Page 83 of The Laird who Craved her

The heavy rain drummed relentlessly against Finn's broad shoulders as the stallion thundered recklessly across the winding, dangerous Highland trail.

I will slaughter every last one of them,he vowed silently, completely ignoring the sharp pine branches viciously whipping across his exposed face.

"Faster," Finn commanded the beast, refusing to let the treacherous terrain slow their desperate pursuit.

The muddy road quickly vanished completely beneath the looming trees, replaced by little more than a narrow, winding deer path snaking dangerously between the massive pines. The recent rain had softened the earth, turning it into a patchwork of mud and exposed roots.

"A man leaves a trail whether he kens it or nae. Ye only have to learn how to properly listen," Finn recited his late father's oldest tracking lesson aloud.

He carefully observed the muddy ground, quickly spotting a set of fresh, incredibly deep horseshoe prints carved heavily into the wet earth that had not yet filled with rainwater.

"Just hold on, lass, dinnae give up," Finn muttered to himself, his eyes scanning the dense undergrowth for any further signs of their passage.

The winding path curved sharply around a dense, overgrown stand of white birch trees, revealing a large, vibrant green fern lying completely crushed and leaking sticky white sap.

"I have ye now," Finn growled darkly, pushing the exhausted horse even harder up the steep, muddy incline.

The ancient forest grew significantly thicker, completely swallowing what little grey daylight still remained and plunging the woods into a deep, unsettling twilight where mist drifted like ghosts between the trunks.

"I am coming, Claire," Finn whispered again, though the desperate words were instantly swallowed by the relentless sound of the falling rain.

A massive black raven suddenly burst from the dark trees directly ahead of them, its wings beating wildly and causing Finn's tense horse to toss its head violently in surprise.

"Easy now, steady," Finn instructed the stallion softly as they waded into a freezing, rushing stream.

He actually smiled a terrifying, grim smile when he spotted exactly where a panicked hoof had carved a deep, undeniablegouge straight into the soft hillside on the opposite bank. Water hid tracks, but not all of them.

"Ye cannae hide from me," Finn promised the absent riders, spurring his horse out of the cold water and back onto the muddy trail.

Then, floating faintly on the damp, freezing evening air, the unmistakable, acrid scent of woodsmoke drifted directly toward him, sending a massive surge of pure adrenaline straight into his heart.

"Stay right here," Finn commanded the exhausted stallion softly, sliding silently from the saddle and drawing his heavy broadsword.

Sword firmly in hand, Finn slipped soundlessly between the massive trunks, his stealthy boots expertly finding soft patches of green moss instead of snapping dry branches.

Tonight, the Highlands hide a hunter,he thought darkly as he crouched low behind a fallen oak tree, spotting the faint glow of the fire.

"Where is she?" Finn muttered furiously to himself, his sharp eyes frantically searching every single face and shadow in the small, flickering camp.

He scanned the eight massive horses and the heavily armed men sitting casually around the fire, his heart completely stoppingwhen he finally heard her beautiful, defiant voice echoing in the mist.

She looked absolutely exhausted, her pale wrists bound tightly before her and thick mud staining her skirts, yet she incredibly held herself straight and proud as she stared the leader down.

"So where does goodness end?" the scarred leader challenged her mockingly.

Finn gripped the leather hilt of his broadsword so incredibly tight that his knuckles turned completely white, barely restraining himself from charging wildly into the clearing.

Finn carefully studied the scarred leader for the very first time. Red hair, a scar down his face, and deep bitterness in his eyes. A haunting image of a terrified boy standing directly behind bleeding warriors finally surfaced in Finn's memory.

It is the Ross boy,he realized with a sickening jolt of absolute horror.

The incredibly dangerous man was undeniably the youngest son of the slaughtered Ross clan, the very same innocent bairn Finn had personally ordered released seven long years ago.

"My father started that war!" Callum roared in sudden, absolute agony, the bitter truth violently exploding from him before he could stop it.

An absolute, horrified silence completely swallowed the entire camp as the shocking revelation shattered the false, righteous narrative Callum had desperately clung to for his entire life.

"So ye do ken. It was yer father. He attacked first," Claire realized out loud, her voice ringing with absolute certainty.