The only way to reach the MacArran fortress was across a frighteningly narrow bit of land. Elizabeth’s already racing heart threatened to break her ribs. The cart in front of her was unusually narrow and, even so, its wheels rode just on the edges of the road—inches in either direction and the man, cart and horse would be over the side.
When she reached the end of the road, she breathed a sigh of relief for several reasons—the end of the treacherous path and, so far, no alarm had been sounded.
The cart driver looked over his shoulder and grinned at her. “Always glad when I come off that path. Are ye goin’ this way?”
Straight ahead was the easy way, through the crofters’ farms where people would see her and could give a search party directions. To the right was the cliff road, the one she and Miles had ridden on. To ride along the cliff at night…
“Nay!” she said in her huskiest voice to the cart driver. Obviously the man would want to talk if she rode with him. She pointed a plaid-covered arm toward the cliff.
“You young’uns!” The man chuckled. “Well, good luck to ye, lad. There’s plenty of moonlight, but watch yer step.” With that he clucked to his horse and drove away.
Elizabeth lost no time in contemplating her fear but urged her mare toward the black emptiness before her. At night the road looked worse than she remembered. Her horse fidgeted and after only a second’s hesitation, she dismounted and began to lead her.
“Damn Miles Montgomery!” she muttered. Why did he have to come to a savage place like this? If he were going to hold someone captive, he should have done it in civilized surroundings.
The howl of a wolf directly overhead made her stop muttering. Silhouetted atop the cliff were three wolves, heads low, watching her. The horse danced about and Elizabeth wrapped the reins around her wrist. As she moved, the wolves moved with her. Another one joined the pack.
It seemed to Elizabeth that she had traveled for miles but she couldn’t even see the end of the cliff road. For a moment, she leaned against the rock wall, tried to calm her racing heart.
The wolves, seeming to believe their victim was admitting defeat, growled collectively. The horse reared, tore the reins from Elizabeth’s hands. She made a leap for the horse, lost her footing and fell half over the edge of the cliff. The freed horse went tearing down the path.
She lay still for a moment, trying to regain her composure and to figure out how to free herself. Precariously, she clung to the edge of the cliff, one leg dangling with no support, her other foot straining to hold on. Her arms were hugging rock, her chin pressing downward. She moved her left arm, and as she did, rock crumbled from under her. With a gasp of terror she began to move her right leg to search for a foothold—but found none. Another bit of rock crumbled and she knew she had to do something.
Using every bit of strength in her arms, she tried to push herself up, inching her hips to the left. When her left knee caught on the solid rock road, she had to blink away tears of relief. Inch by slow inch, she moved her aching, bruised body back onto the road.
On hands and knees she crawled to the safety of the rock wall and sat there, tears rolling down her cheeks, her chest heaving. Blood trickled down her arms and her raw knees burned.
Above her came a great cry of animals fighting. Pushing herself away from the wall, she saw an animal attacking the wolves. “That great dog of Bronwyn’s,” she gasped and closed her eyes in silent prayer for a moment.
She didn’t sit there long. Soon her disappearance would be discovered and she needed to be well ahead of her Montgomery enemies.
When she stood, she realized she was hurt worse than she thought. Her left leg was stiff, her ankle painful. When she wiped away the tears from her cheeks, her hand showed bloody in the moonlight. With raw palms, she began to feel her way along the road, not trusting her sight to guide her but needing the solid rock for direction.
The moon had set by the time she reached the end of the road, but instead of being frightening, the black open space was welcome to her. She pulled the plaid closer about her, ignored her weak legs and began walking.
When two pinpoints of light shone at her, chest height, she gasped, stopped, looked about for some weapon. For several moments she locked eyes with the animal, whatever it was, before it moved. The animal was almost touching her before she realized it was Bronwyn’s dog.
The dog cocked its head at her quizzically and Elizabeth wanted to cry with relief.
“You killed the wolves, didn’t you?” she said. “Good boy. Are you friendly?” Tentatively, she put out her hand, palm up, and was rewarded with a lick of the dog’s tongue. As she began stroking the animal’s big head, it nudged her hand, pushing her back toward the cliff road.
“No, boy,” she whispered. Her standing still was making her feel her cuts and bruises more. And it seemed like days since she’d slept. “I want to go this way, not back to Bronwyn.”
The dog gave a sharp yip at his mistress’s name.
“No!” she said firmly.
The dog watched her for a moment as if considering her words, then turned toward the forest ahead of them.
“Good boy.” She smiled. “Maybe you can lead me out of this place. Lead me to another clan that will return me to my brother for the reward he’ll pay.”
She walked behind the dog, but as she began to stumble, it stopped, nudging under her arm until she began to lean on it. “What’s your name, boy?” she whispered tiredly. “Is it George or Oliver or is it some Scots name I’ve never heard?”
The dog slowed its step even
more for her.
“How about Charlie?” she said. “I rather like the name Charlie.”