Chapter 3

3

D avid came awake instantly at the sounds of shouting. Another instant to realize that he was in a British inn, not a rocky ambush in northern India. Recognizing the voice of Mr. Dawson, he rolled out of the bed, reaching for his clothes. A quieter voice, probably Mr. McKay, attempted to calm the uproar.

David dressed quickly and headed downstairs, hoping the mad girl hadn't killed herself. He'd always had a soft spot for vulnerable creatures, and poor desperate Caitlin Wallace was one of those.

"What's happened?" he asked in his officer's voice when he reached the inn's entryway.

"That damned mad girl has escaped!" Dawson snapped. "Are you sure you locked her up properly?"

"We did." David said firmly. "How did she get out of the pantry?"

"I'm not sure," the landlord said. "There were scratches on the lock and she took the manacles off and left them on the floor. Those locks were scratched also."

David gave a soft whistle as he realized that his right pocket felt lighter than it should. He checked and it was empty. "She grabbed hold of me before we put her in the pantry, and she seems to have stolen my pocket knife. She must have used that to free herself." Clever girl, he thought, but he didn't say it aloud.

"Then this is all your fault!" Mr. Dawson said, outraged.

Ignoring that, David asked, "Can she be hiding somewhere inside?"

Looking worried, Mr. McKay said, "No, she left the inn." He paused before adding uncomfortably, "She went to the stables and stole your horse, Captain."

David sucked in his breath. "Sahib is a fine horse but challenging to ride. Unless the girl is a very good rider, he'd have thrown her almost immediately."

Sally McKay had joined the group in the entry hall and she said quietly, "Miss Caitlin is a good rider, sir. Very, very good."

Hoping that was true, David ask, "Do you have any idea where she might have gone?"

Sally and her father exchanged a glance. The landlord said worriedly, "She's likely heading for her uncle's estate, Braewood. 'Tis not a bad ride in decent weather, but trying to reach there in a storm like this would be madness."

"But she is mad! She may already be dead in a snowdrift!" Mrs. Dawson said piously. "Perhaps this is God's will. Catherine would have resisted the asylum and perhaps hurt herself or the attendants, so this may be for the best."

The woman could barely conceal how glad she was to be spared the trouble and cost of dealing with her troubled young cousin. A good thing David had been raised to never strike a female.

He also couldn't stand aside and allow a young woman to die if there was a chance to save her. "Sally, can you draw me a map of the way to her uncle's estate?" He turned to face her father. "Mr. McKay, do you had a good sturdy horse I can buy?"

Everyone around him gasped. "Captain, you mustn't!" the landlord exclaimed. He turned and opened the front door. A vicious blast of wind and snow surged inside, almost tearing the door from his hand. "Going out in this would be suicide!"

David looked into the storm, felt ice particles stinging his face, and remembered blizzards in the high mountain passes of northern India. Closing the door, he said, "I've seen worse."

Reluctantly McKay said, "I've a good sturdy horse I can lend you. No need to buy him."

"I'll buy it," David said. "In case I don't return."

Both McKays looked appalled. "I'm not planning to die out there," David said reassuringly. "If I find no trace of Miss Caitlin, I'll continue on into Scotland to my brother's house. I should be there before Christmas."

Sally said anxiously, "Please let us know if you survive!"

"I'll send a message when the roads clear," he promised. "Can you put together some food for me while I pack?"

The landlord nodded. "That plus a hot breakfast before you leave."

"Thank you. That will be much appreciated." David turned and headed up the stairs to pack his saddlebags. He changed into his sturdiest winter clothing, which included a long, heavy wool scarf he could wrap around his head and neck.

He was just finishing when a knock sounded on the door. He opened it to find Sally McKay. "I wrote down the directions to Braewood and included a bit of a map," she said. "It's not a difficult route, but it will be hard to see the landmarks in this storm."

"Thank you." He studied the map. "How long a ride would it be if the weather was clear?"

She thought. "With a good strong horse like Benjie, maybe two hours?"

So probably at least twice as long as that, assuming he didn't get lost. "Are there any villages or farms along the way?"

"Almost nothing, sir, so you be careful!" The girl's face twisted. "I do hope you can save Miss Caitlin. She's a grand girl."

"I'll do my best," David promised. On impulse, he dug into his saddlebag and ulled out a shimmering Indian scarf patterned in scarlet and blue. "Here's a small gift of appreciation for what you've done for Miss Caitlin and for me."

She gasped as the silky fabric spilled over her hands. "It's so beautiful! You shouldn't give this away."

"I spent many years in India, so I sent several trunks of Indian fabrics and crafts to my brother's house in Scotland," he said. "But I packed a couple of scarves in my saddle bags in case I wanted to give a gift along the way."

Sally draped the scarf around her neck and stroked the richly colored fabric. "I will cherish this forever." She raised her gaze to David. "And I'll pray that you and Miss Caitlin stay safe."

"All prayers gratefully accepted," he said seriously. "Sometimes miracles happen."

Then he hoisted his saddlebags and headed down the stairs. He'd seen a few miracles in India, and he was ready for another one.

David took advantage of a dip in the road that reduced the wind to give himself and his stalwart mount, Benjie, some protection from the storm. In the burning heat of Cambay, he'd yearned for a cold northern climate and he'd certainly been granted his wish!

He pulled out Sally's map, using the end of his scarf to protect it from the gusting snow. It was a good map with small sketches of landmarks which made it easier to follow. He'd just turned off the main road onto a narrower, steeper track that led into the hills. He guessed that he was about halfway to his destination, assuming he didn't get lost.

Days were very short this far north and at this season. He wondered if he could reach his destination House before full dark. If not, he'd have to find a protected spot for himself and Benjie because the trail would be treacherous at night.

He hoped to God that Miss Caitlin was at her uncle's house. He'd watched the edges of the road and hadn't seen any frozen bodies, but with the drifts piling up, it would be easy to miss a small crumpled form. He hated thinking that a tormented young woman might have died alone in the bitter cold.

This trek was equally tiring for both man and beast. After patting Benjie on the neck, he set the horse into motion again. "Time to get moving again, my lad. Here's hoping we find shelter for the night."

When Caitlin reached Braewood, her first action was to stable her stolen horse and make sure that he had food, water, and a blanket. She felt a small pang of guilt for the theft, but only a small one. She might not have made it home if he wasn't such a fine mount.

Then she entered the house through the kitchen door because she knew where the key was hidden. It was stone cold inside but she was out of the wind and home.

She made her way to her uncle's study and retrieved the pistol hidden in the desk and carefully loaded it. She would collect the long guns after she rested. It was unlikely that the Dawsons would follow her in this storm, but if they tried to recapture her, they'd be sorry.

She had just enough energy to stagger into the cook's room that adjoined the kitchen. The narrow bed was bare but the blankets had been neatly folded and set on the foot of the mattress.

Mercifully a fire had been laid before the house was closed, though her fingers were almost too numb to strike a light. As licks of flame added a bit of warmth to the room, she pulled off her boots, collapsed onto the bed, dragged the folded blankets over her shivering body, and slept like the dead.

It was nearly dark when David made out the rambling outline of a sizable house ahead. There were no signs of life but even if Miss Caitlin hadn't come here, at least there was shelter for him and his weary horse.

The stables were behind the house. No footprints showed in the snow that led to the entry door, but with this wind, any prints would have long since vanished.

He hauled the door open against the drifting snow and smiled when he heard the whicker of a horse. Sahib! The lady had made it safely home.

Giving a silent prayer of thanks, he spent a few moments greeting Sahib, who was happy to see him. The horse had been properly cared for. Caitlin might be mad, but she knew how to treat her mount. That made sense if she was an excellent horsewoman as Sally had said.

As he settled Benjie in the adjoining stall, he thought how Miss Caitlin Wallace had stolen his pocket knife, escaped, stolen his horse, and safely made a dangerous trek through a vicious winter storm. She was becoming increasingly interesting.

Wrapping his scarf around his face again, he left the stables and made his way through the blowing snow to a door at the back of the house. He guessed that it entered the kitchen, and swing marks in the snow showed that it had been opened recently. He tried the knob and found that the door was unlocked. It took effort to open it against the wind, but he managed.

The room was indeed the kitchen. He stepped inside--and found himself facing an ice-eyed young woman who was aiming a rifle aimed right at the center of his chest. Her red hair was wild with curls and she wore trousers, a heavy knitted jersey, and several layers of oversized shirts, topped off by a very large man's jacket.

She was adorable, in an unfortunately threatening way. He'd assumed that when he left India, he'd left strange adventures behind him.

Obviously not.