“Bloody hell,” Juliana finally said. “Bloodyhell.”
…
Rory fashioned a hood with part of the plaid and wrapped the remains over and around his shoulders several times, grateful he was wearing doeskin breeches and didn’t have to bother with pleating the thing into a kilt. The wool was raw, the natural lanolin from the sheep left in the material. Not surprising since the plaid had been used on a ship and everything that could be waterproofed was. The oily substance also provided further insulation, for which he was grateful. The wind was increasing, making the cold air and swirling snow feel like icy talons striking him. They’d probably be in a full-fledged blizzard by noontime.
He hurried out the gate, not bothering with a horse, because he didn’t intend to stick to the road. Calum had already told him there was no evidence of tracks there. He doubted that Neal would have stayed out in the open once the castle came into view, because he could have been spotted. More likely, he’d have taken cover inside the tree line just before the road curved into plain sight of the castle.
The curve was but a quarter mile from the gates, but Rory counted his paces before he turned off and again as he made his way to the trees. If the snow increased while he was out, he wanted to be able to find his way back.
Once among the thick trunks, the wind diminished considerably. Rory pushed back the hood and attuned his ears for sound. The creatures of the forest were silent, mostly likely taking refuge in nests and burrows and any crevice that provided shelter. He heard only the pines rustling above him. Lifting his head, he scented the air. No trace of smoke or peat ash lingered. That didn’t mean Neal hadn’t been here, though. This close to the castle, he might not have taken the chance of lighting a fire. Then, too, everything around was wet.
Rory grimaced as he moved farther into the woods. It would have made for a cold night outside, but a man bent on revenge would have the heat of his anger to warm him up.
The light was growing dimmer, and for a moment he thought he might have wandered too deep into the forest, but then he realized he could still see where the trees ended. That meant the weather was getting worse fast. The storm was closing in, so he didn’t have much time if he didn’t want to be caught out in it. He looked around and decided to follow a half-frozen burn just a bit farther. If the man had spent the night out here, he’d have wanted water for his horses.
That instinct paid off. Three dozen paces later, a small clearing appeared past a set of boulders. It wasn’t big enough to be called a glade, but it was large enough to hobble several horses. Rory looked at the ground, already covered with an inch or two of new snow, and he slowly moved forward as he brushed it away with his boot.
And that’s when he saw it. A pile of horse dung, the crust hardened by the frigid weather. Picking up a small, fallen branch, he poked it. The crust gave way to a soft mess underneath. Fresh then, not thoroughly frozen. And it still smelled. Rory brushed more snow away with the stick. While there were no clear tracks, the dead grass had been churned up.
He noticed a deer trail that Cameron had probably used. Since it wound between clumps of bramble, the snow hadn’t completely covered it. Moving closer, he crouched down. He could make out a few small deer prints and then some partial tracks that were much larger. Horses. Several of them. He straightened.
Someone had spent last night here. He was fairly certain it had been Neal Cameron. Anyone else would have sought Highlander hospitality and come to the castle on such a bitter cold night. And he had not been alone.
There was no sign of them now. Perhaps his men had talked some sense into him and they’d gone back to Spean. But would they go back to their holdings or attempt to return once the weather cleared? It was something he needed to discuss with the MacDonnells.
He hurried back, arriving at the castle just as the wind decided to unleash its wrath in full fury. A mug of hot cider would be heaven while he talked to the laird and Calum.
But all hell appeared to have broken loose when he entered the castle. Servants were scurrying everywhere. Sima was wringing her hands, and her husband and his brother looked grim.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, unwinding the plaid.
“Aileen, Greer, and Juliana are gone,” Sima said.
“Gone?”
“Aye.” She was trying not to cry. “Disappeared. We canna find them anywhere.”
Chapter Fifteen
Rory stopped unwinding the plaid. “Where have ye looked?”
“Everywhere.” Sima gestured to servants still coming and going behind her. “We’ve had everyone looking into every room, closet, and crevice in the castle.”
“And the grounds outside?” Though he couldn’t imagine why three women would even venture out with the wind howling and the air rapidly growing colder.
Sima pointed to the row of hooks lining the wall beside the great hall. “They dinna take their cloaks or even shawls.”
A thought struck him that chilled him to the bone, and it had nothing to do with the inclement weather. Could Neal Cameron have possibly gotten into the castle and abducted Juliana? There were no guards posted on the battlements, especially in the winter months. He looked to the laird.
“Is your postern gate kept locked?”
“Aye.” He frowned. “Why do ye ask?”
“I found signs of a makeshift camp,” Rory said. “I think the Camerons were here.”
Sima’s eyes widened. “Ye think they stole our lasses?”
“I doona ken.” He knew Cameron wanted Juliana, as much for salvaging his pride as anything else. From what he’d seen of the tracks, there had probably been half a dozen horses. If Neal had caught her—somewhere—with Greer and Aileen, it would have been easy to overpower all of them. And less messy to take all of them than leaving two bodies to be found. Not that Rory was going to suggest that. He didn’t even want to think it. “Is it possible Cameron could have gained entrance?”
