Part 12 (1/2)
A shrill cry shattered the peaceful hush.
Unsure how long she had been dozing, Emma sat bolt upright, her every nerve jangling with alarm.
It was the same cry they had heard earlier, but closer this time. And there was no denying its chilling resemblance to a woman's scream. It sounded like the cry of a woman who was about to lose everything she held dear and could do nothing to stop it.
Emma pressed a hand to her thundering heart. She could still hear Jamie's men snoring, their sleep undisturbed. Wondering if the cry had simply been the echo from a nightmare she couldn't remember, Emma glanced over to see if Jamie had heard it.
The fire was deserted. Jamie was gone.
”MR. SINCLAIR?” EMMA WHISPERED as she picked her way through the dense undergrowth surrounding their campsite. ”Mr. Sinclair, are you out there?” as she picked her way through the dense undergrowth surrounding their campsite. ”Mr. Sinclair, are you out there?”
A silence as thick and cloying as the mist greeted her words. At least she hadn't been answered by that dreadful cry. If she had, she feared she would have leapt clear out of Bon's boots.
She brushed aside a curtain of tangled vines, venturing a few steps deeper into the forest. The mist drifted past her in a billowing veil of white, obscuring all but the most determined beams of moonlight. She couldn't have said what had possessed her to go after Jamie. She only knew she couldn't bear the thought of him wandering these woods where his parents had been murdered all alone.
She had no intention of straying very far from their camp. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught a comforting glimpse of the waning campfire through the trees.
A loud crack, like that of a boot snapping a branch, whipped her head back around. ”Mr. Sinclair?” she called out softly, drifting forward with the mist. ”Jamie?” she added in a hopeful whisper, the name as unbearably intimate as a caress on her lips.
The forest seemed to hold its breath, silent except for the quaking of the aspen leaves in the wind.
Wasn't she the one who had insisted to Jamie's men that they were living in the Age of Reason? She wasn't superst.i.tious. Or ignorant. But even so, it was growing difficult to ignore the atmosphere of brooding menace that seemed to be deepening with each step she took.
What if these woods were were cursed? What if that piteous cry had been nothing but a trap to lure some foolish wanderer to their doom? Hadn't Jamie and his men already lost two of their own comrades-in-arms beneath these very boughs? cursed? What if that piteous cry had been nothing but a trap to lure some foolish wanderer to their doom? Hadn't Jamie and his men already lost two of their own comrades-in-arms beneath these very boughs?
From what his men had said, one had disappeared without a trace while the other had ridden his mount straight off a cliff. Emma wondered just how many other unfortunate souls had vanished or perished in this place since that terrible night when Jamie's parents had been murdered.
She wondered if she would be next.
She did an abrupt about-face, deciding it would be wiser to return to the camp without Jamie than to risk letting her own fancies drive her over the edge of some cliff.
The campfire had vanished, its flickering light extinguished by a dense shroud of white. It was almost as if the mist had deliberately closed in behind her, making it impossible for her to retrace her steps.
Her heart skittered into an uneven rhythm. She briefly considered screaming but was half afraid of just exactly who-or what-might answer her cry for help.
She wove her way among the ghostly white trunks of a stand of birches, keenly aware of the irony of her situation. If Jamie returned to the camp to find her missing, he would a.s.sume she'd used the mist to stage another escape attempt. He would never believe she had been running to to him instead of him instead of away away from him. She could hardly believe it herself. from him. She could hardly believe it herself.
There was no need to panic, she told herself sternly. She couldn't have wandered very far in such a short time. She would simply start off in the most promising direction and soon arrive safely back at her bedroll.
Her plan seemed a sound one but after trudging past a towering clump of pines utterly indistinguishable from the clump of pines she had pa.s.sed nearly a quarter of an hour ago, Emma finally had to admit she was hopelessly, irretrievably lost. The mist made it impossible to tell if she was wandering in circles only a stone's throw away from their camp or if each step was carrying her farther away from where she wanted to be.
Another twig cracked. She froze, holding her breath. Was it just her overwrought imagination or did she hear stealthy footfalls behind her, muted by the mist?
She had thought it a fearful thing to be alone in this forest. It was even more terrifying to realize she might not be alone after all.
Had the mist been this treacherous on the night Jamie's parents had died? Had someone come upon them without warning, catching them unawares? Or had they been stalked through the shadows, hunted like animals, their breath coming so fast it made their chests ache? Their panic would have grown with each frantic step until they finally turned to see that deadly pistol gripped in the hand of a ruthless stranger. Or even worse, in the hand of someone they trusted, someone they might even have loved. Someone determined to punish them for daring to believe their love could conquer centuries of hatred.
Almost as if conjured up by her bleak thoughts, a hazy shape seemed to separate itself from the pallid trunks of the birches just ahead of her. Was it another tendril of mist or a woman garbed in a flowing white gown? Emma blinked to clear her vision but the spectral figure continued to drift toward her, its mouth gaping open as if frozen forever in a mournful cry.
A piercing yowl that was all too real sounded practically in her ear. She whirled around to find a pair of malevolent yellow eyes glowing down at her out of the darkness.
A scream tore from her throat. Spinning sideways, she took off at a dead run, plunging blindly through the mist.
JAMIE DESPISED THIS PLACE.
He would have gladly risked his neck and those of his men driving their horses through the wood at a dead gallop just so they wouldn't have to pa.s.s the night there. But he wasn't willing to risk Emma's slender neck.
It was far too valuable to him.
He swept a drooping pine bough out of his way, knowing exactly where his determined steps were leading him. Neither the brooding shadows nor the creeping veil of mist slowed his pace. He could have found his destination on a moonless night while blindfolded. He had been halfway there earlier in the evening before forcing himself to turn around and return to camp.
Earlier he hadn't had half a jug of whisky burning a hole in his belly and Emma's bold questions echoing through his mind. It wasn't as if sleep would be possible anyway. Not here in this place and most certainly not with Emma sleeping only a few feet away from him in her bedroll, as sleepy and warm and ripe for the taking as she had been in Muira's bed.
His long strides didn't slow until he reached the bottom of a steep slope and emerged from the shelter of the trees. Here the mist hung low to the ground. The moonlight played gently over it, bathing the entire glen in an unearthly glow. It was the perfect place for two lovers to meet.
Or to die.
Jamie drifted forward. His grandfather had brought him to this place for the first time when he was just a boy. He had knelt down and touched his fingers to the gra.s.s, his craggy face lined with pain as he described the night the bodies of Jamie's parents had been found in such detail Jamie had almost felt as if he had been there. He could almost see them splayed out on their backs in the gra.s.s, their eyes open wide yet unseeing, their bloodstained fingers ever reaching but never finding.
Jamie squatted down and touched his own fingers to the gra.s.s. One would think the ravages of twenty-seven years of sun and wind, rain and snow, would wash away every trace of tragedy. That there would be no lingering miasma of loss or grief poisoning the air.
Emma had been courageous enough to face him and demand the truth, yet he had offered her only lies. He did believe in ghosts. How could he not when they'd been haunting him for most of his life?
Despite that admission he felt no fear, only grim determination. Because he knew these woods weren't cursed. He was. It wasn't his parents who were doomed to wander this mountain until their murderer confessed his guilt.
It was him.
He had no fear of the mist drifting through the glen or of the shadows lurking beneath the trees or of the mysterious cries that pierced the night. His only fear was that he might fail them.
A bloodcurdling shriek echoed through the glen.
Jamie froze, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. That hadn't been the cry of a night bird or some woodland creature stalking its prey. It had been a woman's scream, hoa.r.s.e and ripe with terror.
It took Jamie a numb moment to realize the scream hadn't come from the ground beneath his hand-ground that had once been soaked with his mother's blood-but from the line of trees behind him.
He rose and turned just in time to see a slender figure come flying out of the forest, heading straight for his arms.
Chapter Nineteen.
EMMA CAME HURTLING OUT of the woods, desperate to escape whatever was cras.h.i.+ng through the underbrush behind her. Her relief at leaving the trees behind rapidly evaporated when she realized it would only be that much easier for her pursuer to run her to ground. of the woods, desperate to escape whatever was cras.h.i.+ng through the underbrush behind her. Her relief at leaving the trees behind rapidly evaporated when she realized it would only be that much easier for her pursuer to run her to ground.
Gasping for breath, she threw a wild-eyed glance over her shoulder. Her foot snagged on a hillock, nearly sending her sprawling. She managed to recover her balance just in time to see a dark shape come looming out of the mist in front of her. Between one frantic footfall and the next she realized it wasn't some terrible specter with an hourgla.s.s in one bony claw and a scythe in the other, but Jamie himself.
Without an ounce of conscious thought, she threw herself at him. His arms closed around her, holding her fast. Unable to help herself, Emma buried her face in his chest and clung to him, quaking with a mixture of terror and relief. He smelled like woodsmoke and leather and everything that was warm and safe in a cold, scary world.