One Snowy Knight by Deborah Macgillivray

Author:Deborah Macgillivray [Macgillivray, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Prairie Rose Publications
Published: 2018-07-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

The value of a thing becomes crystal clear,

when you come nearest to losing it.

—John Francis Ogilvie

Noel was loath to admit it, but Skena had been right―he should have stayed at Craigendan and in bed. His back burned in red hot agony. He remained seated upon Brishen, instead of dismounting to investigate the small clearing, fearful of having a rough time getting back in the saddle if he did. The wound throbbed painfully, yet with an ache that bespoke of healing rather than flesh pushing to putrefaction, which he had suffered with for so long.

Swinging his right leg over the pommel in front of him, Guillaume kicked out of his stirrup and then dropped down to both feet from his charger. His steed and Brishen were brothers, nearly identical, pure white horses—presents from Julian five summers past. The lead rein in his hand, Guillaume carefully examined the small niche that nature had formed in the thick trees, looking for telltale signs of who had been living on Craigendan land. A crudely erected shelter, a lean-to made of evergreen limbs, had been nestled between the heavy boughs of two tall pine trees. Scratching through the deep snow, his friend exposed the remains of a fire that had been doused before it burned out.

Lifting a half-charred branch, he held it up for Noel’s inspection, then flashed a look of mislike at the discovery. “Hard to say how long, due to the covering of snow. To hazard a guess―this site was abandoned, but not more than mere days. Mayhap the snow drove him to seek shelter elsewhere?”

Noel gingerly turned in the saddle, searching for other signs that someone had used the tiny clearing for refuge, clues to why anyone would be out here in the dead of winter. Futile effort. The snow had thoroughly blanketed all but recent roe deer tracks. He grimaced from the pain and then asked, “If you were using this as a base, which path would you take from here?”

Guillaume shot him a veiled glance. “You wouldst head out on the trail we came in on. From there it branches in four directions―Gailleann Castle, out on a small isle in the far end of Loch Shane Mohr, Comyn strongholds to the north, Glen Shane, or back to Craigendan.”

“Who holds Gailleann Castle?” Noel inquired, as he watched Guillaume remount his horse.

“Another Ogilvie heiress—though not by name: Caitrin Bannatyne, Baroness Gailleann. The lady is betrothed to Kerian Mackenzie, second son of a powerful Mackenzie chief near Inverness. Folks in Glen Shane speak ’tis a love-match since childhood. He fostered at Gailleann. Child love is vastly different than the emotions twixt a man and woman. Methinks such familiarity oft spoils the passion. And in Mackenzie’s case, he seems a bit―” Guillaume shrugged, reaching for the correct word and clearly failing to find it. “Pale? The pair came before me to give oath, since the isle is part of Lochshane’s honours. I find little comfort in the knowledge he shall be the future baron there.

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