Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
C ol looked up from the letter to find Aihan’s eyes fixed on him with painful intensity. “What letter say?” she asked, losing her grammar.
“Not good news, I’m afraid,” he said, looking at her with compassion.
“What?”
“I’m sorry, Aihan. Ming Liang is dead.”
She swallowed, staring at him hard, and shook her head. She spoke in her own language. Then, “Nae!” Tears brimmed in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
He pulled her into his arms, crushing the letter between them. “I’m so sorry, Hana!”
She remained stiff in his arms, her hands curled into fists on his chest, her face buried between them. “How?” Her voice was muffled. She pulled her head back. “How?”
“Liang attacked my brother, threatened Hetty, his wife. Merlow had no choice but to fight him?—”
“Your brother kill him!” She dragged herself free of his embrace, her expression ravaged. “Your brother kill him!”
“Nae lass—it wasn’t like that?—”
She snatched the letter from his hand and scanned it, but of course she couldn’t read it and flung it aside in frustration. “Your brother kill mine!” She screamed at him and fled the room. He followed; seeing her fly up the stairs, he went up after her, but she reached her room and slammed the door in his face. He heard the key turn in the lock.
“Hana, let me explain?—”
“Go away!” she screamed, and something heavy hit the door.
He backed away, torn in two by her distress. He considered breaking the door down, but decided against it. He would give her some time to calm down and then try again. She was out of her mind with grief. He understood that.
He returned to his study, straightened out the letter, and reread it. Then with the letter in hand, he went back up to her room and knocked. But there was no reply. He spoke through the door. “I’ll read ye the letter, lass. Then ye’ll understand.” Still silence. He sighed and then cleared his throat and began to read the letter. When he had finished, he waited for some response, but there was none.
He left then. He would try again later.
Aihan still hadn’t emerged by dinner time, so he went up and asked her if she wanted a meal. Predictably, he received no answer. He brought up a tray for her and left it, speaking through the door to let her know it was there.
He had told the boys and Fergus that Aihan wasn’t feeling well to explain her absence. None of them had seemingly heard her screaming at him. Although he wondered if Rory had heard something, for he cast him a suspicious frown. But he said nothing, so Col didn’t elaborate.
The tray was still outside her room untouched when he came upstairs to bed. He was concerned, and knocked softly on her door. Perhaps she had fallen asleep? Worn out with crying? His heart clenched at the notion, and he longed to comfort her. But her shut door and silence was an unequivocal message that she wished to be left alone. He would give her until morning. He took the tray downstairs to the kitchen and retired to bed, but he couldn’t sleep.
He tossed and turned and nearly got up to go to her room again several times. Only his own memories of his grief and how much he had wanted to be left alone stopped him. He fell asleep just before dawn and woke heavy-eyed at eight o’clock because Gussie was demanding to be let out. If not for that, he would probably have slept until ten. He took the dogs out, then returned to the house by way of the stable and noticed one of the horses was missing: Cat’s grey mare, Morgana.
His stomach rolled in premonition. Rory might have taken her out, of course, but generally he stuck to his own mount, a black gelding he called Dub. Dub, and Callum’s chestnut, Rohan, were both in their stalls, along with his own Calleach.
He quickened his pace and fairly ran into the house and up the stairs to Aihan’s room. He knocked again, this time forcefully. Receiving no reply, he said, “I’m going to break the door down if ye don’t open it!”
Receiving no response, he kicked the door in, the wood cracking round the latch and swinging inwards. He looked to the bed, which was neatly made up and empty. The casement window was open. He raced to it: a sheet dangled from the middle bar. Again! She’s done it again! His heart clenched in pain.
“What did you do, Athair?” Rory stood in the broken doorway.
Col turned to face him as Callum appeared behind Rory.
“She’s gone,” he said in despair. He should have forced her to listen to him yesterday. This was his fault; he blurted everything out wrongly. She thought it was Merlow’s fault that her brother was dead and— Oh God, she was after him, wasn’t she?
“Fook!” Col swore. “I’ll have to go after her.” He moved towards the door, but Rory blocked his path.
“I’m coming with ye,” he said, crossing his arms and raising his chin.
“Nae, lad! I’ll have to be riding fast to catch her, she’s got a mite of a head start on us.”
“I can ride fast, I’m nae a bairn,” insisted Rory.
Col looked at him in frustration. And Rory added in a low, serious tone, “Aihan’s important to me too, Athair.”
“And me!” said Callum, ducking round Rory and tugging on Col’s arm. “Please, Athair, let us come.”
“Very well, pack a bag each, we may be away a few nights. Wear yer warmest clothing and saddle yer horses. I’ll go tell Fergus and I’ll see ye in the stable in half an hour. Don’t be late or I’ll go without ye.”
The boy’s faces lit up and they scarpered.
Half an hour later, Col found them ready and waiting for him, horses saddled and bridled, bags strapped to the back of the saddle and dressed as instructed in their warmest clothing. The clouds had come in heavy and dark, threatening rain, and the temperature had dropped several degrees in the last hour. A breeze was picking up. If he didn’t miss his guess, they were in for a squall, the sort of nasty wind and rain that came in from the sea and played merry hell with the trees and could soak a man to the skin in five minutes.
He was soon proved right. He glanced back at the boys, who rode to either side and just behind him. They were hunkered down in their saddles, broad-brimmed hats pulled down over their faces and their oiled cloaks wrapped round their shoulders. They had their plaids beneath, leather breeches and stout boots on their feet. They were as equipped as he to withstand the inclement weather. But thinking of the hard miles ahead, he wondered how well they would stand up under the strain.
Aihan had the best part of sixteen hours lead on them, if he was correct in surmising that she had left pretty much straight away from her room. He cursed himself for not breaking down her door earlier. If he had, he could perhaps have either prevented her flight, or been on her tail more swiftly. As it was, they would have to try to make up ground to catch her, and he wasn’t sure that the lads, for all their brave talk, would be up to that. How hard could he, or should he, push them?
Rory’s plea had touched him, though, and made it impossible to refuse. Aihan had woven her magic on all of them. He rather hoped, too, that if his own powers of persuasion were not sufficient, the boys would do the trick in getting her to come home with them. In any case, he had to catch up with her before she reached Pinner. While he didn’t doubt Merlow’s ability to protect himself and Hetty, he knew enough of Aihan’s tactics to be afraid she could catch Merlow off guard and do him some damage before she learned the truth.
And the thought of her suffering, her grief, was tearing him apart. He wanted more than anything to hold her in his arms and comfort her. To tell her how much he loved her, to beg her to stay with them. Make her home permanently with them, and become, if she would have him, his second wife.
Even so, as painful as the notion was, if she truly wished to go home to China, he would do whatever he could to make that happen for her. He just fervently wished and hoped that she would not want to do so. That she in fact returned his feelings and would welcome his proposal.
He swallowed the fear that churned in his stomach that he was wrong, and she did not feel as he did. All that was compounded by his worry over her current whereabouts and safety. Aye, she was a competent fighter, and would almost certainly bamboozle and defeat a single assailant, but what worried him was the thought of her facing multiple opponents at once. She could overcome one man in single combat, but not, he feared, two or more. She was deceptively strong for her size and weight, but she was slender and tiny and attractive. She would draw attention so easily.
A single Scottish or English lass travelling alone would draw unwanted male attention, but one that looked like Aihan? She would be a target for every unscrupulous male between here and London.
Thus, his thoughts tumbled over one another as his horse ate up the miles and the rain continued to fall in a steady stream, wetting his face, seeping down his neck and soaking through his leather gloves, boots, and breeches, and patches of his plaid where it wasn’t protected by his oiled cloak.