Page 88 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

Roy found the first scrap of Donaldina’s gown beneath a thorn bush. It was no larger than two fingers laid together, dark blue wool caught upon the hooked branches where the path narrowed between the trees. He drew the cloth free and closed it within his fist.

She had left it deliberately.

The knowledge steadied him more effectively than hope. She was frightened, perhaps injured, certainly surrounded by armed men, and still she possessed enough presence of mind to mark the road.

Roy urged his horse onward. The kidnappers’ trail moved north through the forest, away from the wider tracks and deeper into ground where fallen leaves concealed all but the freshest signs of passage. Moonlight scarcely reached beneath the branches.

Roy followed what others might have missed: a branch broken at shoulder height, mud disturbed where several horses crossed a stream, fresh marks carved into the soft bank by a hoof shod unevenly upon the left side.

Every sign carried her farther from him. Every sign brought him closer.

Behind him, the sound of approaching riders finally disturbed the night. Roy turned with his sword already half drawn before Hamish emerged between the trees, followed by Malcolm and eight men wearing the colors of both clans.

Hamish reined in sharply. “Ye might have waited.”

“They didnae.”

“We brought every rider able tae follow without breaking his neck.”

Roy looked over the men. MacIver and MacNicol warriors sat side by side, their faces grim beneath the moonlight. No one questioned whose lady they pursued.

“Cormac will expect the roads tae be watched,” Malcolm said. “He will have taken her somewhere hidden.”

Roy opened his hand and showed them the torn wool. “She is guiding us.”

Hamish looked at the cloth. “Then we follow.”

They continued without torches. The woodland grew denser. Branches dragged against Roy’s shoulders, and roots made the horses stumble where the ground rose steeply. Twice they found more fragments of blue cloth. The second had been pressed beneath a stone at a fork in the trail, too deliberate to be mistaken for chance.

Roy imagined Donaldina tearing at her gown while bound before Cormac, risking punishment each time she let a scrap fall.

Fear became rage. He held it tightly. Rage was useful only while governed. Cormac believed he would rush blindly wherever her trail led. He would expect force, fury, and a frontal attack.

Roy intended to give him all three, but not where Cormac expected them.

The trees opened without warning upon a narrow clearing. Roy halted beneath the shelter of the final pines. An abandoned hunting lodge crouched beyond them, its stone walls dark with moss. Weak firelight escaped through a crooked shutter. Horses stood tethered near the southern wall.

Two armed men guarded the entrance. Another moved past the eastern window. Roy counted shadows, exits, and distances. A low storehouse leaned against the rear of the lodge, its roof half collapsed. Beyond it, a narrow door stood concealed beneath trailing ivy.

Donaldina was inside. He did not require proof. Every instinct he possessed knew it.

Hamish dismounted beside him. “How many?”

“At least six outside. More within.”

“Cormac?”

“Alive,” Roy said.

It was not certainty. It was a promise.

He divided the men quietly. Malcolm took three MacNicol warriors toward the western side of the clearing. Hamish led the others around the eastern trees.

“When the front guards move,” Roy whispered, “make enough noise tae convince every man inside that an army has arrived.”

Hamish glanced toward the rear door. “And ye?”

“I will be where they are nae looking.”