Free Highland Surrender by Tracy Brogan

her sister from the same fate as herself.
    But what now? She could not go back. She knew the type of punishment Cedric Campbell could dole out. Her mother’s battered body had been evidence enough. The memory of that hateful day bore down on her, heavier and colder than the rain. She’d been just ten years old when they’d laid her mother on a trestle table in the great hall so that every Sinclair might see the damage done at the Campbell chieftain’s hand.
    Aislinn Sinclair, beautiful and once so vibrant, bruised and tinged by death’s gray palette. A villager admitted to having seen Cedric near the spot that day. And if that testimony was not great enough, there was the brooch, pinned through her very flesh, a brand, a flag of victory.
    Seeing her mother cold upon the table, Fiona plucked the pin out, thinking in her childish mind that, once it was removed, her mother might come alive again. But she did not.
    ’Twas John who led Fiona away soon after, drying her tears and vowing to avenge their mother’s death. But he’d lied. His recent betrayal wounded her far greater than Simon’s, for Simon was a brute, all instinct and strength with little insight. But John knew her loneliness. He shared the ache of missing their mother, and still he’d done nothing to stop Simon from sacrificing her to the Campbells. The last remaining shards of her heart splintered. Yes, she had escaped her husband, but now it seemed she had no brothers left to return to.
    Lightning cracked, reminding Fiona of more immediate dangers. There, in the distance, she spotted a dwelling. Blessedheaven. ’Twas a small, abandoned hut, but a palace to her eyes. She hurried to it and stepped inside. Searching in vain for any food, she realized the mice had long since cleared the place of even the tiniest crumb. But still, there was a dry spot on the floor, and she sank down on it like it was a bed fit for the pope himself. Weariness collapsed her limbs, and fitfully, she slept.
    For an hour or more, Myles and his men headed toward Ludlow and searched the forest in the dismal rain, looking for any sign. They found none. No footprints or bits of fabric left behind. No broken branches or strands of deep-red hair twisted in a thicket. And all the while, questions rammed against the doors of his mind. What if he could not find her and never learned her fate? Or what if he found her too late, after some evil of the woods had done its worst?
    The rain let up, and Myles signaled to his uncle. Leaning forward from his saddle, he spoke the words quietly. “’Tis clear the old nurse lied. These Sinclairs are a duplicitous lot.”
    Tavish nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. Fiona could not have come this far without a horse, and all of ours were accounted for. But if not to Ludlow, then where?”
    Myles looked around, as if she might be waving from a distance just to taunt him. What would he do to dupe an enemy? “If it were me, I’d send my pursuers opposite of the way I was headed. Fraser land is east of here. Do you suppose she’d go to them?”
    Tavish scratched at his red beard. “There’s no telling what the foolish thing might do. But she’s not come this way. That is certain.”
    “We’ll return to last night’s camp and start again. We know she’s not gone west. And Father is traveling south. So we’ll divide and search east and north. She really cannot have gotten far.”
    “Unless she had help.”
    Myles looked at Tavish, cold dread spiraling in his gut at the notion. “Help? Do you think this was prearranged?”
    His uncle rolled his wide shoulders and spit on the ground. “’Twas a bold move to wander out into the forest alone at night. She’s either brave, mad, or planning to meet someone.”
    The idea clutched at Myles like a sinewy claw. If she’d had help, then only God Himself would know where to look. He rose up in his stirrups and whistled to his men.

CHAPTER 9

    R ESTARTING FROM LAST evening’s camp, Myles and