Page 69 of The Bells of Triumph
Finn offered no other explanation as he climbed into the saddle and led his horse out of the stables.
With very little light to go on, Finn had to move slowly. He had only the words of the messenger to guide his direction. Iona wasn't too familiar with the area, so he took a chance by guessingthat she would stick to the main roads as far as she was able, rather than venture into the forest to try to stay hidden. It was a blessing and a curse all in one. To know her general direction and the path she was most likely to follow, he knew he could ride after her with a fair amount of confidence. But the main roads were covered in tracks. There were too many to distinguish which ones were hers and which were not.
It didn't matter. Finn would search for her all night and all day if he needed to. He was the one who had agreed to take her to Glenkirk, he had agreed to look out for her, to protect her. And after all the grace she had shown him, the ways she had protected him from himself, it was the least of what he owed her. So he rode.
He didn't find her tracks until just after the first light of day. From what he could tell, she was headed to the MacKenzie border, as he had suspected. Though, she wasn't riding as fast as he would have thought. He knew that he would be able to catch up to her sooner than he thought, so long as he stayed on her trail and picked up his pace.
It took him hours to find her. In fact, it was nearly midday by the time he discovered her riding along the side of a stream. Her long, brown hair tied in a haphazard braid blew behind her, giving her away. The sound of the water covered his approach, angering him that she could be so careless as to put herself in such danger. She wasn't even trying to be aware of the things happening around her.
Finn made a wide circle, staying out of sight until he managed to cut in front of her. Positioning himself and his horse so that she couldn't get away, he trotted towards her and forced her to stop.
“What do ye think ye are doing?” he nearly shouted.
His anger and tiredness mixed into a bad combination, making the question come out sharper than he intended. She jumped in her saddle and put a hand to her chest.
“Finn,” she greeted breathlessly, “how did ye find me?”
“I followed yer tracks and then snuck up on it. It was nae too terribly difficult, seeing as ye made no effort to hide yerself. Anyone could have done it, really.”
Her eyes went wide at the point he was trying to make. Good. He wanted her to know just how reckless and foolish she had been.
“Now, answer my question; what are ye doing? Why have ye run away?”
“I dinnae have to answer to ye,” she told him with a defiant lift in her chin.
She tried to skirt around him, but Finn crowded her in before he reached forward and took the reins from her.
“Ye are nae getting out of this unless ye plan on climbing down and trying to run on yer own two feet. I dinnae see that working out well for ye, though. It would be better if ye would just tell me what ye are trying to accomplish by running away like a thief at night.”
Iona turned her head away from him, as far as she could manage while staying on her horse. He waited for a moment, feeling his irritation grow, and then snapped again.
“Was it truly so awful? Getting to go where ye please and do what ye want, was that truly something to run away from? Having Brid and Flora for friends, that must have been torture. Or maybe it was me,” he spit before he knew what he was saying. “Maybe ye've grown tired of me, even after begging me to take ye with me.”
Her ears burned bright red. He half expected for her to turn around with tears in her eyes. That is what Brid would havedone, anyway. But when Iona looked at him, there was nothing but her own irate pride staring him down.
“I did nae realize that I was a prisoner. I did nae think ye or Seamus would ever take a woman captive.”
Her words found their mark. After all he had shared with her about his time as Campbell's captive, she knew how much he loathed being a prisoner. He certainly would never force such a state on someone like Iona. The accusation stung, just as she had intended it to.
“Ye are nae a prisoner,” he gritted out, “but ye are a liar. I doubt there was ever truly a sleeping potion to begin with. Ye merely used me to run away. I demand ye tell me why. I think I am owed that much.”
“Ye thinkIoweye?” she scoffed. “Ye forget that I belong to nay one here. I am free to do as I like without explaining myself to anyone.”
She folded her arms across her chest in a move that reminded him of the way Brid used to fold her arms. It was always her last attempt at holding it together before she crumbled. Finn knew that whenever Brid crossed her arms, she was about to tell him what was really going on. He was starting to suspect that Iona was no different.
“I thought we were friends,” he told her, letting his anger go. “I trusted ye, and I thought that ye kent ye could trust me.”
“We were never friends, Finn. Ye need nae feel responsible for me.”
He cocked his head to the side and studied her. The longer he looked, the more she started to fidget. And then he started to see that her anger, her pride, her defensiveness, was nothing more than sheer desperation rearing its ugly head.
“Ye were just some sad, lonely lad I took on as a project,” she flung, clearly scraping the bottom of the barrel, hoping that it would stick.
“Och, so ye lied to me about feeling trapped in yer old life, then? Everything ye told me about finding joy and trusting that life would repay my enemies, was that all a lie?”
There was no venom in his words. By the time he finished his last question, Iona's arms unfurled and swung to her sides in defeat. Her shoulders rounded forward, like she was trying to protect herself from something, or maybe she was letting go of something.
“I have to go back, Finn. I have to go back.”
