“Begging yer pardon, laird Drew.” A small boy ran into the great hall, stopping only when he reached the table across from Drew. “The wall guard asked that you come down. We’ve riders asking access to the keep. They say they’re kinsmen of yers. Two men, but one is injured.”
Colin was out of his seat and halfway to the entry door before the boy had finished speaking. It could be anyone. He had no reason to believe it was Dair and Simeon.
No reason but blind faith in the power of the Fae.
Drew was close on his heels as he hit the steps leading to the wall walk. He practically flew up the narrow spiral stairs, bursting through the door and not slowing until he could peer over the wall.
“Dair!” He recognized his kinsmen immediately.
“Thanks be to each and every one of the saints,” Dair called back. “Let us in. Sim needs attention, and I’ve news of yer wife.”
Colin took no note of the stairs he skipped over in his rush to get down from the wall walk. He threw himself headlong into the race, stooping to clamber under the rising gates to meet the horses inside the gate wall.
“Where is she?” He grabbed the reins that had fallen from Simeon’s hand, noticing for the first time the blood soaking the other man’s shoulder.
“Perhaps an hour’s ride from here. We were bringing her to you when she was taken from us.”
They’d reached the stairs, and others crowded around now, hands reaching up to help Simeon fromhis mount even as Dair swung his leg over his horse and turned to face Colin.
“Taken by whom?”
Dair shook his head, his mouth drawn in a hard line. “I dinna ken the bastard’s name, but he was no a stranger to her. He did that to Simeon with some wee weapon he carried. Yer lady called it a gun.”
“Flynn.” Colin spat the name, cursing the very air the filthy Nuadian breathed. “Can you take me there?”
“Oh, aye, I can. I’ve only the need of a fresh horse and a good sword.” Dair laid a hand on his shoulder, none of his usual humor in evidence. “But I must warn you, Colin, she’s been hurt.”
Colin’s stomach knotted. “What happened?”
“One of MacDougall’s men attacked her when we made our escape. She fought him and took a boot to her ribs for her trouble.”
A white-hot rage gripped Colin’s guts, twisting and writhing inside him, pressing him to action.
“I want the man. I’ll have his bowels for dinner for what he’s dared. Once she’s found, you’ll lead me to him and I’ll make him pay for what he’s done.”
“Sorry, my friend.” Dair shrugged. “Any payment you take from that one will have to come in the next world. I had the pleasure in this one.”
Colin clenched his teeth together to hold back a primal bellow of frustration. “Painfully, I hope?”
“Oh, I’d imagine so,” his friend answered, lifting his hands in front of him to mimic the quick gesture of snapping someone’s neck.
It would have to do.
“Drew!” Colin yelled, but his brother had already reached his side.
“I heard. I’ve sent for the stable master. My men are at yer disposal, brother. My men and my own self as well. We’ll find her and we’ll bring her home.”
Colin broke toward the stables at a run. They’d find her. He just prayed to whatever gods cared to listen that they’d find her in time.
Thirty-nine
Her body had given up flinching. It simply hurt too much now.
Abby struggled for anything even resembling a deep breath as Jonathan paced in front of her, stopping to lean down where she sat, her back against a tree.
For perhaps the tenth time he screamed at her, ordering her to “Try again!” with his face a mottled purple-red, spittle settling at the corners of his mouth.
“Tried,” she rasped. “Nothing happens.” Maybe it was eleven times. She’d lost count.