Chapter Sixteen

"Dun Beag is a wonderfully preserved Iron Age broch standing on a hillside… The broch probably stood around 10m high (roughly 33 feet). The double walls are roughly 3.5m (12 feet) thick, with a stair passage built into the thickness of the walls."

BritainExpress.com

Sara's heart leaped as she clung to her mare with arms and legs, refusing to fall off. Her hand grabbed the pommel, her other arm squeezing along Lily's damp neck. Hold on! Hold on! The words became a mantra through Sara's mind. If she fell from her terrified mare, she might be trampled if she didn't die immediately from a broken neck. Hold on!

Lily's hooves hit the muddy trail, and she took off in a wild gallop. Sara fumbled to find a good grip on the pommel, and her legs gripped the saddle as hard as she could. She threw back her hood to better see the darkening landscape that flew by as Lily ran wild across the road.

"Lily, Lily," Sara called, trying to soothe her frightened horse with a calm voice. But the lightning shooting to the ground cut through any last threads of Lily's courage, sending her racing in a rain-blind panic.

Would God strike Sara dead for not wedding Jamie, for not stopping her father's murderous plan? Should she be doing more to garner peace between their clans? Sweet Saint Mary! There was no time to think about God's wrath. Not with Lily frantic and the slippery reins slapping against the horse's legs.

Sara leaned forward over Lily's long neck, her fingers spread and stretching to reach the flapping thin straps of leather. Thunder grumbled like a rolling stampede, punctuated with cracks of violence shooting down from the heavens. The rain sliced down like small daggers, cutting across Sara's cheeks. The smell of rain and mud filled her every inhale as she clung with desperation.

"Push her east, left!" Rory's voice called from behind her. "Go left!"

Sara wiped the rain from her eyes, trying to remember the landscape before them. If Lily deviated to the right ahead, running blind onto the spongy moor, she'd break an ankle, throwing Sara and crippling her dear sweet horse.

Rory's charger surged up on Lily's right side. Any time her frantic horse veered that way, the gray nudged her back. Sara continued to stretch for the reins, but holding onto the slick saddle was becoming harder. The muscles in her thighs burned despite the cold.

Crack! Another lightning bolt cut across the sky as if it were intent on cracking the world in half. Which might be what Lily thought was happening. She neighed in a high-pitched cry, her eyes wide enough to show the whites, and veered left onto the hard-packed meadow and away from the bog. There were still hillocks that could trip her, but at least the ground was firm.

"Hold on!" Rory yelled above the wind as he surged again beside them.

Rainwater dripped down Sara's neck to seep under her bodice. The cold met the heat from her body, clashing to send shivers racing over her skin. She squinted against the rain's assault on her eyes, making it nearly impossible to see where they were headed. A hill rose before them with some type of stone structure. A tower?

Rory's horse cut before her, and Lily neighed in fury and fright. It slowed her and gave her someone to follow. With Rory before her, Sara lay completely across Lily's neck, and her fingers caught the slippery reins. She knew better than to try to pull her frightened horse to a stop, but Sara's frantically beating heart eased with the return of some control.

Lily tossed her head but didn't surge around Rory's charger.

"Slow, Lily," Sara called, stroking her horse's rain-darkened neck.

The terrain inclined, and little by little, Rory slowed his horse, which slowed Lily. As they climbed to the top of the hill, a circular tower perched before them. Rory's charger led Lily around the curved wall that soared upward.

Brochs were tower houses that had been built long ago but were still used. This one looked intact although no light showed from the window openings cut into the thick outer walls. Flat gray slate had slid off the roof to litter the yard as they approached a wooden door.

"…inside before…thunder makes her bolt," Rory yelled over the deluge, some of his words washed away.

Lily's footing slipped in the mud, making Sara gasp. But she followed Rory's horse, stopping only when he paused before the door. Lily drew in huge inhales and shook her mane, neighing. The terror in the sound tugged at Sara's heart.

She held tightly to her reins and patted the horse's neck with thumps meant to distract her. Cold and wet as if she'd leaped into a freshwater pond, Sara fought the desperation that made her want to sob.

Rory leaped down from his horse and threw the outer bar off the door, pushing into the tower. Ducking her head, Sara strained to see inside, but a wall of darkness blotted out any light. Rory reappeared. "Follow Airgid inside," he called and led his horse in through the door, the horse bowing his head to enter.

"Sweet Saint Mary." If Lily weren't frantic, Sara would dismount and lead her in, but she was afraid the frightened horse would bolt. She pushed her heels into Lily's flanks, and the horse stepped quickly after Airgid. She quivered, neighing as she dipped her head to enter under the stone lintel. Sara flattened over Lily and still the back of her head and shoulders scraped along the stone overhead.

The space between the inner and outer wall was the length of her horse and they soon walked through to the inner circular room. 'Twas too dark to see how big it was.

"Stay on yer horse," Rory said. "She can't trample ye there. I'm lighting a fire so we can see."

"Seeing would be good," Sara said. There were no windows cut into this bottom floor even though she'd seen them higher on the outside of the outer wall. Sara lay over Lily, using both hands to stroke her neck, sluicing water off her.

The sound of pissing overrode the wind outside. "Is that you?" Sara asked. She could also hear flint being struck and saw a spark in the inky blackness.

"I don't piss like a waterfall," he said. "'Tis Airgid."

"Lovely," she said but sent a prayer of gratitude for the shelter as thunder cracked outside again. Lily trembled like leaves flapping in a gale. "'Tis well with us," Sara soothed.

The spark of fire grew enough that Sara could see Rory's face, in a golden glow, blowing gently on a pile of dry wool cupped in his hands where the flames reached tentatively into the air.

The light showed a fire circle in the middle of the broch, and Rory strode right to it. Luckily that wasn't where Airgid had soaked the bare dirt ground. Remanent coals from old fires sat in the center, and dry wood and a pile of sticks encircled it.

"Thank God there are supplies."

"Thank me," Rory answered. "I keep the brochs equipped and from going to ruin for such a purpose."

"Storms?"

"And wolves," he answered, crouching low to set the wool in a small pile of twigs already arranged in the center of the firepit. He blew gently, feeding the tiny flame so it could grow, catching on the wood and peat squares.

Sara never ventured from Dunscaith at night when wolves roamed, hunting for a meal, and she avoided storms. For those who had no choice but to be out, the broch was a sanctuary. The fire grew, burning away the shadows, and Sara pushed upright on Lily's back. The horse's trembling subsided with the light.

The room was circular and open to the top where the wind blew around what must be a covered opening to allow the smoke out. Even with the thunder vibrating outside, the tower felt snug, impenetrable.

Rory returned from closing the outer door. "The walls are ten feet thick," he said. "There are rooms within them and a staircase. We can leave the horses here in the middle and sleep in a room above."

"Sleep?" she asked, glad he couldn't see her flush.

Rory crouched before the fire, blowing gently, feeding it with his even exhales. He tipped his face to her. "We can't go out in this."

Sara didn't say anything because Rory was right. She'd never be able to get Lily back out with the sharp thunder and sparking veins of white lightning through the sky.

Rory stood and brushed his hands together. "Jok won't say anything about us not being with them tonight. Neither will Eleri. We'll ride to them in the morning and return to Dunvegan together."

Wind lashed around the roof, catching between the layers of slate around the smoke hole to whistle mournfully. Sara pulled her sodden skirts over to one side and dismounted. She plucked at her wet bodice, her smock sticking to her damp skin. The chilled air clashed with the heat radiating from her body from the frantic ride.

Rory added more kindling he'd left piled next to the fire. The flames flickered upward, splashing light on the walls like orange and gold tendrils reaching for the pointed ceiling.

"Are provisions hidden about the place?" she asked as she picked up a taper in a wooden holder near the doorway. She walked to the fire, crouching opposite him to light it. The hem of her wet petticoats would soon turn muddy.

"Some oatcakes in my satchel. I have two buckets tied above out windows to collect rainwater, and I have a flask of ale." He stood, taking a leather pouch from his hip to hand to her.

Sara took it, and their fingers touched briefly. The sizzle that went through her lit her body like the lethal lightning outside. She tamped the sensation down. Another rejection would make the night unbearable.

The ale was cool on her tongue, and she took two big swallows, willing the sizzle to subside.

"There should be dry blankets in the bedroom on the upper level," Rory said. He pointed to an alcove where the staircase must be hidden.

"Bedroom? Is there only one?"

His eyes were dark shadows in the low light as he looked at her. "Aye. Only one. 'Tis yours. I can sleep in a storage room or upstairs corridor."

Sara lit the lantern. She lifted her heavy petticoat and stepped into the alcove, the back dragging behind her. Darkness was so thick it seemed to seep from the stone walls encasing a narrow staircase that turned gently with the curve of the tower wall. She took a full breath and climbed, leaving below the fire, horses and their piss, and the Highlander, whom she must expel from her constant thoughts.

Her fingers slid along the rough stones that weren't plastered, although the mortar was intact and didn't crumble under her touch. The broch was sturdy, but the heavy darkness made the walls feel unstable, and Sara's pulse became a drum beat in her ears as she climbed the chiseled steps.

She reached a flat landing and followed the corridor with her lantern held aloft. Doors sat open, and the first room was empty except for a chest against a wall and a glassed window big enough to crawl through. The next two rooms were completely empty, one with a window bricked in. It felt like a tomb, so she hurried on. A room seemingly opposite the stairwell had a bed, big enough for two. She exhaled. It was better he didn't want to be intimate with her.

Ye're ugly. No man who sees ye will wed ye. Her father knew how to wield insults and expressions like a sharpened sgian dubh. She would spend the night alone in this bed, ignoring the storm that swirled in her body at the thought of Rory. 'Twas better that way.

Sara stepped inside and halted. The window was also large and open to the wind, which tore about the room, making the flame in her lantern dance despite the glass surrounding it. Something in the far corner moved, and she gasped. Sharp angles of black shadow reached upward along the stone wall, and Sara screamed.