18. The Choice of Paths

18

THE CHOICE OF PATHS

H e changed his mind. James changed his mind about me.

The same thoughts echoed in Taryn’s mind, distracting her from the dank cell she sat in once again. She had still been so caught up in their kiss that she hadn’t heard Eowin locking the cell door behind her. All she knew was that James had come for her. He had wanted to save her.

She had meant it when she told him that the clan’s vitriol stung, but not nearly as much as his own hatred of her had. Knowing that he had changed his mind about her, had realized that she wasn’t the villain she had been made out to be, gave her a glimmer of hope that if given enough time, the rest of the clan could come around to the same idea.

There had been exactly two times in her life when Taryn had acted with radical boldness. The first was when she had let Laura talk her into escaping in the middle of the night to get out of marrying Baron Dudley. The second was kissing James. She could only hope that she wasn’t going to regret the latter as much as she did the former. If she had the chance to see James again, and she prayed she would, she would try to tell him again how sorry she was for destroying his family. She would tell him how grateful she was that he found her, even if it meant her life. She was grateful that he had given her the chance to love someone, to truly love someone.

“I cannae remember the last time I was down here. It is in desperate need of a good cleaning. I suppose the stench is part of the punishment of being thrown in a cell, though.”

The Laird’s voice reverberated off the stone walls, pulling Taryn abruptly out of her thoughts. She rose from the cot and straightened her shoulders. There was no telling why he was down here or what exactly he wanted from her, but she wasn’t going to let him see her as weak or feeble.

“I never thought I would find ye down here, Taryn. Ye were always so obedient, so loyal.”

She bristled at his words, hating that she had always been a malleable puppet in her uncle’s mind.

“I made the mistake of believing that my parents would do what was best for me. I did nae ken any better until it was nearly too late.”

“Yer parents understand duty. I had hoped they would have passed that lesson onto ye.”

Though he wore a smile as he spoke, it was grim and did not meet his eyes. A forced kindness, meant to fool her into thinking that he truly cared about her. But there was something more there too. A tiredness that reached to the core of his soul, one that he wore in the forward curve of his shoulders and the folded lines in his forehead.

Laird McGregor let out a long, deep sigh as he looked her up and down. She knew she was an absolute mess, having gone the better part of a fortnight without a bath or a brush. Her gown, once a beautiful creation that had sparkled in the candlelight of Aila’s wedding, was faded and tattered, stained with evidence of her travels.

“I wish that I had been granted an heir. I cannae tell ye how much I have pined for one these long years,” he spoke, clearly not expecting her to reply. “A child of my own, that I may have taught duty and responsibility to. Someone who would have been a great help to me in times past carrying the burden of being a Laird.”

Taryn eyed her uncle, seeing him, for the first time, not as the Laird or even as her uncle, but as a man whose life had been marred by the grief of losing his wife in childbirth. And of loving her too much to ever remarry. Such loss had weakened him, stealing his veal for life.

“If I had been granted a son, a man whom I could leave this clan to, perhaps I would have been willing to fight the Englishman. I would have had a reason to stand up to his greed. I would have wanted to protect these lands to have something to pass down my lineage. But all I was given was a niece.”

She winced. Her entire life she had been told that she wasn’t what everyone had wanted with sidelong glances and disappointed looks. But to hear it put so overtly was as painful as if he had reached through the bars and struck her across the face.

“I suppose one might point out that yer father is my acting heir. However, he is old, as am I. Neither of us born fighters. Neither of us young enough to have the stamina for war. We thought, we made concessions for this, though. Yer marriage was supposed to have given us the allyship we needed to ensure the future of the clan.”

He looked at her, as if waiting for an apology. She didn’t offer one.

“I have heard from my advisors. Some say that I should never have agreed to the betrothal to an Englishman in the first place. Others say that the blame lies at yer feet for running from yer duty.”

Tipping her chin into the air just a little higher, Taryn kept her mouth shut, unwilling to relieve her uncle of the guilt he was feeling.

“‘Tis nae matter to discuss ‘should haves’ and ‘would haves.’ What matters is that we are here now. It is an impossible situation—sacrifice my heir for the sake of the clan, or sacrifice my clan for the sake of my heir. What would ye have me do, Taryn?”

Hung in the air between them was her uncle’s clear attempt at getting her to agree to her own execution. He wanted her forgiveness for what he had already decided to do, that was clear enough. He ventured into the dungeons to lay the blame at her feet so that he might wipe his hands clean of her. She would not give him the clemency to do so.

She had long since come to terms with the fact that her parents would give her over to save themselves. They had made that clear years ago when she had first been offered to the Baron. It struck her a little differently, knowing that now it wasn’t simply her hand in marriage but her very life that they were willing to trade, but it wasn’t truly all that out of character for her family.

Her parents and her uncle might have been kin by blood, but they would never be her real family. That title belonged to Aila and Sorcha. The children, of course, were certainly part of that. Arran, Elsie, and Christopher had especially stolen her heart. And now that Aila had married Lachlan, she supposed that he was officially one of the family too. Even the other Kincaids, with all their warmth and affection, had taken Taryn in and made her feel as though she belonged. She had been wanted, and not just for the part she could play in clan politics.

“Fine. Say nothing,” the Laird bristled. “Just ken that I gave ye a chance to do the right thing.”

As she watched him go, she drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. She thought of Aila’s determination to keep those children safe and of Sorcha’s bravery, no matter the foe she faced. Taryn knew that they would never have betrayed her this way. She knew that they, acting as her true family, would never have asked her to give herself up. They would have found a way to face the Baron together.

Alone once more, Taryn sank back onto her cot with a heavy sigh. There was no telling what her uncle was going to do. Or rather, how quickly he would follow through with the decision he had already made. With James gone and her friends so far away, despair threatened to cave in on Taryn. She didn’t know what was to come, but she knew that no matter what, it could not be anything good.

James raced through yet another village, sweat trailing down his face despite the cold. He was grateful that his stop in the local tavern had proven successful.

“Aye, I have heard of the Kincaids,” the hefty barman answered, sliding over a fresh mug of ale. “The last news that came through was that the young Laird was venturing North of his lands to find allies. I suppose that Englishman is still giving them some trouble.”

Downing the glass in one go, James slammed the cup on the counter and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, replenished by the news as much as he had been by the drink.

“Thank ye,” he replied before rushing out the door again.

Two hours later and he still had caught no sign of the Kincaids, but he wasn’t ready to give up hope. Not yet, at least. Without any other information, like who Taryn’s friends might have gone to for allies or even who their past allies were, James felt as though he was riding blind.

Flakes of fresh snow fell from the afternoon skies, powdering his hair and the roads. If he didn’t catch a trail quickly, any signs of the search party would be long gone. He swore under his breath and dug his heels into the sides of his horse, spurring the beast on, faster and faster.

As his eyes scanned the trail, he contemplated if he had made a mistake in changing course on the word of a tavern keeper. Perhaps he should have gone directly to the Kincaid Castle instead of trying to find them on the road.

James shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought. He didn’t have time to change directions a second time. And the Kincaid lands were at least another day’s ride south. Besides, Taryn had been certain that her friends would come for her. She had begged him to keep them safe. And if anyone knew what they were doing, it would be Taryn. He had to trust that she was right and that he wasn’t going on a fool’s errand.

Saying a prayer for more help, James pressed on.

Several hours later, he entered the next village. His body ached from riding for so long. He needed to stretch his legs and give his horse the chance to rest as well. The sun was beginning to set, and he hadn’t found a trail yet. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face just as his stomach began to rumble with hunger.

“A quick meal for both of us and then it is back on the road,” he told his horse.

After handing his stallion off to the blacksmith for tending, James turned for the tavern. He had lost track of how many he had stopped in, asking for information, hoping for a lead. This time, as he knocked the snow from his boots before entering the tavern, he didn’t have any hope left. He was here, not to try to ferret out any tiny details that might point him in the right direction, but merely to feed himself and his horse.

Rather than walking right up to the tavern owner and starting his now practiced line of inquiry, James slunk into a table in the back corner near the hearth. Slowly, the fire worked at warming him from the cold. A waitress with a keen eye brought over a large mug of ale and a steaming bowl of stew. With a grumbled “Thanks,” James tucked into the food.

Conversations flowed freely over his head. Trying his best to pay no attention to them, James focused on his meal. His thoughts turned over and over his plan. It had all seemed so simple; find Taryn’s friends, get them to convince Laird McGregor to fight the Baron, save Taryn’s life. But the longer he thought about it, the more naive he realized his plan had been. He had wasted almost an entire day merely trying to find the people to help him. He could have been back at the castle, trying to convince the Laird himself or coming up with a way to sneak Taryn out of the prison and somewhere far enough away that the baron would no longer be a problem. He could have…

“I mean it, David! I swear to ye, I have never seen the horse’s equal.”

“Ye mean to tell me, a warhorse unlike any ye have kent before, ambled into yer stables last night?”

James’ ears perked up as two old friends took the table next to him. They were talking so loudly that James didn’t consider it was eavesdropping. The entire tavern could hear their every word without trying. At least, that was what he told himself as he leaned closer and set his emptied bowl down.

“That is what I am sayin’! Mary said it belonged to someone who checked into her inn last night. I told her to charge them extra for all the hay that horse ate, but she would nae do it.”

“Ye are nae truly upset about the food, are ye, Angus?”

“Of course nae. I am angry that she did nae let me shake the hand of the man who rode the beast. I had at least a dozen questions to ask, and now I’ll never get the answers.”

James all but jumped out of his seat and rushed to the bar. Pulling out one coin more than was necessary to cover his dinner, he slid the money to the man behind the bar and leaned over.

“Where can I find a room to rent? Is there an inn nearby?”

“Just down the road. The yellow building on yer left. Big sign hangin’ from the porch. Ye cannae miss it.”

Rushing out of the tavern, James followed the man’s instructions to the inn, a new spring in his step.

The Kincaid Clan had been known for their stables. It was said they put out the best warhorses in all the Highlands. Tall and strong, bred for battle. Some said the men would even come to train the horses if you were lucky enough to buy one. But the horses had disappeared when the clan did. A beast like that hadn’t been seen in the area for years. It had to be Lachlan and Aila. He was so close, he just knew it.

A bell jingled over the doorway as James pushed inside the cozy-looking inn. Warm, worn rugs in swirling patterns covered the wooden floors. Gleaming banisters lined the stairs. Framed paintings boasting of the most important guests the inn had kept hung all over the walls. And behind the welcoming counter, a woman with gray streaked hair stood, with a smile as warm as the rest of the establishment

“Good evenin’, lad. Can I offer ye a room?”

James crossed the room, his boots thudding on the floor with the determination that coursed anew through his bones. Shaking his head with a polite smile of his own, James looked down at the woman, leaning on his forearm on the counter, doing his very best to charm her.

“Nay, ma’am. But I am hoping ye can help me.”

He lowered his eyelids and drawled out his words, trying to win her over. Before he managed to get his response out of his mouth, the woman burst out laughing.

“Goodness me. It has been a long while since someone tried to sweet talk his way into anything with me. I hate to tell ye this, lad, but that does nae work on me. Trust me,” she chuckled, wiping at her eyes. “Ye should ask my husband.”

Straightening from off the counter, James flushed. He hadn’t realized that he was so transparent, but then, he had never been quite so desperate before. The woman sighed her last laugh and looked at James with a smirk.

“Just tell me straight, lad. What can I help ye with?”

Clearing his throat in an attempt to push aside his embarrassment, James opted for the truth. Well, a version of the truth.

“I have been out looking for some of my relatives. I have some verra important news for them. I was wondering if ye have seen them.”

“Perhaps. What do they look like?”

James faltered. Taryn had never mentioned that.

“Umm, ye would probably remember his horse more than the man. It’s a warhorse, the likes of which have nae been seen for quite some time.”

“Och, aye!”

James let out a breath filled with relief.

“A verra sweet, wee family if ye ask me. That is who ye were looking for, aye? A man with his wife and son?”

Nodding a little too quickly, James tried to get a hold of himself. This was the closest he had been to getting Taryn out of this mess. He couldn’t mess it up now.

“Aye,” James said. “Are they still here by chance?”

“Och, nay. They left a few days ago.”

“Could ye point me in the direction that they were headed?”

If he simply knew that much, he knew he could find them. Traveling as a family and stopping to stay at inns would have, no doubt, slowed them down. He could catch up to them.

“I wish I did, but they did nae say where they were headed.”

James’ heart sunk into his stomach.

“And ye did nae, by chance, happen to see which way they went when they left town?”

The woman cocked an eyebrow, studying him while she contemplated her answer.

“This must be verra serious news to have ye asking so many questions.”

“It is a matter of life and death,” he answered as plainly as he could. “Please. Anything that might give me a clue as to where they were headed would be immensely helpful.”

“Well,” she said, thoughtfully tapping her chin. “I did overhear them telling stories of the old battles of the McKenzie clan. At first, I thought it was only to keep the lad entertained. But the border to the McKenzies is nae too far from here.”

It wasn’t much, but it was all James had to go on. Reaching across the counter, he squeezed the woman’s hand in thanks and left to face the blustery winds once more.

A few minutes later, James was back in the saddle, his belly full and his mind racing. The clipping of his horse’s shoes on the ground filled the silence while James weighed his options once again.

By the time he reached the edge of town, James still had not made up his mind. The road split in two, leaving him with that many options. To the south were the Kincaid lands and the castle where he had first found Taryn. To the north was the McKenzie border and their Keep. It would take him until morning to reach either one, and twice that to trek back to this crossroads if he was mistaken. That was time that could very well cost Taryn her life; a price that James did not want to pay.

“Please, let this be the right way,” he whispered into the wind.

And then James set off once again.