Annie agreed, and Fiona had to take it as a win. At least for now she’d be helping her friend out of a dangerous situation.
Seven
Two weeks later
Annie is safe. Annie is leaving the cottage.
Fiona repeated these lines to herself as she made her way through the forest toward a place she was just as familiar with as she was Dòchas Keep—the secret conduit to the prince and the rebellion.
Droplets of water left over from the rain dripped from the freshly budded leaves. Everything smelled alive and awake, for spring had finally decided to gift them with her presence.
April was behind them, and the worst of the massacres, Fiona hoped, too. Though the redcoats seemed to have doubled in number as they continued their search for Jacobite rebels. Even now, she was bone-weary going through the forest.
She’d managed to help Annie as best she could, but the rest was up to her friend. Between managing to keep Annie informed of the goings-on around the cottage filled with healing Jacobite soldiers, she’d also had to keep up with her own messages and made a trip to her family’s castle to update them on the situation. They’d also had word from Ian, who was still in the prince’s service.
Fiona neared her destination, not yet spying the tree that housed the tiny box Aes had made for her all those years ago, hidden in the alcove of a tree that she hoped was never felled.
Aes, or A.M. as he preferred to go by these days, had kept up his messages to her throughout the years. And while she’d stopped writing for a time when he informed her he was to wed and she’d been harboring feelings about the two of them for so long, she had finally picked up her quill and scratched out a hasty congratulations.
Funny, though the messages continued to come, she’d not actually laid eyes on her childhood friend for at least a decade. Sad, truly, for in her heart of hearts, she’d always thought they’d end up together.
An image of Brogan flashed before her mind’s eye, so vivid she had to blink for fear he was actually standing in front of her. The infernal grunt. The maddening smirk. The looks of admiration from his men, and the swirl in her belly when his eyes met hers. The way his arms had felt when they wrapped around her. When she’d been in his company she’d worked hard not to notice any of it, not to think about it.
Och, but she could practically see him right now, frowning down at her with disappointment for having run away. Aye, that was what she needed to remember. Not the parts of him that seemed to abduct the sense from her brain, but the irritating parts. So she pretended he was there in front of her, about to admonish her.
Thank goodness he wasn’t…
She frowned. Why in Hades was he coming into her thoughts anyway? The blasted man. She’d not seen him since she’d snuck away two weeks ago, nor had she heard through any of her contacts about him, and good riddance.
Although she knew it wouldn’t be good riddance for long.
She’d been delivering messages between Jacobite rebels in hiding since they’d parted, and she’d made one drop between government garrisons, which allowed her to keep tabs on the dragoons marching about. But at some point she was bound to be summoned by the prince to return, and then she’d have to abandon her postmistress duties, else possibly risk the prince being caught. Prince Charles would want an update on his men, and she would need to spread the word about regathering the forces. And Brogan Grant would be there, smirk and all.
Her tree came into view. A wide oak that could be a thousand years old for all she knew. Its expanse seemed big enough to fit a family inside, a small family anyway. Fiona dismounted and stilled, listening to the sounds of the forest.
When it seemed like all was clear, she edged closer to the tree and reached inside the alcove just at the right height above her head that no one could see the tiny box inside. She used the key she kept tied around her neck to open the box, half expecting for it to be empty.
Inside, however, was thick folded parchment. She pulled out the packet and stuffed it into her bodice, then relocked the box and returned it to its place. She would not read the message here. That was something she’d learned as a child when her siblings would come upon her so engrossed in whatever she was reading that she wouldn’t hear their approach. The box needed to remain a secret, or else it would need to be destroyed.
Tucked deeper in the woods, and again certain that nothing seemed out of place, no one lurking about, she unfolded the packet of parchment.
Two pieces—one map and one missive with a familiar scrawl.
Dear F,
It is time. Go to him.
A.M.
Fiona stared at the map, deciphering easily where the tree was because Aes had drawn a small X there, and then following the waterway of the River Ness, she trailed the line to Skye.
If the prince had already made it that far, this was a good sign. Spirits renewed, she remounted her horse and headed west. And damn if she didn’t get a rush of heat imagining Brogan being there when she arrived.
* * *
Brogan stood at the mouth of the River Moriston, where Loch Ness waterfalled into the winding waterway. The river glen was in the heart of Grant lands, which meant that he knew exactly where they were. But they weren’t any closer to finding the prince.
He picked up a stick and whipped it as hard as he could out into the river. Some of the anger relinquished as the hound he’d named Milo charged after the bounty. They’d been riding for weeks, always just a few days behind the prince or in the completely wrong direction. Whoever the prince had with him was doing a fantastic job of keeping not only the redcoats at bay but everyone else too. And not once had Brogan run into Fiona or even caught the slightest hint of her being nearby.
At this rate, Brogan and his team were better off just staying put and waiting for the prince to traipse by.
“Ye think I’d be used to meeting ye on the road like this.”
Brogan’s heart thumped in his chest, and he had a momentary sense of being breathless. He whipped around at the sound of Fiona’s voice to find her seated on a horse and staring down at where he stood with a smirk on her too-beautiful face. The sun shone down on her, as though she’d just appeared from thin air, brought to life by the golden rays.
Brogan glanced back toward the river where his men watched her, unsurprised at her presence. They had to have seen her approach and said nothing. The bastards. They’d been dealing with his brooding over her being missing for weeks now. He supposed he should be grateful they were all still with him.
“My lady,” Sorley murmured, and the rest of the men managed to get in their greetings to her as well, not a face without mirth present. In fact, Fin teased her about appearing just as quickly as she’d disappeared, and she gave him a good ribbing back about it being his stench that had caused her to flee. Joshing each other as though they’d all been chums for years.