"Or would they rather sleep in the open, where they could slip unnoticed into the forest at first light?"
His men followed as he rode toward the hay. Dismounting, he studied the slight indentation.
"Did the Lady Brenna rest here perhaps?" He suddenly knelt and breathed in the scent that he knew to be hers, mingled with the fragrance of dried grasses and heather. Excitement rippled through him.
"She was here." He would never mistake the scent of her. It was already deeply imprinted in his memory.
He stood and pulled himself into the saddle, then studied the trail of trampled grass leading to the forest once more.
"She is close. I can sense it."
"One pair of tracks leads that way," a soldier cried.
"A second pair is headed there."
"Would the two women separate?" the soldier asked.
"Nay." Morgan smiled, remembering how calmly Brenna had faced his knife until her younger sister was safely inside the castle walls. The woman would do anything to save her sister. Anything except leave her to the dangers of this primitive environment.
"It is a clever ploy to divide our strength and send us on a merry chase."
"Which tracks will we follow?"
Morgan shrugged.
"It matters not. I have every confidence that they will come together at a prearranged destination."
As the soldiers moved out, Morgan was forced to admit a grudging respect for the Lady Brenna. In her place, he would have done the same. It would seem that despite her delicate appearance, she had the instincts of a soldier.
They followed a set of tracks as it wove through a forest of towering evergreen. The sky was obscured by the thick canopy of boughs.
Gradually the woods thinned until they found themselves in a high, grassy meadow.
For a moment the sun was so bright, they had to shield their eyes. But as his eyes grew accustomed to the light, Morgan drank in the sight of a field of blue-violet heather that stretched as far as the eye could see. He was reminded of Brenna. The flowers were the exact color of the eyes of the woman he sought.
Far in the distance he spotted a slight movement. Had it been a Highland breeze rippling the flowers? Or could it have been a human form, taking cover beneath the heather?
Brenna broke free of the forest and entered a meadow abloom with heather. For a moment she stared around with a look of wonder. Not even the sense of desperation that drove her could detract from the beauty of her surroundings. How strange these Highlands were. One minute savage and primitive, the next so lovely they took her breath away.
At the far side of the meadow she saw Megan emerge from a wild tangle of shrub and thorn. So far their plan was working. They had skirted the woods from two different directions and had managed to come together again without mishap. Now, if the fates continued to smile upon them, they would reach the fortress of Brice Campbell by midday.
Once there, no English savage could dare to touch them.
"Brenna." Megan lifted a hand as she spotted her sister.
Brenna returned the salute and opened her mouth to call out. Suddenly the words caught in her throat.
Emerging from the dark woods far beyond Megan was a horse and rider.
Even from so great a distance, Brenna had no doubt as to his identity.
God in heaven. Morgan Grey was already close on Megan's heels, like a wolf after a helpless fawn.
Several other horsemen followed their leader. Her sister's back was to the English. As yet, she had no idea that they had trailed her.
With no thought to her own safety, Brenna broke into a run, determined to reach her sister before the soldiers. With her breath burning in her throat, she spanned the distance between them and threw herself at Megan, dragging them both to the ground.
"What...?" Megan pushed against her sister, fighting to regain her balance.
"Hush." Brenna covered Megan's mouth with her hand, then came to her knees and chanced a quick glance in the direction of Morgan Grey.
"What is it?"
Brenna frowned and crouched low in the grass.
"English. I count six of them."
"Have they seen us?"
Brenna shrugged.
"I know not."
"But I was so careful to keep to the woods."
"These are soldiers, trained in the art of tracking their enemy. Twas not your fault." Brenna drew her sister close and pressed her forehead to Megan's.
"Listen to me. And listen well. From this moment on we must go in separate directions."
"Nay." Megan clutched at her.
Brenna's whispered voice was unusually calm. It was the way she always dealt with danger.
"We have no choice. We will crawl through the heather, always keeping that distant spire as our goal. There lies Brice Campbell. There lies safety."
"But why must we separate?"
"Because there are only six of them. If they divide, there are only three against each of us." She gave her sister an impish, engaging smile, meant to lift her spirits. '"Tis well known that three English against one Scots warrior would hardly make a fair fight.
"Twould take at least a dozen English soldiers to bring down a single Scotsman."
Despite their perilous situation, Megan joined her sister's laughter.
"Aye. God help them if they find us." After a moment she sobered and clutched at Brenna.
"I cannot leave you. You cannot make me."
"Listen to me, Megan." Brenna grasped her sister's arms and stared into her wide eyes.