I was hunting her, too, so I supposed that made me a predator as well.

“What else did Ailas’s raven say?”

“Ye still have nae acknowledged my cleverness in planting a spy in Sinclair’s stronghold.”

“Ye’re verra clever to have thought to send the lass ye were bedding to be a lady’s maid to Freya,” I replied, my tone as brittle as my mood.

Connor winked. “Was that so difficult?”

“Connor, I’m nae in the mood for yer antics. ”

“Fine. The lass and her sister are taking the Dark Forest to her home by way of the ice path. Her da sent men to aid her, but she had already fled, fearful they’d nae reach her in time.”

“Of course he’ll nae,” I grumbled. “And he’ll make yet another alliance with whoever takes her. The man choses power over his daughter every time.”

“I suppose this means we will nae any longer be offering to trade her for a confession?”

“Nay currently. I’ll use her to leverage for peace—an alliance between them and us, sealed by marriage. And if MacLeod will nae have peace, I’ll use her to destroy him.”

“So ye will wed her?”

I nodded. “Aye. She must be mine, so that by the laws of our land, nae anyone else has a right to take her. And the wedding will give me the right to attack if they do.”

Connor nodded. “It’s settled.”

“Aye.” It felt like a weight upon my chest. My wedding another was something I’d vowed never to do after Magy died.

“Are the horses readied?”

“Aye, brother. Ye ken we’re nae the only ones hunting her.”

“Aye, but we have the advantage of knowing where she’s heading and the path she’s taking.”