“’Tis no’ the first time,” Cameron said with a smirk, making Fiona wonder if he’d paid off her dog in the middle of the night with treats as he snuck away, bribing Milla to stay quiet.
Fiona merely smiled and patted her leg for Milla to come to her, which her dog did obediently. Thank goodness. If the hound had turned traitor, Fiona might have lost her mind.
“’Tis nearing evening,” the prince was saying to Sorley and the rest. “Shall we leave at first light then and make our way to Poolewe?”
“Aye,” Sorley said, misleading whoever was a traitor in their midst.
Out of the side of her eye, Fiona watched Cameron, who perked up at that. She kept her gaze on MacDonald, too, because although she was fairly certain it was Cameron, she wasn’t all the way certain and that meant MacDonald could also be in on it.
Bastards.
She wanted to march right over to both of them and box their ears. To demand right then and there why they would do such a thing. They were putting the prince’s life at risk and the safety of the country. All for a pouch of coins? What more could they have been offered? There was no telling if they’d even get their prize. The dragoons could not be trusted, and neither could anyone working in their midst.
With their plan in place, Fiona clucked her tongue to Milla and made her way toward the curling stream. She dipped her hand in the chilly water and splashed it on her face, then sipped.
Brogan followed her, doing the same.
“I think ’tis Cameron,” she said. “There’s something about the way he was watching everyone, the way he interacted with Milla.”
“I agree.” Brogan sounded as grim as she felt. “I’ll warn the men. He’ll act soon and we must be prepared, make certain he doesna leave the group.”
Fiona saw movement out of the corner of her eye, but when she jerked her head to see, there was no one there. She had a good idea of who had been there—the traitor in their midst.
* * *
Fiona woke in the middle of the night with her back cold. She felt around behind her in the dark, trying to connect with warm, soft fur, but Milla was not beside her. Sitting up, she blinked away the sleep in her eyes. The moon was hidden by clouds, making what should have been a silver-black night nearly pitch-dark.
“Milla,” she whispered.
There was no sound in answer from the hound.
She patted on the other side of her where Brogan slept, but did not feel Milla there either.
Brogan rolled over, his arm flopping over her thighs. They slept beside each other outside the cave, the prince and his men inside. The other Grant warriors were scattered about, with two on watch. Brogan had taken first watch and now finally slept.
Fiona didn’t want to disturb him, but she hated the idea of Milla running off and getting into it with a wild cat or boar. Though Milla was scrappy enough to take care of herself, Fiona had made a promise to protect her. And though she was a feisty hound, Milla was quite small compared to potential threats.
The hair on the nape of Fiona’s neck stood on end, and she had the feeling that something wasn’t right. Immediately, her mind went to Cameron. She swiveled her head around toward the mouth of the cave, half expecting to see a looming shadow there, waiting to eat her up. But there was only blackness.
Gingerly, she removed Brogan’s arm from her lap and stood, stretching out the kinks in her body and listening keenly for any sound at all. The night air was still, not even the night birds or insects making a sound. That was a bad sign.
Slipping toward the cave, she peered inside, seeing both Cameron and MacDonald asleep beside the prince. She frowned, not feeling entirely reassured, but there they were, neither of them going to cause her any trouble right now.
Exiting the cave, she headed toward the water to see if Milla had simply gone for a sip. She could use a sip herself. Fiona brushed the hair away from her face, tightening the knot on the ribbon that held it back at the base of her neck. Then she rubbed her arms. It was colder tonight than usual. The sound of water trickling grew louder. Nearly there, she quickened her pace, but her foot caught on something soft. With a startled gasp she tripped, pitching forward.
Fiona whipped around, ignoring the sting of her fall and scrambled away from the soft mound.
“What the bloo—” But her words were cut off by what she saw from the light of the moon—a body.
Fiona opened her mouth to scream, but a filthy, clammy hand came out of the darkness and pressed around her face, closing over her cry, her very breath.
“Dinna say a word, bitch.” The voice was low and unrecognizable.
She fumbled for her belt, for the knife inside, but the man wrapped his free arm around hers, blocking her movements. She kicked at his shins, and he trapped her legs between his strong thighs.
Who was on the ground? It had been a person, she was sure. One of Brogan’s men.
And the voice of the man who held her…she didn’t recognize. Not Cameron. Not MacDonald. Not any of the men in their camp. Who was he?
A scrape of fabric on her lips, and then a vile rag was shoved deep into her mouth causing her to gag and cough.
“Ye’ll shut the hell up if ye know what’s good for ye,” he warned.
Well, she did know what was good for her, and it wasn’t doing as he instructed. Fiona tried to scream around the gag, which earned her a painful yank of her hair, leaving her breathless. He wrapped something tight around her head and in her mouth, gagging her even more.
With an arm braced around her ribs as though she were nothing more than a package to be carted, her assailant started to drag her away, across the water, the cold stream soaking the hem of her gown. Fiona struggled. She was not going to be taken; she was not going to let another man hurt her. She bowed her back, thrust herself forward. Kicked and writhed, and on the other side of the water, he tossed her to the ground and slammed a boot in her belly.
All the air left her lungs and she curled inward. But there was no time to recover from the blow. He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder, running. She bounced painfully in this position, tears stinging her eyes. How had this stranger been able to infiltrate their camp? There’d been no warning. Milla was missing.
Was he in league with Cameron or MacDonald?
Oh God…the two men on watch. She’d tripped over one, though she couldn’t be sure if it had been Dugall or James. She didn’t remember. She’d been so tired when she finally went to sleep that she’d not listened to who was on watch and when.
Fiona tried to scream through the gag, the sound muffled. The man stopped short and tossed her to the ground, and then he pounced on her. She scratched and fought, but he pinned her tight.
If only she could see who he was.