Page 23 of The Story of his Highland Bride (Dancing Through Time #4)

23

T he peace of the morning’s earliest hours was shattered by the beat of those small wings against the window. Jackson would remember that haunting sound for the rest of his life; he was quite certain. The wings were like softly played war drums, eerier because of their gentle call, and they were summoning Eloise to march toward the Cairns before she lost her chance. There would be other chances, perhaps, but waiting was not a risk that could be taken.

“Why now?” she rasped, tightening her hold on Jackson.

“The Old Gods work in cruel and mysterious ways,” he replied stiffly, hating that unyielding sound. “Me grandmaither has always said that.”

Eloise looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Your grandma! Kaitlyn! I won’t have time to say goodbye to any of them.” Her chest heaved with a sob, as the distant church bells chimed one o’clock. “I have an hour to get to the Cairns before the doorway closes. How long does it take to ride there?”

“Half an hour in fine weather, but there’s still snow on the ground and it’s dark,” he admitted. “We’ll be cuttin’ close to reachin’ that place by two o’clock, once ye’ve gathered the things and Claymore has been saddled.”

Her face fell. “Then, there’s no time?”

“I daenae think so.” He swallowed tightly, wishing for himself and for the others that Eloise cherished that the Old Gods were not quite so unkind with their tricks. Maybe, if the two of them had not lain together, they would have been given more time, but it rather felt like the fates had been waiting for their moment to inflict the most distress.

Why send her, just to snatch her away again? he seethed in silence, though he already knew the answer. The Old Gods were not entirely to blame. If his world was kinder toward women, especially those who were not quite ordinary, they could have waited until Eloise was ready to return. Instead, Father Hepburn and his witch-hunt was forcing their hand. And, despite his insistence, Father Hepburn had nothing to do with any God.

“But… but I… but—” Eloise trailed off, hiding her face against Jackson’s chest for a moment they did not have to spare.

“I ken, Love,” he murmured, as the starlings continued to bump the windowpane, desperate for Eloise’s attention.

Whether the couple liked it or not, in an hour’s time they would be parted, and there was no telling if they would ever be able to see one another again.

Eloise did not say much as Claymore plodded through the melting snow, weaving his sturdy body through the shadowed trees of the woodland that would eventually reveal the Cairns. Jackson did not say much, either, for he had already expressed everything he wished to, and it had changed nothing.

“You’ll tell them all that I was grateful to get to know them?” she finally said, while Claymore passed across the open glade where they had previously encountered wolves. But the horse showed no sign of fear as it pressed on. Wherever those wolves were now, it was nowhere close.

Jackson bent his head to kiss her neck. “I’ll tell them everythin’ ye’ve asked, Love. They’ll all ken what they meant to ye, and I’ll offer yer apologies for leavin’ without a farewell. And, when I’m ready to explain it, I’ll tell them the truth about ye, so they might better understand why ye had to leave this way.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for so much more than I could ever tell you. Another day, maybe I will.”

He nodded. “Aye, another day.”

He pulled her flush against him. He had already decided that he would not loosen his grip until the very last minute, when the doorway to her world was closing. Even then, he wondered if there was some part of him that might try to follow her through.

I couldn’ae, though, could I? he considered grimly. He was a Laird; he had an entire clan of people who relied upon him, especially the women who had caught the eye of the priest. Though he longed to be selfish, just once, he knew he could not put the future of so many in jeopardy just to pursue the woman who had captured his heart.

“M'Laird?” a voice called through the trees, snatching Jackson out of his sad reverie.

Three riders loped toward him, with Lennox leading the small group.

“Lennox, what are ye doin’?” Jackson had not demanded an escort. Indeed, he and Eloise had slipped away from the castle discreetly, on purpose, so as not to delay the departure.

Lennox pulled his horse to a halt. “One of the castle guards saw ye and Miss Eloise leavin’ and came to ask if ye’d summoned a guard to follow. Obviously, I kenned nothin’ of it, so I came after ye.” He paused to catch his breath. “I daenae ken if ye want guards or nae, M’Laird, but as yer Man-at-Arms, I thought it best to err on the side of caution.”

“Now that ye’re here, I’m nae goin’ to send ye back,” Jackson said with a sigh. “We’ve encountered wolves in these woodlands before, and they might think twice if they see a few horses.”

Lennox nodded. “That was me thinkin’, M’Laird.” He glanced at Eloise, flashing a bright smile. “And I dinnae want Miss Eloise to leave without sayin’ a farewell to her.”

“How did you know I was going somewhere?” Eloise frowned.

Lennox cleared his throat. “His Lairdship mentioned the other day, while we were helpin’ at that farm, that ye might have to leave soon.” He offered an apologetic look to Jackson, like he had said something he should not have done. “I guessed that’s what had happened.”

“Oh—” Eloise turned her face away, staring ahead at the darkness.

“I’ll be sorry to see ye leave. I ken I’m nae the only one,” Lennox added. “Do ye intend to return?”

Eloise made a strange sound, partway between a choke and a laugh. “If I can, Lennox, but you know how things are right now, and I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Aye, I ken.” Lennox sighed. “Jane doesnae want to go back to the village, either, for reasons that are likely nae dissimilar.”

Eloise turned back. “Jane?”

“The lass we saved from a burnin’,” Jackson intervened, explaining. “Lennox has somethin’ of a fancy for her. They were courtin’ a while ago, and it seems they’ve rekindled their affection for one another.”

A sad smile turned up the corners of Eloise’s lips. “Well, good luck to the pair of you. I hope you’ll be ridiculously happy together, despite that priest’s best attempts to ruin everyone’s lives. In fact, to spite it would be better.”

“Thank ye, Miss Eloise.” Lennox beamed from ear to ear. “I intend to be ridiculously happy.”

Evidently, the Man-at-Arms was too blinded by his own love to read between the lines of the forced smiles and too-cheery voices of Jackson and Eloise. Nevertheless, it warmed Jackson’s heart to see that Eloise was gracious, even at a moment when her own heart was aching.

She’d have made a fine Lady, he knew.

The group moved on through the forest, disturbing the doves that roosted in the trees and the rabbits that nestled in their burrows, while hedgehogs froze in their nocturnal hunt for worms to watch the horses plod by. It was a beautiful winter evening: crisp and clear and not so cold it made a man wish for summer. Although, in that selfish part of his mind, Jackson longed for the snow to come again, to block the way to the Cairns.

“We’re nae far now,” Jackson told Eloise, as the horses cut across a glade that branched out into an actual path.

The trail was overgrown after years of neglect; nature reclaiming that which the new ways had chosen to ignore. Indeed, only those who knew what they were looking for would know there was a path there at all. And in the depths of Jackson’s memory, he recalled his mother bringing him this way, though he could not remember why or what had happened when they reached the end of the trail.

“Oh—” Eloise sank back into him. “Are we?”

He nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Aye, Love.”

“Should we… um… say goodbye now?” she whispered, her voice strained. “I don’t want us to have to rush when we get there, in case time is running out. I’d give anything to have a watch on me, right now.”

He drew in a breath, determined to be strong for her. “We’ll have time enough, Love. Ye willnae leave without us sharin’ a proper, lastin’ farewell. The snow and the trees were nae as difficult to navigate, thanks to Claymore, so… nae yet, Love. We daenae need to yet.”

The horses trudged on, their riders silent. The occasional hoot of an owl or the rustle of a creature scarpering through the undergrowth peppered the quiet, but even the night seemed to be holding its breath for the lovers who would soon part, giving them peace.

At least, it seemed that way, until Lennox suddenly spoke. “Do ye hear that, M’Laird?”

“Hear what?” Jackson pricked his ears and squinted into the darkness.

Lennox leaned forward in his saddle. “I hear voices, M’Laird. Quiet, like, but I hear ‘em.”

They could not have been more than a few minutes away from the two gnarled, ancient oaks that marked the entrance to Clava Cairns. Jackson could remember the way vividly, though he did not know why. But who else would be out here in the middle of the night?

“I see lights, Jackson,” Eloise whispered, her body stiffening in his embrace. “Through the trees over there. I see lights.”

No sooner had she spoken than Jackson saw them too: hazy orbs that glowed in the near distance, blazing out of the shadows. Torches. And silhouetted in their light were wavering figures with menacing faces, edging closer to where the riders had halted.

All of a sudden, a cry went up from the trees ahead: “I see ‘em! They came, and they’ve brought the witch with ‘em!”

More torches burst into life, bobbing through the impenetrable blackness behind the front line of shadowy men, as a horde of other bodies joined the first scouts. A few seconds later, a small army of fifteen or so men charged out from between the mossy black elders and ghostly birches, running straight for Jackson and Eloise.

“Seize the witch!” someone howled.

“Burn her!” yelled another.

“Take her to the priest!” bellowed a third, to the beat of heavy footfalls.

It took a matter of moments for Jackson to put the pieces together, as a hurried plan formed in his mind. Father Hepburn must not have abandoned the witch’s cottage, as they had thought. At the very least, he must have left someone behind, in case the witch revealed herself, or if Eloise returned. And that someone would have heard Eloise, Jackson, and Irene discussing what needed to be done for Eloise to return home.

He put a guard around the Cairns, Jackson could have smacked his own forehead for not suspecting something so underhand.

“Can ye ride Claymore by yerself?” Jackson grabbed the reins and put them into Eloise’s hands, thinking as quickly as he could.

She gaped at him in horror. “I haven’t got a clue, Jackson. I can’t go ahead without you!”

“If ye ever want to make it back to yer world, Eloise, ye have to,” he urged, cradling her cheek. “I need ye to be courageous, as I ken ye are, and take these reins. Ride yer way through these bastards and reach those Cairns. Daenae stop for anythin’, Love. Ye follow this path that ye see before ye, and when ye see two vast oaks that look older than the world itself, ye’ve reached where ye need to be. I daenae ken what has to be done after that—it’ll be up to ye, but I can help buy yer safe passage.”

Her eyes glittered with welling tears. “But… we didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“As it should be,” he told her, pressing a swift, desperate kiss to her lips. “We’re nae sayin’ farewell, remember? We’re sayin’… “another day.” Aye, we daenae ken when that’ll be, but ye ken I’ll be waitin’. So, go, otherwise we willnae have any hope of another day.”

Father Hepburn’s holy soldiers were gaining ground with every second that passed. It would not be long before they crashed into Jackson and his men; the latter still waiting for a command from their Laird. And though it pained him to have to abandon Eloise to her own means, he refused to let her fall into the priest’s hands. If she was caught by those men, there would be no trial of fair judgment: Father Hepburn would have her killed as quickly as possible, not caring that going against the Laird was tantamount to treason.

“Go, Eloise!” Jackson roared, as he leaped down and drew his broadsword from the sheath attached to Claymore’s saddle. “I love ye, Eloise. Nay matter what happens, remember that.”

Eloise stared at him, coils of loose rein spilling out of her clenched, shaking fists. “I love you, too, but I still don’t know how to ride a—”

Jackson gave Claymore’s rear a meaningful smack, and the stallion took off, wielding his solitary rider down the path to Clava Cairns. Jackson knew his horse would not stray from that trail; the hard part would be getting through the small army of furious, violent men that were headed right for them.

“The bet willnae be in our favor, Lads!” Jackson shouted to his own men. “But whatever ye do, ye cannae let them stop Eloise from gettin’ through! Fight to yer last breath, Lads!”

Leading the charge on his side, Jackson sprinted forward with his sword raised, bellowing a great war cry as his boots thudded against the damp earth. A red mist descended over his eyes, his concentration keen, his muscles tightening in preparation for a battle.

“For Jane!” Lennox roared, spurring his horse into the charge.

“For me maither!” cried Lennox’s second-in-command.

“For Fiona!” screamed the third man.

It was then that Jackson understood; Lennox had brought men who had suffered losses at the hands of Father Hepburn, too. Men who had a vendetta of their own to fulfill. Men who would not hesitate to cut down a priest, painfully aware that he was the least godly man of all.

Ye bastard, Jackson seethed, letting the anger fuel him.

It had been a long while since he had fought in a fight that he did not think he could win, but his side had one advantage: they were true soldiers, born and bred with a sword in hand, and these oncoming wretches were nothing more than farmer’s boys who had had their minds corrupted by the doctrine of Father Hepburn.

As Jackson clashed with the first enemy, striking the feeble soldier in the head with the flat of his sword, his eyes darted toward the distant trees. There, he caught his last glimpse of Eloise, her body twisted toward him as Claymore carried her to safety. And though she was too far away for him to be certain, Jackson thought he saw her lips move, mouthing “I love you” one final time.

“I love ye,” he whispered, driving the flat of his blade into the shoulder of the next man, downing him.

On either side of Jackson, his three loyal riders tore through the underbrush, outpacing him. Lennox took the lead, galloping toward the men who were attempting to pursue Eloise. All the while, Jackson dealt with the holy soldiers that swarmed him, striking left and right with his blade, arcing it around to inflict as much damage as possible. He did not want to be responsible for the deaths of these misguided men, but Eloise’s life took precedence.

His panicked gaze flitted toward Lennox, just in time to see the Man-at-Arms catch up to the pack of four men who were chasing Eloise and Claymore. Lennox did not hesitate to cut them down where they ran, and as Jackson breathed a shallow sigh of relief, his beloved vanished from sight, swallowed up by the dark forest.

Another day, he prayed, driving his boot into the chest of his next assailant. Please, give us that.

But he knew better than to believe the Old Gods would answer his wish. Not without a steep price to pay.