Time seemed to yawn cold and grey for Colin since his return from the McDowell keep. The images of what he'd seen there haunted him even while he was awake. To know that that disgusting pit is where she spent her last days, surrounded by those vile people made the guilt burn in his gut. He'd been a fool to think that McDowell wouldn't kill her when he didn't pay the ransom. Why did he think that the man's heartlessness would recognize the bonds of family and blood? Another wave of guilt rolled through him. His icy gaze roved from the face of one member of his clan to the next. They were all gathered in his warm hall, boisterous and merry with a full belly. Would they be so if he'd paid the ransom? Did he do the right thing, putting his clan before his wife?
A bitter taste entered the back of his throat. Lifting his cup of ale, he swallowed the last of it and waved a hand at one of the kitchen women. He wasn't certain when he'd decided that he'd try to drink it all away, perhaps it'd been during his breakneck ride home, or perhaps when his clan had celebrated the death of their most hated enemy or maybe it'd been when he'd had to tell Jinty that her mummy wasn't coming home, ever.
Feeling his breath lodge in his throat and his heart throb painfully just at the thought, he poured more ale past his lips. He'd tried to rationalize that he'd done what had been best for the clan, despite the fact that he'd wanted to be selfish, but now as he had to gaze at their happy faces; it was all he could do not to order them out. Raising his cup to his lips again, he frowned when he found that it was dry. Raising a hand to again signal that his cup was empty, he waited for the serving woman to return. Barring her from refilling his cup with more ale by placing a restraining hand on her arm, he shook his head.
"I want whiskey."
The woman's eyes widened, likely due to the time of day, but Colin couldn't dredge up any shame. His wife was dead, they were warm and alive. If they didn't like that he was drinking whiskey in the early afternoon, they were all free to sod off. He released his grip on her arm and was about to turn back to his hall and continue his bitter, brooding when a bowl of food was smashed down on the top of his head. Colin's mood was already foul, so this newest assault from Tavis to get him to eat something was unwelcome. He wanted a fight so bad that his blood was near to boiling. Swiping a hand carelessly across his face, knocking the bowl away and the food from his face, he shoved his chair back angrily and made to stand.
Two small hands shoved at his chest and he was momentarily baffled, expecting to find Tavis hovering angrily over him. The woman at his side was covered from head to toe in a lumpy, moth eaten plaid and struggling to unwind it. He flinched as she bent down toward him, hissing angrily in a familiar tone. Colin's brows drew together; he knew that voice, didn't he? She gave one last vicious jerk on the fabric of her plaid and Colin felt every muscle in his body freeze.
Surely this had to be a drunken hallucination! Standing before him was a wane, battered and bloodied Kenzie. Her name rolled around on his tongue, but he couldn't spit it out. Instead he sat frozen in his seat, staring at her. A ghost, that's what this was! Her outraged ghost was haunting him. His gaze darted toward the people collected in the hall, going about their routines as though nothing untoward was going on. His lips tightened, his teeth clenching as he fought to keep from begging the spectre to forgive him. He didn't deserve her forgiveness, he thought and his eyes closed.
The nearly colourless orbs flew open as her hand slapped the table in front of him. He nearly choked as his eyes fell upon the delicate silver band that sat like a glowing beacon on the table before him. The alcohol had to be addling his brain. When the husky strains of her voice broke the sudden silence of the hall, he didn't know what to think. She was dead. They had all been dead, his men had burned everything. She wasn't really here, one by one the heads of his clansmen turned and stared, was she?
"I release you Colin McLaren and no longer recognize you as my husband."
She was real! She was alive! Shock bleached the colour from Colin's skin and while he felt relief and intense joy, he couldn't ignore the anger. It'd been stewing in one fashion or another the entire time she'd been gone, but now he couldn't keep it from boiling over. He'd just gotten her back and she was going to leave? As the last reverberation of her declaration died in the hall, he finally felt himself spurred into action. Shoving to his feet, he started after her, albeit much slower than she was fleeing him as he suddenly found that his knees were a wee bit unsteady and the room swam momentarily after he stood.
When he reached the door, his movements were steadying, but still influenced a bit by the ale. Gripping the doorway in one hand, he watched as Kenzie's plaid disappeared through the gate. Feeling himself sober more, he turned, his eyes narrowed and face chiseled with determination. He stalked back to his table and collected the silver ring and roared, "Tavis! Ross! Ready some horses, my wife comes home tonight!"
The time it took his men to ready horses and themselves felt like eons to Colin as he paced in the bailey, his attention fixed on the place where he'd seen Kenzie disappear. One of the women had brought him a heavy winter cloak; he'd donned it without much thought, and muttered an abbreviated thanks before returning to his restless foray back and forth. About ready to start after her on foot, Colin was relieved to see his men leading horses toward him. His steps sure and controlled, he stalked forward to grab the reigns of his horse before mounting with ease.
"Ross to the fore, track her!"
After several time consuming and misleading trails, Ross assured Colin that he felt they were on the right track and though the spotty sunlight was fading, Colin had to agree as the lone set of footprints led in the direction of Loch Earn. The temperature was slowly dropping and the wind was beginning to howl. The angry grey clouds that were coiling above them promised snow and lots of it. Pushing the men to hurry as much as he dared, he felt his frustration reach new heights as Ross lost the trail on the shore of the loch. Splitting the group, he sent Tavis and Ross along in one direction and chose to go it alone in the other.
His teeth felt on edge as his horse slowly picked its way along the slippery shoreline. What had possessed Kenzie to come here? That was a bloody stupid question; he thought after a moment, it seemed this loch was at the centre of them. The depth of that thought startled him, as it rang with a truth he wasn't certain he understood. Shaking his head, he pushed his attention back to searching for Kenzie. With a curse, he drew up the hood of his cloak as he realized that it was beginning to snow. The flakes quickly turned from heavy, wet ones to tiny bullet like pellets that stung as the force of the wind drove them at an angle.
As the clouds on the horizon flamed a brassy orange as the last wedge of the sun dropped from the sky Colin thought he spotted something a distance from the shore in the loch. Sitting up straighter in the saddle, he stilled his horse and called Kenzie's name. For a long moment his gaze was trained where he'd thought he'd spotted movement, but other than the white tipped waves on the surface, he failed to see what had attracted his attention in the first place. Urging his horse back into motion, his eyes struggled to see much in the falling dusk. Soon it'd be impossible to track her; the falling snow would likely obliterate any tracks she might make.
Colin felt his stomach roll and clench as the horse beneath him stumbled, but quickly regained its footing. Bringing the horse to a halt, he swung down and although he knew it would slow him immensely, he began to lead the way. It was agonizing, the feeling that time was ticking away from him as he carefully made his way along the shore. Surely she couldn't be much further ahead? Perhaps Ross and Tavis had already found her? Drawing in a deep breath, Colin stilled, his indecision just another discomfort piled on top of a collection of worry.
Was that coughing? Every muscle in his body tensed as he stood absolutely still and waited to see if he would hear the sound again. After several painfully long minutes, he heard the coughing again and it wasn't as faint this time. It sounded dry and painful and very near. He called her name again. Searching the darkness for her, his eyes nearly passed over her as she was nearly covered with snow and curled up in a depression near a rock. Dropping the reigns, he staggered to her, dropping to his knees beside her. His hands brushed the snow from her face and he whispered her name.
When her eyes didn't open, Colin frowned. Her skin was icy beneath his fingers and he could hear her breath wheeze faintly. Pulling her into a sitting position, he wondered wildly for a moment where her plaid had gone, before wrapping an arm around her shoulders and one beneath her knees. Rising, he stared down at her poor battered face, feeling a thread of anger pulse beneath his skin. It was clamouring to know who'd dared to strike her. Striding to his horse, he noted how light she was in his arms, surely she'd been heavier the last time he'd carried her. Had the McDowell's starved her? Taking a moment to stroke the hair away from her face, his eyes lovingly traced over features he'd thought never to see again. Her lips opened and she coughed weakly.
Lifting her to sit on the front of his saddle, he held her there while he awkwardly mounted behind her. Once he was seated, he rearranged her closer to his chest and arranged his cloak to shelter her from the weather as much as possible. He cursed loudly when he realized that her clothing was ice cold and wet. Her body instinctively pressed against him for warmth and he felt her shiver. Gripping her tightly, protectively, he let his horse have its head, knowing the intelligent beast would know exactly which direction to go in order to get its oats.
The journey from the lake took far longer than Colin would have liked, but once he recognized the darkened landmarks around him, he urged the horse to go faster. The poor beast was probably just as anxious to return to the keep as he was and obliged. They tore up the path in a full gallop, passing beneath the gate mere minutes later. Drawing up on the reigns, Colin quickly dismounted and swung Kenzie back into his arms, turning on his heel he shouted for the stable boy and quickly made his way into the warmth of his castle.
His shouting didn't stop at the stable boy though. As he strode into his home, his voice lifted again and again issuing orders and making demands. "Robby, find Tavis and Ross, bring them back to the castle! I want hot bath water in my chamber! Heat stones for my bed! Someone bring Meg to my chamber, no excuses!"
He took the stairs two at a time in his haste. Throwing open the door to his bed chamber, he pushed it close with his heel. Carefully placing Kenzie on the bed, he quickly got to work stripping her of her wet clothing. Pulling one shoe off without bothering to unlace it, he tossed it over his shoulder, the second quickly followed. Her stockings were soaked through and slapped wetly against the stone as he too, tossed those away. Trying to work the gown off her shoulders was not working for him very well and he knew he didn't have the patience to turn her over and work at the stays. Reaching into the inside of one of his boots, he slipped a small sharp knife from a hidden sheath and began to cut away at the cold wet fabric that was clinging to his wife's still form.
Engrossed in what he was doing, because the very last thing he wanted to do was to accidentally cut Kenzie, he heard the door open behind him and assumed that it was the bath water he'd ordered or Meg, he didn't turn to see which. The knife dropped to the floor with a metallic ping and he gripped the edges of the fabric he'd managed to cut and gave a great yank. He didn't see so much as hear Meg's gasp as he stared down at his wife's wee body. There were bruises up and down her arms that could have been nothing else but fingerprints. They were about the same size as the palm print on her face and matched the purplish smudges he saw on her breasts. Hot rage fired within him. In that moment he wished that McDowell wasn't already dead, so he could have the pleasure of killing him.
But as he reached for the fabric, ready to tear the rest of it away he noticed the mound of her belly. A soft, uncontrollable sound escaped his lips and he found himself resting a palm there, where a child was cradled in her womb. He felt the faintest of fluttering sensations from within. His eyes lifted to study Kenzie's face, feeling utterly stricken; he began to understand her desire to leave him.