The look of love she gave Bram made William’s gut twist. Would Ada ever look at him that way, or was it too late to offer his wife his heart?
Much to Ada’s relief, power-hungry men were so pompous that they discounted that a mere woman could dupe them. Ada could see the glow of the fire that Brothwell’s men had made to sit around for the night. She released the edge of the blanket that served as the door to the shelter Brothwell had ordered constructed for her.
He was being most courteous, and why would he not be? She laughed bitterly. He believed she had been taken against her will, and he wholeheartedly believed he had to ride hard to his father to save him from an eminent siege. The Stewardwouldfall. Of that much Ada was certain, but it would not be a bloody battle. He and four of his sons would be taken quietly in the night by Bram, the MacLean laird, the MacLeod laird, and Thomas. She did not know the details, but she didn’t need to. As for Brothwell, she felt no future for him, which made her think he did not have one. Then again, she felt no future for herself, either.
The feelings and intuitions had been coming to her gut regularly and swiftly since Brothwell had ridden away with her almost a sennight ago, but today there was nothing. It seemed the closer they rode to the Steward’s home, the more her senses dulled. She’d had no foresights at all since Brothwell had announced they would reach the Steward holding by midafternoon the following day; she had only an odd sensation in her stomach. But it was not at all like the sickness that had come over her with her intuitions. This was different. Shefeltdifferent.
Freya and Hella nuzzled her, and she petted them both, glad they had been able to catch up to her each night. Without their company, she likely would have fallen apart thinking of William. Where was he? Was he far behind? She didn’t doubt he was pursuing her. What she didn’t know was if he would ask for her heart and give her his when he found her. She could accept nothing less from him. She suspected that he did truly want her heart since her intuitiveness had become so much sharper before she’d fled him, but what did it even matter? Wanting her love and actually accepting it and giving it in return were very different things, and if he came to her with barriers still around him, she would rather kill her hope for good and live apart from him at the nunnery. She would not stay at some remote castle, hoping and awaiting his return as though a change would ever come.
Raucous singing filled the night. That was her signal to flee. She knew the direction in which Iona Nunnery stood, thanks to one of Brothwell’s chatty men orienting her, but just heading in that direction did not mean she’d actually make it there. Yet her instincts had told her she would, indeed, arrive safely. She hoped the nuns would shelter her as she had thought, and she hoped her asking it of them would not put them in danger. Convents were supposed to be sacred places, where even men at war with each other would not dare to do evil, but would that hold true?
Clicking her tongue at Hella and Freya, who both immediately popped up from where they had been lying on the ground, she pulled back the flap to look outside again. No one was looking her way and no guard had been set to watch her, as Brothwell did not expect her to flee. She stepped out of the shelter but stayed low, just in case someone did glance her way. Then she crept toward the woods, the ground icy under her fingers and the cold wind blowing her hair and chilling her to the bone. Once she made it to the shelter of the woods, she rose, got her bearings, and started her journey west to the nunnery.
Fear and chill kept her moving at a fast pace. She wanted to put as much distance as she could between herself and Brothwell’s party before the sun rose and Brothwell came to wake her. Feeling increasingly nervous, she started to run, dodging low-hanging branches and shoving limbs out of the way as she did so. She raced down a rather winding path and glanced behind her to ensure Hella and Freya were keeping up. Her foot caught on something on the trail, and she flew through the air to land hard on her knees a few feet forward.
“Foolish, foolish,” she muttered to herself, pressing her hands into the cold, wet leaves as Hella and Freya whined. Then from somewhere in front of her, a branch snapped, the dogs started to bark, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled.
Beset by fright, she forced herself to look up. Brothwell himself stood there. She choked back a cry as Brothwell offered a dark smile. He crouched down to look at her. “I kenned I could nae trust ye because ye were being so verra biddable. Ye have nae ever been that way in yer life.”
She felt a momentary panic as her mind jumped to what would happen to her if she was captured and dragged to the Steward’s home. Summoning courage she did not feel, she said, “Hella, Freya, attack!”
The dogs surged forward springing on Brothwell with vicious snips and growls. Her only thought was to get past him, but as she stumbled to her feet, he managed to throw off Freya and then he sprang toward Ada. She stumbled backward, tripping and falling hard on her bottom. Pain shot up her back and made her feel dizzy. But as Brothwell advanced, kicking Hella off him, Ada reached for the dagger William had given her, and yanking it from the sheath, she whipped it up and plunged it straight toward Brothwell’s heart. The blade sunk deep into his chest, and Ada released it, watching him stagger side to side, his mouth parting.
When he fell to his knees and then forward, so did she. She retched and retched as Hella and Freya whimpered beside her. After a moment, the sickness subsided and she drew to sitting on her knees. She glanced at Brothwell, who lay unmoving in the grass. Her heart thundered as she crept over to where she could see his face. His eyes were wide and still, drool ran out of his mouth, and a circle of blood was growing larger around the dagger. Her hand shook as she moved it under his nose to feel if he was alive. No breath. She’d killed him. There was no relief, only hot tears coursing down her cheeks and a stark awareness that his men would come looking for him soon, if they were not already.
“Hella, Freya,” she called softly and rising to her feet. She stumbled away from Brothwell and in the direction she prayed to God was west. Her mind felt slow and foggy. Her steps sluggish. Whether it was shock, grief, or a combination of the two, she did not know, but she feared she was never going to make it to the nunnery.
She alternated between walking and running all day, with only two stops to get water. By the time night started to fall, she was exhausted and staggering more than anything. Hella and Freya stayed by her, stopping when she did, barking at her when she found herself weaving. She paused on the narrow path that twined around the mountainside she was on, gasping for breath, her side pinching and her head pounding. She had a sinking feeling that she should have reached the nunnery by now. Raising her hand against the last bit of sunlight, she stared in the distance and cried out in dismay. It was not a convent she saw in the distance, but a castle.
Her heart began to thump hard in her chest. She had, indeed, gone the wrong way, and the only castle she knew of near the nunnery was the MacLean holding, which was the last place she wanted to be. Frustrated tears sprang to her eyes, and she jerked around to discover where she had made her mistake. The ground she stood upon suddenly gave way, and she fell with it, tumbling down the mountainside, hitting branches and hard ground as she went. She landed in a heap, hitting her head on a rock. Pain exploded in her temples, and she had the sensation of sliding into warm water.
“Ada?” a familiar voice called.
Her eyelids were far too heavy to open, but she knew that voice.
“Ada? Where’s William? What are ye doing here?”
Thomas!
She reached out blindly, hoping that if she touched Thomas, grasped his hand, he could keep her from succumbing to the beckoning sleep. Fingers grazed hers, but the warmth was nearly all the way over her now, and she was deadly tired.
“The nunnery,” she said, her voice sounding small in her ears. “Take me to Iona Nunnery.”
