Free The Kindling Heart by Carmen Caine Page B

mean, woman?” Domnall stood abruptly.
    “I left her for a wee bit, but now she’s gone,” Isobel replied, agitated. “I canna find her, and I’ve searched every nook and cranny.”
    Domnall swore.
    ***
    Caught in a wave of panic, Bree fled down the stairs once again, unable to believe she was now married to a complete stranger. How could this have happened? Her father had used her as a pawn in some ancient feud. She’d never thought to marry. In fact, she’d always dreamt of returning to Skye with Afraig. The two of them would live in their cottage, growing herbs.
    She’d been so naïve.
    A little voice in her mind asked why she was running, that surely living here was better than going back to England to suffer under Wat, but she shook her head. No, she’d seen the man. Ruan was huge. Men beat women. It was the way of the world. She’d never survive that man’s violence.
    Slipping out of the castle had been easy.
    Finished with their evening chores, the servants headed for a boat that took them to the village, which was scarce more than a stone’s throw away.
    Bree had merely to join the line.
    Several times, she experienced a wave of doubt, but the fear of marriage kept her moving forward.
    The women didn’t ask questions; perhaps they were too tired or simply didn’t care. One by one, they shuffled into the boat, past an exceedingly drunk youth strumming an oar like a lute and singing loudly. He pinched each woman soundly as she boarded.
    Bree grimaced, but submitted to the humiliation in silence.
    Finally, with all seated, he dipped the oars in the water and rowed them the short distance to the village and as the bottom scraped loudly on the submerged rocks, the women disembarked.
    “Ye’ll have us drowned soon, Iain,” they grumbled.
    “Give a kiss, now, love,” Iain slurred with a crooked grin, not caring in the least that all were much older than he was.
    “Ach!” they all snorted in disgust, filing past the tipsy lad.
    Bree cautiously followed, trying her best to appear as if she’d done it a thousand times before. As she lifted her foot over the edge, Iain gave her bottom a healthy slap.
    She yelped, lost her balance and nearly fell back into his arms.
    He roared.
    A smattering of laughter sounded from the women and for the first time several interested pairs of eyes inspected her with curiosity. With her heart pounding loudly in her ears, she drew her plaid over her head, and strode off with an air of purpose through the village.
    Mercifully, no one followed.
    In a matter of minutes, she left the last cottage behind and was alone.
    She was free. Free!
    A twinge of fear assailed her, but she straightened her shoulders and firmly reminded herself that at least she was free.
    It was pitch black. Clouds blanketed the moon. The wind blew hard, chilling her to the bone. A blast of wind almost ripped the plaid from her head and it began to rain.
    Ignoring the feeling of impending doom, she stumbled forward and tripped, landing face first in the mud. Staggering to her feet, she boldly pressed on, but within minutes sank into a mire with icy water up to her knees. The heather scratched her ankles. She bit back a sob and continued on.
    In her wine-affected, panicked state, she hadn’t thought to bring food. She’d been gone only an hour, and already her skirt was soaked. Her nose ached and both feet were numb. How could she possibly survive? Doubt surfaced and she felt like a fool.
    For a brief moment, she considered returning to Dunvegan, but the thought of the beating she would receive spurred her on. She would likely die in either case, but she would die her own way. With determination, she stumbled on.
    As the night aged, matters worsened; each gust of wind seared her wet clothing as if it were a blast of fire. Her throat burned and her reddened fingers stung, responding slower each time she clawed the damp plaid closer.
    It was becoming difficult to convince herself that her new course of action