Journey to Bongary Spring by Kasey Stockton
Chapter Five
Isobel had seldom ridden in a saddle for any great length of time, and she was feeling the discomfort of doing so quite keenly now. The sun rose higher behind her as she traveled the rocky dirt road through the glen. She kept her eye out for the herd of coos Rupert and a few of the men had brought to this valley the day before or any lone riders trailing her from behind. McEwan’s men had likely already departed to retrieve her. She only hoped to gain ground quickly enough to reach Bongary Spring before they forced her back to Moraigh.
If she could take the waters of Bongary Spring, she’d return to Castle Moraigh willingly and marry the laird of Dulnain as promised.
Four hours had passed since Isobel had taken Marion’s horse and escaped Kieran’s grasp, and she had yet to see sign of anyone following her.
The muscles in her legs screamed in protest, and she longed to slide down from the saddle and allow them some respite, but she couldn’t afford to do anything that might slow her pace. Rounding the bend in the rough road, Isobel shifted in the saddle to relieve some of the achiness in her legs.
A small house appeared near the top of the rise, nestled into the side of the green hill like a pile of stones, smoke billowing from its chimney. She shied away from it, directing Teine to the grassy side of the lane where her hoofbeats would be padded and quieted by the carpet of greenery. More of the house came into view as she hurried through the vale, and copper-colored coos appeared on the side of the hill, dotting the wide, open grassland beyond the thatch-roofed house.
Isobel’s stomach gurgled, and she inhaled the scent of meat cooking over a fire. A coo called out to her from just up the rise, its long copper hair falling over its eyes as it chewed slowly. If she wasn’t afraid of Rupert detaining her, she would ride up to the little house now and ask to partake of the men’s meal.
The door opened overhead as though the occupants of the short, heather-roofed hut had heard her wishes, and the wide silhouette of a man appeared. Ducking her head, Isobel pulled her gray plaid over her hair, drawing it wider around her head to hide her identity from the man above. She dipped her face slightly, hoping he hadn’t caught a good glance at her when he’d first stepped outside.
Everything within her screamed to command Teine to bolt, but that would only give Rupert reason for suspicion. It was already bad enough that she was a lone woman. The remainder of the ride through the glen was torture in its slowness, an exercise in patience. Her thumb absently twirled the ring on her finger, spinning it in her anxiousness.
When the lane began a steady turn around the next rise, Isobel could almost feel the cottage ebb out of sight behind her, each copper coo slipping away as she rode clear from view.
Isobel puffed up her cheeks and let out a long breath of air. Digging into the saddle bag just behind her, she retrieved a small slice of dried meat she’d taken from the kitchen stores and took a bite. It was salty and instantly made her thirsty, but it would do for now. Urging Teine into a canter, she leaned down and rubbed the side of the horse’s neck with her free hand. “We’ll find a stream soon,” she promised. “I remember there being one just up here.”
Teine knickered in response, and Isobel urged her into a trot. She craned her neck to search behind her, but the lane was quiet and empty, the breeze pushing tall grass to the side and ruffling through the heather.
Taking another bite of dried meat, she sighed. For now, she was safe.
* * *
Kieran pulled his horse to a stop before the squat, thatch-roofed house and hopped down from the saddle, adjusting the gun pressing into his side. Young Rupert was just behind him, looping his reins over his wrist, and Hugh and Ian remained on the lane below.
Rupert opened the creaky door, his large, burly frame filling most of the space. “Och. Is there trouble?” he asked, his dark eyes settling on his son behind Kieran.
“Nay,” Young Rupert said, defense thick in his tone. “At least, I think no’.”
Kieran shook his head, hoping to dispel any of Rupert’s concern. “Isobel McEwan ran from Moraigh last night, and McEwan sent us after her. Did ye happen to see her pass through here?”
Rupert stroked his beard, looking toward the coos dotting the hillside around them. “A woman passed by a few hours ago, but I canna say who she was. I didna get a look at her face.”
“Was her hair the color of straw?”
Rupert’s eyes scrunched apologetically, lines fanning out from their sides like the footprints of a swallow on a muddy bank. “I didna see her hair. But ’twas likely her, aye?”
“’Tis a safe assumption,” Kieran agreed.
“Ye saw naething useful, Da?”
Rupert’s large shoulders lifted in a shrug, but then he paused, his arms slightly raised and his brow furrowed. “I did think it odd that she rode a horse much like Miss Marion’s. Same chestnut color and flaxen mane. ’Twas the beast which drew my attention when she passed.”
Relief flowed through Kieran’s chest. There was no mistaking it: Rupert had seen Isobel. Perhaps she hadn’t realized how recognizable Marion’s horse was when she took the beast, but that detail was certainly going to aid Kieran’s search. He assumed she wouldn’t keep to the main road after she cleared the valley, but Teine would make it easy to track her, surely. No one would forget such a horse.
“We best be off.”
Rupert stepped forward and clapped his son on the back. “How goes the sparring?”
“I’ll be able to take ye down by the time ye return to Moraigh,” Young Rupert said with a wide grin.
His father laughed, the booming sound rolling from his large belly. “We’ll see, Son.”
Young Rupert grinned as he climbed back into his saddle and moved toward the lane.
“Tell me,” Rupert said, drawing closer to Kieran and lowering his voice. “How’s he faring?”
Kieran retook his saddle, shooting his older friend an amused smile. “He isna lying. Ye better keep up yer strength if ye wanna spar yer son and win.”
Rupert laughed, smacking the rump of Kieran’s horse and sending him down the hill, his chuckles following as Kieran rejoined his men. It was humorous because Rupert was a brute, skilled and ruthless. His son showed great promise, however, and it was Kieran’s goal to make him the best he could be.
“We press on, then?” Young Rupert asked.
“Aye.” Kieran turned his horse back onto the lane. “But first, we water the horses. There’s a stream just up here, around the bend.”
The men followed him onto the lane, hurrying down the road toward the water. He was a few hours behind Isobel, and it would take all day to catch up to her, longer if she failed to stop and rest. In that sense, she’d been wise to select Teine because the horse was strong and could withstand the arduous journey, even at a consistent canter.
But no horse and no rider could push forever, and at some point, Isobel would need to rest. It was Kieran’s guess that Isobel would find herself in need of a break long before Teine would. He only hoped that would be soon.
Directing his men down a game trail, they slipped between trees and shrubs, drawing closer to the soothing sound of running water. The air was cooler under the cover of the trees. Kieran led his horse to the stream’s edge before bending and letting the icy water run over his hands.
“Finally,” Ian said, dismounting his horse and leading him toward the water. “I’m thirsty enough ta down all of Loch Gileach.
“Save some for the Kelpies,” Young Rupert said, doing the same with his horse.
Ian lifted one black eyebrow. “Ye dinna believe in that nonsense.”
“Why no’?”
Ian scoffed. “Because it’s a load of—”
Young Rupert pointed at the burly man. “Ye canna say they’re false when ye havna seen them.”
“’Tis exactly why I can say they’re false. No one has seen them.”
Kieran fought a smile. Young Rupert looked appalled, staring at Ian as though he’d transformed into a kelpie right before their eyes.
“Dinna fash,” Hugh said, crouching down to rinse his face in the stream. “Of course kelpies are real. That’s how McEwan found his horse, aye?”
“So he says,” Ian muttered.
Young Rupert’s cherubic cheeks rounded as a satisfied smile came over his face. They fell into a conversation about the chief’s ethereal horse, and Kieran mildly followed along as he left the water and searched the grounds for recent signs of Isobel’s presence. She would have known to stop here, of that he was certain. She’d been present the last time he’d graced this space himself to bring a cart of supplies to the men at the coo’s house the previous year, and Marion had begged him to allow her to tag along.
He’d relented. He liked his cousin. Marion wasn’t a weak lass in need of constant attention like some he knew. When she’d brought Isobel along too, it had meant nothing to him. Isobel was quiet. Kieran liked quiet.
Now he wished he’d paid more attention to Isobel’s habits. It was much easier to track when one knew their subject well enough to predict their behavior to a degree.
“Ye ready to move on?” Hugh asked. He stood a way off from the stream now, rubbing the neck of his horse.
Rupert leaned closer to the water and Ian scooped his hand through the stream, sending an arc of water toward Rupert.
Howling in fear, Rupert jumped away from the bank, and Ian threw back his head in laughter.
“Kelpie nearly got ye?” Ian asked.
Rupert scowled, water dripping from his beard. “Haud yer wheesht.”
Ian laughed louder, and Kieran shook his head, climbing into the saddle. He turned his horse in the direction of the road again when a small shimmer caught his eye, and he paused. He pulled on the reins, stopping his horse, and jumped to the ground. Nestled into the grass at the base of a beech tree was a small silver ring. He lifted it toward the sunlight that snuck between the branches above him, and it shone, highlighting the reddish-brown stone centered between delicate prongs.
He’d seen this ring before somewhere, but where? Fisting it, he climbed back in the saddle, considering the stone. Wherever he last saw the ring, he would bet his best mare it had been on Isobel’s finger.
Kieran smiled. They were on the right track.