Chapter 1

Spring snuck up on them suddenly. Trees and bushes preened, adorned with colorful flowers, competing against each other for the title of the season’s beauty. Elspeth and Allie Buchan were grateful for them. They made their job of decorating Blair Castle much easier. They provided the perfect canopy for tea and refreshment tables. Their heady scent was the perfect accompaniment to laughter and romance. Elspeth Buchan wasn’t much concerned with the latter but her brother Domnhall had other ideas.

Elspeth tried her best to ignore Domnhall at breakfast when he hinted at the number of eligible bachelors they expected to host by evening; she had avoided his suggestions of a late summer wedding when they had greeted their guests and shown them to their rooms. But now they were at the feast and he was insisting she dance with one of the Labert lads.

“Charles’s quite handsome,” Domnhall whispered, tipping some roasted potatoes on her plate. “Even though he is a bit dull. Edward is far more interesting, but his breath is unfortunate. Then there’s Daniel. He’s the most promising of the lot if ye ignore the spots on his chin.”

“He’s fifteen!” Elspeth hissed back.

“Aye, so what? Ye can marry a man younger than ye.”

“Ye can marry him if ye fancy him so much.”

“Now, there’s nae need to take that tone,” Domnhall admonished, buttering a roll for her. “I’m just concerned. I want to see ye happily married and settled. Is that so bad?”

“And what about what I want?”

“Is that nae what ye want?” Domnhall looked genuinely perplexed by her statement.

“Nae.”

“I thought that was what all women wanted.” His face fell.

“Yer mistaken,” she said. “While yer thinking of possible matches for me I’m more concerned about the Grant’s nae sending a delegation to the festival.”

“Bruce mentioned the English were keeping a tight noose around his lands. It would have been hard to send people through that. Too much of a risk.”

“There’s little point in these festivals if we donae have all three clans participating. The English have always tried to intimidate the Lairds. Bruce Grant must be forming alliance elsewhere.”

“Is it Bruce Grant ye want to marry?” Domnhall asked, cheering up to the thought.

“Will ye stop with the husband-hunting?” Allie, his wife, hissed. “Ye’ll put her off her food.”

“Is it wrong of me to want her to have what we have?” Domnhall took his wife’s hand and kissed it. “Where would I be without ye? Ye are my North star. I just want Elspeth to get settled.”

“She’ll be fine,” Allie soothed. “And settled does nae mean the same thing for everyone.” She winked at Elspeth.

“What does that mean?” Domnhall asked, looking from his wife to his sister. “Settled means settled; marriage, children, a home.”

“Yer so old fashioned,” Allie rolled her eyes, teasing Domnhall. “Young people now need adventure in their life.”

“We had adventure,” Domnhall murmured, rubbing his thumb along Allie’s knuckles.

“Please, donae remind me,” Allie laughed.

Elspeth took the opportunity to slip away with her plate of food. She nodded and smiled at the people she passed. When she glanced back at the head table before slipping into the main hall Domnhall was busy wooing his wife, and no one had noticed she was missing.

No one except Laird Labert.

The only Laird remaining from the original alliance was smiling at her indulgently. Elspeth flashed him a smile and held a finger to her lips, pleading for his silence. He chuckled, lifted his goblet, and drank a toast to her escape.

Elspeth lifted her favorite tapestry in the hall. It had a small niche behind it where she sat down with her plate of food. Biting into her potatoes she rested her head back against the wall and thought over her brother’s insistence on her marriage. She tried not to put a bitter cast on it. But when it came to her brother she had complex feelings which couldn’t easily be wished away.

Domnhall had never hurt her, but he had been blind to the pain his first wife had caused. He had been mortified to find out the atrocities that woman had committed but Elspeth still found his interest in her well-being jarring and distrustful.

It shamed her to think so. She knew her brother loved her very much and his earnest desire to see her happily married was sincere. But old wounds didn’t heal quickly. She was still that girl afraid of the shadow of Adamina stalking her through these very halls. Elspeth hadn’t forgiven her sister-law. How could she forgive the woman who had made her home a prison of nightmares and horrors? How could she forgive her when Elspeth still felt more comfortable eating behind tapestries than at the head table?

What she needed more than marriage and another unknown prison was the chance to leave Blair Castle on her terms and be of use to some cause or the other. But what? She had no skills; swords and arrows were beyond her. Her riding skills were fair but not exemplary. The only thing she had to offer, other than neat stitches and accurate portraits, was her knowledge of herbs and medicinal plants. She wondered if she could persuade Domnhall to rent her one of the cottages on the estate where she could practice her medicine and be of service to the people.

While she was musing over these unsavory thoughts, a noise in the hall alerted her to people arriving. Who could be arriving so late to the feast?

“Where’s Laird Buchan?” someone said. “I need to speak to him now.”

“He is with Laird Labert at the feast, sir. If ye’ll follow me through here—”

“Nae! I cannae have Labert hearing of this. Tis urgent. Send for Laird Buchan. Tell him Leo Sinclair is here on urgent business. But be discreet, man. No word to Laird Labert.”

This was strange. Leo Sinclair was Laird Grant’s childhood friend. She could recall faintly how Bruce Grant had defended his friend when Elspeth had made mention of his English mother long ago when they were little children. But what was he doing here instead of Laird Grant?

The alliance between Grant, Buchan, and Labert had been strained over the past few years since the death of Andrew Buchan and William Grant. They had kept the spring festival tradition alive but the deep friendships that the fathers had tried to cultivate did not translate into their children. Domnhall did not respect the Labert boys, Bruce thought himself meant for greater glory, the Labert boys were too busy competing among each other to give the alliance much thought. Domnhall had not expected Clan Grant to show up at all. But now Leo Sinclair, a member of Clan Grant was here seeking help without his Laird.

Leo Sinclair’s temerity to arrive late at his feast and then demand a private audience could be taken as a great offense by Domnhall. But Leo Sinclair was not known to indulge in petty power moves.

Elspeth listened intently. She slid gently off the ledge and made sure her shoes were not visible from the tapestry. Pulling the tapestry slowly, she managed to make enough space to see what was going on in the great hall.

Leo Sinclair was pacing up and down the hall, very much alone. He was taller than she’d seen him last. His light brown hair glowed bronze under the candlelight; lines of worry etched across his brow. Something was troubling him greatly and Elspeth wondered again where Laird Grant was.

Domnhall arrived, and much as Elspeth had expected, he was bristling with annoyance at being removed from his feast by an insolent guest.

“Welcome to Blair Atholl, Sinclair,” Domnhall said, taking Leo’s hand in greeting. “Come join us at the feast.”

“Thank ye, but there is nae time,” Leo said, his distress visible on his face, and through his body language. “Ye must help us. They’ve taken Bruce!”

Elspeth nearly lost her footing behind the tapestry.

***

The room was damp. Bruce did not mind that it was dark, rat-infested, with only a small pinprick of a window that let in a sliver of sunlight during the day. It was the damp that got on his nerves. His skin was slick like he was enrobed in a fabric woven of grimy water.

He could no longer recall how long he’d sat in that cell with only his grief to keep him company. Time lost all meaning when the rats tittered in corners like the vile English guards laughing at him.

Bruce knew the English had it out for him. They could sense a current of dissent running through Scotland like never before. Rather than crack down upon the whole of Scotland they planned to imprison a few significant Lairds to send a message to the rest – submit or we will make you. Laird Bruce Grant was as significant as they came.

Dunnottar Castle, his home, had become his prison. He could not leave and give the English the excuse they needed.

But for one man.

News of John McLean, the Bishop of Orkney reached Bruce a month ago. His uncle was dying and wished for nothing but to see Bruce before God called him to his final rest. How could Bruce deny him that? He had left Dunnottar by way of the sea in the pitch black of a moonless night. Only a handful of his most trusted men had known of his departure.

He had raced to Orkney, praying he wasn’t late. When he had finally reached his uncle’s bedside, the man before him was a husk of the memory Bruce held dear in his heart.

“Bruce! The Honours. I have found the Honours!”

Bruce wasn’t sure if his earnest speech was the result of fever-induced delirium or knowing that the end was nigh.

He had patted the Bishop’s burning forehead with soaked cloth but the fever burned through him. It was a fire that consumed him from within.

“Ye must nae tire yourself,” he had soothed. “We can talk of the legends once yer better.”

“Tis nae legend, son,” he had clutched Bruce’s hand. The look of deep earnest in his eyes bellied Bruce’s doubt. “I’ve found them. I traced the map to the ruins on Inchmurrin. The map will lead ye to their resting place.”

“Are ye certain?” Bruce asked, hardly daring to believe it, but when had the Bishop ever lied to him. “Did ye see the map yerself?”

“Aye,” the Bishop had wheezed, sucking air into lungs that were collapsing under the weight of living. “I have seen it with my eyes, I have touched it with my hands, I have cried tears of joy on it.” His excitement took too much from him and he gave into a coughing fit that made his pale skin ashy and highlighted the dark circles under his eyes.

Bruce had rubbed salve onto his chest and marveled at how thin he had become. Bruce had not counted on losing another parent in his life. When his father had died he had been overwhelmed with his new role as Laird and its responsibilities to have had time to grieve properly. His mother’s passing had been a shock in how sudden the smallpox had spread and taken her. He had been tending to the sick tenants and clan members, trying to salvage as many lives as he could to mourn her fully.

But this was different. He could feel the waning heartbeat of the Bishop under his fingertips, he could see the tears and the sheer desperation to be believed in his eyes. And Bruce’s own heartstrings fell to pieces at the sight.

“When was this?” he asked once the Bishop’s breathing had stabilized.

“This past year,” the Bishop said. “I would have come to ye with the map, but the English threat was growing worse, and I could nae risk the Honors falling into the wrong hands. They must nae fall into the wrong hands. Promise me, Bruce!”

“I promise,” Bruce had replied, still unsure if the Bishop weren’t hallucinating the map at Inchmurrin.

“Tis in the bowls of the King,” the Bishop had said. “That’s where ye’ll find it. Once ye have the map, find the Honors.”

“I will.” Bruce humored him. “I will find them, and I will crown the rightful King of Scotland.”

The Bishop had smiled then, a smile full of admiration. “Tis you, my lad. Yer the rightful King of Scotland.”

The wind was shocked out of Bruce’s lungs and for a moment he drew a complete blank. The Bishop’s words had entered his ears in one piece, but their meaning had completely garbled in his head. He couldn’t possibly mean what Bruce had heard; that was impossible.

“Nae,” Bruce had shook his head. “Ye cannae mean that. I will find someone worthy.”

“Yer worthy,” the Bishop insisted. “I made sure of that. Nae other Laird in Scotland is worth the dust on yer boots. I have trained ye to be the leader our people need to fight the English menace. Ye, Laird Bruce Grant, are our only hope.”

This declaration had taken the last strength out of him and he lapsed into unconsciousness for a while. Bruce held her hand, his eyes steady on the Bishop’s chest which rose and fell timed to the beating of his heart..

Breathing shallow, the Bishop’s eyes fluttered as his hands searched for Bruce. “Today I have completed my duty to God and Scotland. Today I proclaim ye as the King to unite this land and wrest it from the English yolk.”

The man Bruce had looked up to after the demise of his father had left his earthly abode, leaving Bruce orphaned for a second time.

Now, in the dim prison, Bruce played John McLean’s last words to him over and over in his head. A part of him was convinced that the Bishop had been too sick to give his words any credence, but another knew that the Bishop would not talk of the Honours in vain. Was there a chance there was some truth in what he said? Had he found the location of the Honours of Scotland?

Not for a moment did Bruce give much thought to the Bishop’s proclamation that he was worthy of Scotland’s crown. That was not Bruce’s motivation in finding the Honours. But if the Bishop was right, and he had found their location, it would be their chance to oust the English and find their rightful sovereign. Scotland was ready. Bruce could feel it in his bones.

But it had come to naught.

As soon as he had landed on John o’ Groats after the funeral in Orkney the English had been waiting for him. Before he could start on the Bishop’s advised path he had been shackled and thrown in a damp cell.

How had they known? The thought tormented him constantly. How had they known that he would be in Orkney? The implications perturbed him. There was a spy in his house, and it made his skin crawl more than the rats brushing against his feet in the night.

But hope was on the horizon, hope kept him sane in the darkness. Leo Sinclair, his most trusted friend was out there. And Bruce knew for a fact that Leo would go to the ends of the Earth to set him free.

***

“Calm down, lad,” Domnhall said. He held Leo by the shoulders and helped him into a chair. “Now tell me, who has taken Bruce?”

“The English!” Leo spat. “They were waiting for him on John o’ Groats, the bastards.”

“Why was Bruce there?” Domnhall asked. “He sent me a letter excusing himself from the festival because the English were champing at the bit, trying to find any excuse to arrest him.”

“That’s true. The English have been sniffing around Dunnottar Castle like a bunch of swine rooting for mushrooms. Bruce wouldnae have gone if it were nae important. He’d gone to Orkney to see the Bishop,” Leo explained. “The man was on his deathbed; God rest his soul. It would have been heartless not to comply with his dying wish to see his favorite nephew one last time.”

The news came as a shock to Elspeth. The Bishop of Orkney, dead? She had fond memories of the man tending to her small cut while telling her stories. He had been kind to her, and certainly a second father figure to Bruce Grant. Of course, he had left the safety of his Castle to meet the Bishop before he passed away.

“And where have they taken Bruce, do ye ken?” Domnhall asked.

“Bass Rock Castle,” Leo said. “But that’s nae all. They’ve taken over Dunnottar Castle. They’ve taken over our home. English soldiers eating on our tables, sleeping in the Laird’s bed; it turns my stomach to think of it.”

“Christ Almighty,” Domnhall rubbed his chin. He looked just as shocked as Elspeth felt. “Yer welcome to stay here with us, Sinclair. Any member of the Grant Clan is welcome to stay with us.”

“I truly appreciate yer generosity but I seek more than shelter for our people.” Leo stood up, unable to contain himself. “We must take arms and release all the innocent Scottish prisoners from Bass Rock Castle. A few men from Clan Grant managed to escape the raid and await yer assistance. If we leave now, we can get there within three days before they inflict much damage to Bruce’s spirit.”

The request seemed to take Domnhall by surprise. Elspeth could see that Domnhall wasn’t expecting a call to arms. Elspeth recognized the reluctance; it was the same blind-eye, the same avoidance of any confrontation which had given Adamina the confidence to treat Elspeth the way she had. This same reluctance to mount an attack on Bass Rock Castle gave the English the confidence to push and shove them out of their castles with impunity.

“Surely there’s a way we can resolve this without taking up arms,” Domnhall suggested. “We will leave tomorrow to commission a pardon from General Foster. I’m sure Laird Labert will want to help. He has clout with General Foster.”

Leo visibly deflated. He had not expected to be dismissed so thoroughly. Elspeth’s heart went out to him. He had come to Clan Buchan with so much hope only to be told that diplomacy was the choice of offense against English militarized brutality.

“Nae,” Leo said. “Words will nae help Bruce. He was taken three weeks ago. The Lord only knows what those English bastards are doing to him.”

“But Laird Labert…”

“Do me a favor and donae speak of this to Laird Labert. As ye said. He has clout among the English. We donae trust him.”

Domnhall was speechless, as was Elspeth. “Do ye nae trust Laird Labert?” he asked.

“Nae. Only a few people had any knowledge of the Bishop of Orkney’s request. Laird Labert was a regular visitor to Orkney. My suspicion is he gave Bruce up to the English so they wouldnae look at his castle to occupy.”

“That’s a grave accusation, Sinclair.” Domnhall looked deeply uncomfortable. “Laird Labert has been our ally for decades. He was at Bruce’s christening, donae forget.”

“That means naught when the English are threatening outside the door. Would ye nae sell any one of us if it kept the English out of Blair Castle?”

“I wouldnae betray any Scotsman, nae matter what the cost.”

“Then yer a better man than Laird Labert, but yer still nae as brave as Bruce, for he would take up arms if it were ye in Bass Rock Castle…”

There was a tense moment of silence. Both men were agitated, and tempers were running high. Elspeth expected Domnhall to strike Sinclair for the insult but then Domnhall shook his head and spread his arms, calling a truce. “Stay the night, Sinclair. We can discuss this further in the morning. I have nae denied ye assistance—just nae men. We cannae take up arms against the English when their armies overwhelm us. That would be madness. Dunnottar Castle has been taken over. If we were to strike them now at our weakest, we would lose Blair Atholl as well. Ye cannae expect me to put my people at risk. Bruce was aware of the dangers, he tried to put his head down until the storm of English suspicion blew over. How can ye call me a coward for doing the same?”

Leo did not say anything in return. It was obvious that Domnhall had made up his mind and would not be persuaded to part from his decision or the men Leo desperately needed.

“Can I nae persuade ye to join the feast?” Domnhall asked, his tone indicating that he knew they had reached an impasse and the relationship between Clan Buchan and Grant was never going to be the same following this day.

“Nae, thank ye,” Leo said. “I donae want anyone to ken I came to ye.”

“At least let me send ye some food before ye go.”

Leo nodded, though his expression was laced with disappointment.

Domnhall tapped his shoulder before leaving him in the hall. Leo Sinclair watched her brother leave, frustration evident in his tense shoulders, and clenched fists.

The nugget of an idea had rooted in Elspeth’s brain. Here she was, wishing for a situation out of her predicament and Leo Sinclair had come through the door like a knight in shining armor. The prospect of breaking Bruce out of prison wasn’t something she had considered as something she could do with her life, but she could be of use if he had been hurt as Leo had suggested.

Asking for permission from Domnhall would be like extracting teeth from a snail. Allie might be able to persuade him for a trip to the nearby Laird if a prospective match was in the offing but to be part of a mission to free another Laird from prison and risk the wrath of the English? She knew the answer already.

But was she ready to take her life into her own hands? It was now or never. You didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, especially not if it was sent by the Lord Himself.

“Shh,” she hissed, trying to get Leo’s attention. “Leo!”

Leo startled. He looked around frantically as if he’d been approached by a ghost then his eyes fell on the tapestry and Elspeth behind it.

“Elspeth?” he whispered, mimicking her tone. “Is that ye?”

“Aye. I heard yer conversation with Domnhall. I didnae mean to spy. I was already hiding behind the tapestry.”

“Donae concern yerself about it. Yer brother has refused my pleas.”

“Aye, but he cannae stop people who volunteer to go with ye on yer mission.”

Leo’s green eyes lit up. “Ye ken of men who will desert and help with my cause?”

“Nae.” Elspeth came out from behind the tapestry, her plate in hand, and offered some of her food to Leo who took it gratefully. “But I would like to accompany ye.”

Leo stopped chewing to stare at her. He swallowed. “I mean nae disrespect, Lady Elspeth, but what good would ye be to Bruce? I need fighting men.”

“I understand, but ye also need a healer. If what ye say of Bruce’s treatment at the hands of the English, then ye will need one to mend him once he is out of prison or else what would it be all for?”

Leo thought about it as he ate. “And yer saying ye ken of healing herbs?”

“Aye,” Elspeth said. “I can also ride and take care of myself.” The first part wasn’t completely true. She was an average rider. But the latter was true. She did know how to care for herself. After her parents had passed away, it had fallen to her to look out for her well-being. “I will nae be a bother.”

“And what of Domnhall? Will he permit ye?”

Elspeth pursed her lips. This was the hurdle that she needed to cross.

“What is yer concern at the moment? Upsetting my brother or making sure yer Laird is freed from the clutches of the English?”

Leo appraised her, a small hint of a smile on his face, the first she’d seen since he’d arrived. Suitably impressed he nodded. “I shall expect ye by the North Wood at dawn. If yer late we will leave ye behind. Agreed?” He held a hand handout for her.

Elspeth smiled wide. She wouldn’t be late. It was her way out of Domnhall’s plans for her life. She took Leo Sinclair’s hands and agreed to whatever her destiny was going to bring.

Chapter Two

Running away was thrilling. It took Elspeth an hour to pack everything she deemed important to take on her journey. Bruce’s injuries were unknown but her imagination got the best of her and she packed her entire medicine box with a few clothes and some food she filched from the busy kitchens.

Writing the letter was the hardest part. Agonizing over her choice of words Elspeth finally settled with a short missive about where she was going and why. Placing it on her dressing table where it would be found almost immediately, she tucked her cloth sack under one arm and left her room.

The castle was quiet. Usually, guards were pacing the halls and the walls. But after a feast where every able-bodied man and woman had been on their feet since before dawn, it wasn’t surprising to find the halls and guideposts deserted.

Not that it would have mattered if there were guards in every hall. Elspeth took the discreet paths out of the castle. She knew them all. Months of hiding from Adamina had made her an expert on secret passages and hiding places.

Stealing a horse was another matter altogether. The stables boys slept in a neat row in the first stall where the saddles were kept. Elspeth had to place her cloth sack by the stable gates and tiptoe around their sleeping forms. Her heart beat a tattoo in her throat and she was certain that one of them would wake up at any moment and sound the alarm.

Picking up the lightest saddle she turned to leave the stall when a hand grabbed her by the ankle. Terror snaked up through her leg to her lungs where her scream froze like a leaden lump. It was fortunate that her fingers clamped rigidly shut around the saddle rather than loosen like jelly, letting it drop to the floor.

The hand gripping her was that of Ainsley, one of the younger stable boys. Snoring lightly, he had shifted in his sleep and taken a hold of her. Twisting her ankle away from him gently, Elspeth coaxed his hand off of her ankle slowly. Ainsley grunted and turned to lie on his other side. Elspeth nearly fainted with relief. She tiptoed out on shaking legs. Once she had steadied her breathing, she made her way to the stall at the very end.

Willow was sleeping. She did not take kindly to being woken. Her neigh pierced through the dark. Elspeth shushed her, stroking her nose. She pulled out the apples from her cloak pocket and bribed her favorite horse. Willow shook her head grumpily but accepted the bribe. While she was munching away, Elspeth placed the saddle on her back and tied it securely. Then she led Willow slowly out of the stall, another apple in her hand to inspire good behavior.

The night was cool compared to the oppressive humidity of the stables. Elspeth wasted no time in stuffing her cloth sack into one of the saddlebags. Instead of mounting Willow and galloping away as fast as possible, Elspeth slowly walked the horse. The thundering of hooves could alert one of the guards and she would be caught before even leaving the perimeters of the castle. If she were caught before making it out of the grounds, she doubted she’d be able to live down that embarrassment. Elspeth Buchan – the would-be runaway. What a joke!

And so, she walked. It gave her ample time to think about her decision and what she could look forward to in the future. Elspeth had a plan. She was no fool to risk her reputation and her brother’s goodwill by being so reckless. As soon as Bruce was rescued and placed in hiding somewhere, she would go to Laird Labret’s castle and write to Domnhall, placing forward her demands. Domnhall would be upset, and he would try to order her home, but eventually, he would give in.

Then she could have her cottage and her independence.

Elspeth reached the North Wood a little before dawn. There were no signs of a camp, no fire, no noise of men and horses. For a dreadful moment, she feared that Leo hadn’t taken her offer seriously and had left soon after leaving Blair Castle. She scanned the trees, hoping to discern something in the dark. She stood there, undecided, for so long Willow nudged her shoulder with her nose to make her move.

“Just a minute,” Elspeth hissed.

Willow did not take kindly to the rude tone and pulled on her reins. Elspeth had not expected it and she yelped as she lost her balance and fell to the ground.

“That’s a feisty horse.” Leo’s voice came to her from the forest. Heart racing Elspeth sat up straight to see shadows pull away from the tree branches like tar slinking off the roof. Leo Sinclair and his men came to join her just as the sky turned a lighter shade of black. “Are ye certain ye can ride it, lass?”

Elspeth got to her feet in a flash. She couldn’t see the faces of the other men in the dark, but she could tell they were laughing at her. Brushing dirt off her skirts she straightened herself and grabbed hold of Willow’s reins. The horse harrumphed a little but didn’t protest anymore. Elspeth knew Willow could sense something was finally happening.

“Aye,” she said. “Willow’s antsy to get started.”

“As are we,” Leo said. “Our horses are down the road.”

Elspeth followed them, suddenly nervous. It had been exciting to think about the adventure when she was in her room, but now that she was there, right at the edge of making a move she could never take back, she was getting cold feet.

Her life had been a world composed mostly of women. Men were usually in the background, not a big part of her daily dealings. Now, she was the only woman in a group of burly men with varying degrees of facial hair. It was intimidating, not to mention frightening to be found in such company. Already thought of as frail and of little consequence, among these giants, Elspeth felt dwarfed.

“Is the journey long?” she asked Leo, falling in step with him.

“It takes six to seven days to reach Bass Rock Castle, but we need to make the journey in five.” Leo gave her a quizzical look. “Are ye certain ye can keep up?”

Elspeth licked her lips and glanced at Willow. The mare was fast but temperamental. Elspeth would need to find a bushel of apples along the way to keep her happy. “Aye,” she said. “That should be fine.”

Leo looked skeptical but he kept his doubts to himself. Elspeth appreciated his discretion.

They reached the clearing where they had camped the previous night. The sky was a deep azure blue when they finally mounted their horses and galloped away from Blair Castle. Elspeth kept turning back to watch her childhood home diminish until it was swallowed by the horizon.

She was finally on her way!

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